Once he, too, had been a mindless embryo bathed in the waters of forgetfulness, seeking nothing more than his next meal. In the nesting pools, those hatch-lings lived who devoured their nest brothers rather than being devoured themselves.

Those that ate matured into men, and those that simply survived instead of being eaten remained dogs.

Yet before Alain freed him from Lavastine's cage, he had been, like his brothers, a slave to the single-minded lust for killing and war and plunder that still afflicted most of his kind. How close had he come to being a dog instead of a thinking man? How close was any creature to unthinking savagery, forgetting what it was?

With effort, he forced the fear back. He had not bathed too long in those waters. He had clawed his way free. Alain had freed him from his cage, and he meant to remain the way he was. He would not let memory sleep, and instinct rule.

Slowly, the world came clear around him and he could see again. He tightened his grip on his staff. Deacon Ursuline and Papa Otto had averted their eyes, careful not to be seen noticing his weakness. But even so, they looked startled, utterly amazed.

Let them not believe he had changed, or faltered.

"This is my decision. It is true that these half-wits are your family just as the dogs who swarm around our halls are my brothers. If you can take care of these half-wits, and if it does not interfere with your labors, then I will not touch them.

But I lay the same obligations on you that I did when we agreed to the bargain over your god's house. As long as their presence among you does not interfere with the tasks set for you by your masters, then you may deal with them as you see fit. If I am dissatisfied, then I will act swiftly."

"We cannot ask for more than that," said Deacon Ursuline, quick to seal the bargain.

"No, he agreed, "you cannot."

Before he could make any more rash bargains, he walked away, still shaken. Yet because of his keen hearing, he heard them as they spoke to each other in low voices.

"These slaves served the Eika for many years in such tasks as cleaning out the privies. We ought not to waste the labor of those who are clever on that kind of mindless work when they could be doing other things like tanning or building. Surely we can find a place for each person to do some task, even the ones who act little better than dogs."

Deacon Ursuline did not reply right away. He heard her suck in her breath, as at a blow to the stomach. Where the path knifed into the forest, he paused to listen. Her words drifted to him as faintly as a sigh.

"I served a lord in Saony who was less just than this one."

Papa Otto made no reply.

Silently, Stronghand followed the path into the forest. There was wisdom in what Papa Otto said, of course. By releasing the strong from tasks that could be as easily done by the weak, all would prosper.

He had acted too hastily in this matter of the half-witted slaves. A wise leader gives enough rope to those clever enough to use it wel , as he would need to pay out rope to Tenth Son. Do not keep the loyal ones lashed up too tightly; their obedience is bought by trust, not by fear.

His slaves had not failed him yet, even if they thought, now and again, of rebellion and of freedom. He had no need to say more, or to act other than he had just done. They knew what the consequences would be if they failed him, and they knew what would happen to them if his rule over Rikin Fjord ended.

It was in their interest to keep him strong.

"IT S uncanny, it is," said Ingo that night at the campfire in the tone of a man who has said the same thing the day before and expects to repeat himself tomorrow.” Rain behind but never before. At least my feet are dry."

"It's that weather witch," said Folquin impulsively.” She's mak ing it rain on the Quman army and not on us." His comrades shushed him violently, glancing around as though they feared the wind itself might carry their words to the powerful woman about whom he spoke.

Hanna cupped her hands around a mug in a desperate attempt to keep them warm, for although it was dry, the wind out of the northwest stung like ice.”

Have a care, Folquin. Prince Bayan's mother has an eye for good-looking young men to be her slave bearers, and she might take a liking to you if you come to her attention."

Ingo, Leo, and Stephen laughed at her jest, but perhaps because Folquin wasn't the kind of young man girls flocked around, her words stung him.” The way Prince Bayan has an eye for you, Eagle?"

"Hush, now, lad," scolded Ingo.” It isn't any fault of Hanna's that the Ungrians think her light hair a sign of good luck."

"No matter," said Hanna quickly as Folquin seemed ready to fall all over himself apologizing for his wretched tongue.” Mind you, Prince Bayan's a good man—

"And no doubt would be a better one if he could only keep his hands to himself," said Folquin with an appeasing grin.

"If a roving eye is the worst of his faults, then God know, he's better than the rest of us," replied Ingo.” I've no complaints about his leadership in battle. We'd all be heads dangling from Quman belts if it weren't for his steely nerves at the old high mound last month."

"If it had been Prince Sanglant leading us," said taciturn Leo suddenly, "we'd have won, or we'd not have engaged at all, seeing that the odds were against us."

"Ai, God, man!" exclaimed Ingo with the sneer of a soldier who has seen twice as much battle as his opinionated comrade, "who was to know that Margrave Judith would fall dead like that, and her whole line collapse? She had a third of our heavy cavalry. With her Austrans routing we hadn't a chance. Prince Bayan made the best of a bad situation."

"It could have been much worse," agreed Stephen, but since he was accounted a novice, having survived only one major battle, his opinion was passed over in silence.

The fire popped. Ashy branches settled, gleaming briefly before Leo set another stick on the fire. All around them other campfires

sparked and smoked as far as Hanna could see up along the cart track that the army followed as it retreated toward Handelburg. But the sight of so many fires did not make her feel any safer. She sipped at the hot cider, wishing it would warm the chill that constantly ate away at her heart.

Ivar was missing. She'd searched up and down through Bayan's retreating army and not found a trace of him. She hadn't even found anyone who remembered seeing him on the day of the battle except the injured prince, Ekkehard, who was so vexed at having lost his favorite, Baldwin, that he couldn't be bothered to recall where and when he'd last seen Ivar.

"Only God can know the outcome of battles in advance," she said at last, with a sigh.” It's no use worrying over what's already happened."

"Have you any milk to spill?" asked Ingo with a laugh, but he sobered, seeing her grief-stricken expression.” Here, have more cider. You look cold, lass. What's the news from the prince's camp?"

"Princess Sapientia has taken a liking to Lord Wichman, now that he's recovering from his wounds, and you know how Prince Bayan humors her in everything. But that Wichman and his lordly friends—" She hesitated, but she could see by their expressions that her comments would shock no one here.”

Truly, I'd as soon run with a pack of wormy dogs. Sometimes I think the princess— well, may God bless her and I'll say no more on that score. But she'd be better served in attending to her poor brother."

"He still can't use his spear arm?" asked Ingo.

"For all I know he'll never regain use of it, for he was sorely wounded. Lord Wichman is insufferable precisely on that account, for he was the one who rescued Prince Ekkehard from the Quman prince who was about to cut him down."

"I tell you truly," said Folquin in a low voice, "and not meaning to speak ill of the princess, may God bless her, but I wonder does she know what Prince Ekkehard does in the evening here in camp?"

"What do you mean?" demanded Hanna.

Folquin hesitated.

"You'd better show her," said Ingo.” There's been some fights about it already, in the ranks, and an army in our position can hardly afford to be fighting among itself."

"Come on," said Folquin reluctantly.

Hanna drained her mug and gave it to Ingo. The four Lions had stationed their campfire where wagons had been lined up in a horseshoe curve to form a barrier between the rear guard and the outlying sentries. The wooden cart walls gave some protection against the winged riders who dogged them persistently as they retreated north just ahead of the most astoundingly bad weather. There always seemed to be a rainstorm following at their heels, and as Hanna followed Folquin she could hear it like a storm front breaking in front of her. Wind and rain agitated the woodland behind them, but no rain ever touched Bayan's army. The dry ground they walked on surely was churned to muck behind them, hindering their pursuers so badly that the main mass of the Quman army had never been able to catch up and finish them off. •

Such was the power of Prince Bayan's mother, a formidable sorcerer, princess of the dreaded Kerayit people.

But even with her magic to aid them, they had had a miserable month following their defeat by Bulkezu's army at the ancient tumulus. The Ungrians had a saying: a defeated army is like a dying flower whose falling petals leave a trail.

Every dawn, when they moved out, the freshly dug graves of a few more soldiers, dead from wounds suffered at the battle, were left behind to mark their path. Only Prince Bayan's steady leadership had kept them more-or-less in one piece.

But even his leadership had not been enough to save Ivar.

The Lions formed the rear guard together with the stoutest companies of light cavalry left to Bayan, now under the captaincy of Margrave Judith's second daughter and her admired troop of fighters. Lady Bertha was the only one of Judith's Austran and Olsatian commanders who hadn't lost her troops to rout when the margrave had lost her head on the battlefield. A popular and unquenchable rumor had spread throughout the army that Lady Bertha had so disliked her mother that the margrave's death had emboldened rather than disheartened her. It was to the fringe of her bivouac that Folquin now led Hanna.

Six campfires burned merrily to mark out a circle. In their center sat Lady Bertha and her favorites, drinking what was left of the

mead they'd commandeered from a Salavii holding two days before. Usually Hanna could hear them singing all the way up in the vanguard, for they were a hard drinking, tough crew, but tonight they sat quietly, if restlessly, and Lady Bertha bade them be still as she listened to Prince Ekkehard.

"It's the same story he's been telling every night," whispered Folquin. A dozen or more Lions had come to stand here as well, positioned out of the smoke that streamed south-east from the fires. Those nearest turned irritably and told him to be quiet so that they could hear.

Prince Ekkehard was an attractive youth, still caught on that twilight cusp between boy and man. With his right arm up in a sling and his hair blown astray by the cold wind, he made an appealing sight. Most importantly, he had a bard's voice, able to make the most unlikely story sound so believable that you might well begin to swear you'd seen it yourself. He had his audience enraptured as he came to the end of his tale.

"The mound of ashes and coals gleamed like a forge, and truly it was a forge for God's miracles. It opened as a flower does, with the dawn. Out of the ashes the phoenix rose. Nay, truly, for I saw it with my own eyes. The phoenix rose into the dawn. Flowers showered down around us. But their petals vanished as soon as they touched the earth. Isn't that how it is with those who refuse to believe?

For them, the trail of flowers is illusory rather than real. But I believe, because I saw the phoenix. I, who was injured, was healed utterly by the miracle. For you see, as the phoenix rose, it gave forth a great trumpeting call even as far as the heavens, and we heard it answered. Then we knew what it was."

"What was it?" demanded Lady Bertha, so intent on his story that she hadn't taken a single draught of mead, although she did have a disconcerting habit of stroking her sword hilt as though it were her lover.

Ekkehard smiled sweetly, and Hanna felt a cold shudder in her heart at the single-minded intensity of his gaze as he surveyed his listeners.” It was the sign of the blessed Daisan, who rose from death to become Life for us all."

Many in his audience murmured nervously.

"Ivar's heresy," Hanna muttered.

"Didn't the skopos excommunicate the entire Arethousan nation and all their vassal states for believing in the Redemption?" demanded Lady Bertha.” My mother, God rest her, had a physician who came from Arethousa. Poor fellow lost his balls as a lad in the emperor's palace in Arethousa, for it's well known they like eunuchs there, and he came close to losing his head here in Wendar for professing the Arethousan heresy. It's a pleasing story you tell, Prince Ekkehard, but I've taken a liking to my head and would prefer to keep it on my own shoulders, not decorating a spike outside the biscop's palace in Handelburg."

"To deny what I saw would be worse than lying," said Ekkehard.” Nor is it only those of us who saw the miracle of the phoenix who have had our eyes opened to the truth. Others have heard and understood the true word, if they have courage enough to stand up and bear witness."

"Are there, truly?" Lady Bertha looked ever more interested as she swept her gaze around her circle of intimates. After a moment, she settled on a young lord, one Dietrich. Hanna recalled well how much trouble he'd caused on the early part of their journey east from Autun last summer, when she'd been sent by the king with two cohorts of Lions and a ragtag assortment of other fighters as reinforcements for Sapientia. But at some point on the journey he had changed his ways, a puzzling change of heart that hadn't seemed quite so startling then as it did at this moment.

Slowly, Lord Dietrich rose. For a hulking fighting man he seemed unaccountably diffident.” I have witnessed God's work on this Earth," he said hesitantly, as though he didn't trust his own tongue.” I'm no bard, to speak fine words about it and make it sound pretty and pleasing. I've heard the teaching. I know it's true in my heart for I saw—" Amazingly, he began to weep tears of ecstatic joy.” I saw God's holy light shining here on Earth. I sinned against the one who became my teacher. I was an empty shell, no better than a rotting corpse. Lust had eaten out my heart so I walked mindlessly from one day to the next. But God's light filled me up again. I was given a last chance to choose in which camp I would muster, whether I would chose God or the Enemy. That was when I discovered the truth of the blessed Daisan's sacrifice and redemption—

Hanna grabbed Folquin's arm and dragged him away.” I've heard enough.

That's a wicked heresy."

The light of many fires gave Folquin's expression a fitful inconstancy.” You don't think it might be true? How else can you explain a phoenix? And the miracle, that all their hurts were healed?"

"I'll admit that something happened to change Lord Dietrich's ways, for I remember how you Lions complained of him on the march east this summer. Is it this kind of talk that people are fighting over?"

"Yes. Some go every night to hear Prince Ekkehard. He'll preach to any person, highborn or low. Others say he's speaking with the Enemy's voice. Do you think so, Eagle?"

"I've seen so many strange things—

The horn call came, as it did every night. Men cried out the alarm. Ekkehard's audience dissolved as soldiers grabbed their weapons, lying ready at their sides.

Out beyond the wagon lines, winged riders broke free of the storm to gallop toward the rear guard, but only a few soggy arrows skittered harmlessly into camp before Lord Dietrich and his contingent of cavalry chased them off with spears and a flight of whistling arrows.

By the time Prince Bayan arrived from the vanguard to investigate, all lay quiet again except for the ever-present wind and the hammer of rain off to the southeast. He rode up with a small contingent of his personal house guard, a dozen Ungrian horsemen whose once-bright clothing was streaked with dirt. Foot soldiers lit their way with torches. Bayan had the knack of remaining relatively clean even in such circumstances as this—in the torchlight Hanna could see the intense blue of his tunic—and the contrast made him all the more striking, a robust, intelligent man still in his prime whom adversity could not tarnish.

"Fewer attacked tonight," said Lady Bertha, handing him an arrow once he had dismounted.” It may be that they've fallen back so far they've given up catching us. Or perhaps they mean us to grow complacent, until they attack in force and take us by surprise."

Prince Bayan turned the arrow over in his hands, studying the sodden fletchings.” Perhaps," he echoed skeptically.” I like not these attacks which are coming each night same time."

Lady Bertha had the stocky build and bandy-legged stance of a person who has spent most of her life on a horse, in armor. She looked older than her twenty or so years, weathered by a hard apCHILD or FLAME prenticeship fighting in the borderlands.” I've sent three scouts back to see if Bulkezu's army still follows us, but none have returned."

Bayan nodded, twisting the ends of his long mustache.” To Han-delburg we must go. We need rest, repair, food, wine. With good walls around us, then can we wait for—" He turned to his interpreter, Breschius, a middle-aged cleric who was missing his right hand.” What is this word? More troops to come."

"Reinforcements, my lord prince."

"Yes! Reinforcements." He had trouble pronouncing the word and grinned at his stumbling effort.

Lady Bertha did not smile. She was not in any case a woman who smiled often, if at all.” Unless we can't get word out from Handelburg because Bulkezu has used the cover of this storm to move his army so that he surrounds us."

"Not even Quman army can ride all places at one time," replied Bayan just as he caught sight of Hanna loitering in the crowd which had gathered to observe the commanders.” Snow woman!" His face lit with a bold smile.” Your brightness hides here. So dark it has become by my campfire!"

Hanna felt her face flame with embarrassment, but luckily Bayan was distracted by Brother Breschius, who leaned over to speak to the prince in a low voice.

"Ekkehard?" exclaimed Prince Bayan, looking startled.

Hanna glanced over at the ring of campfires, but Prince Ekkehard had vanished.

She grabbed Folquin's sleeve and slipped away, eager to be out of Prince Bayan's sight. She had sustained Sapientia's anger more than once and didn't care to suffer it again as long as she had any choice in the matter.

By asking permission of Sapientia to continue searching out news of Ivar, she kept a low profile in the last days of the march until they came to the frontier fortress and town of Handelburg. From the eastern slopes, as they rode down into the valley of the Vitadi River, she could see the walled town, situated on three islands linked by bridges across the channels of the river. West lay the march of the Villams, which stretched all the way to the Oder River. To the east beyond sparsely inhabited borderlands spread the loose confederation of half-civilized tribes known as the kingdom of the Polenie.

The biscop's flag flew from the high tower to show that she had remained in residence in her city despite the danger from Quman attack. All the gates stood closed, and the few hovels resting along the banks of the river, homes for fisherfolk and poor laborers, sat empty, stripped of every furnishing. Even crude furniture could be used for firewood in a besieged city. Fields had been harvested and the riverbanks stripped of fodder or bedding: reeds, straw, grass, all shorn in preparation for a Quman attack. In a way, the countryside surrounding Handelburg looked as though a swarm of locusts had descended, eaten their fill, and flown on, leaving not even the bones.

A messenger came from the vanguard: the Eagle, representing the king's ear, must ride in the front. With trepidation, Hanna left her good companions among the Lions and rode forward to take her place, as circumspectly as possible, beside Brother Breschius.

"Stay near me," he said in a low voice.” I'll do my best to keep you out of their way."

"I thank you, friend."

The gates were opened and they advanced into the city. The townsfolk greeted Bayan and Sapientia and their ragged army with cheers, but Hanna noted that the streets weren't crowded despite this welcome. She wondered how many had already fled west into the march of the Villams.

Biscop Alberada met them on the steps of the episcopal palace, dressed in the full splendor of her office and wearing at her throat the gold torque that signaled her royal ancestry. A number of noble ladies and lords attended her, including one dashing man who wore the peaked cap common to the Polenie. The biscop waited until Princess Sapientia dismounted, then descended the steps to greet her and Prince Ekkehard. With such precisely measured greetings did the nobles mark out their status and territory. Had it been King Henry riding into Handelburg, the biscop would have met him on the road outside of town. Had it been Margrave Vil-lam, come to pay his respects, Alberada would have remained inside so that he had to come in to her.

Sapientia and Ekkehard kissed her hand, as befit her holy station, and she kissed their cheeks, the mark of kinship between them. It was not easy to see the resemblance. Alberada was older than Henry, fading into the winter of her life. In the year since she had presided over Sapientia's and Bayan's wedding, she had aged noticeably. Her hair had gone stark white. Her shoulders bowed under the weight of her episcopal robes.

She turned from her niece and nephew to greet Bayan and acknowledge the other nobles, those worthy of her immediate notice. Hanna could not tell whether she meant to greet Bayan's mother, hidden away in her wagon, or ignore her, but in any case by some silent communication the wagon was drawn away toward the guest wing.

If Biscop Alberada noticed this slight, she gave no sign.” Come, let us get out of the cold. I wish I had better news to greet you with, but troubles assail us on every side."

"What news?" asked Sapientia eagerly. The long march had made the princess more handsome; what she lacked in wisdom she made up for in enthusiasm and a certain shining light in her face when her interest was engaged.

"Quman armies have attacked the Polenie cities of Mirnik and Girdst. Girdst is burned to the ground. Both the royal fortress and the new church are destroyed."

"This is sore news!" exclaimed Lady Bertha, who stood to Sapientia's left.

"Yet there is worse." It began to rain, a misting drizzle made colder by the cutting wind.” The Polenie king is dead, his wife, Queen Sfildi, is a prisoner of the Quman, and his brother Prince Woloklas has made peace with the Quman to save his own life and lands. This we heard from Duke Boleslas—" She indicated the nobleman standing on the steps above.” —who has taken refuge with his family in my palace."

"Who rule the Polenie folk, if their king is dead?" asked Bayan.

Evidently Duke Boleslas could not speak Wendish well enough to answer easily, because Alberada replied.” King Sfiatslev's only surviving child, a daughter, has fled east into the lands of the pagan Starviki to seek aid. Shal I go on?"

Bayan laughed.” Only if I have wine to drink to make the news go down easier.

Of wine there is none this past month."

"Let us move into the hall!" exclaimed the biscop, looking more shocked by this revelation than by the Polenie defeat. Or perhaps she just wanted to get out of the rain, which began to come down

in sheets. Her servants hurried away to finish their preparations.” Of course there is wine."

"Then I fear not to hear your news. The war is not lost if there is wine still to drink."

Biscop Alberada had laid in a feast worthy of her status as a royal bastard.

Because of her kinship with the Polenie royal family, she had been allowed to found the biscopry of Handelburg thirty years ago when only a very young woman newly come to the church. One of King Sfiatslev's aunts had been taken prisoner during the wars between Wendar and the Polenie fifty years ago, and this young noblewoman had been given to the adolescent Arnulf the Younger as his first concubine, a royal mistress to assuage his youthful lusts while he waited for his betrothed, Berengaria of Varre, to reach marriageable age. In the thirty years Alberada had overseen the growing fortress town of Handelburg, the noble families of the Polenie had all been thoroughly converted to the Daisanite faith in a right and proper manner.

The biscop reminded them of her successful efforts at conversion as wine was poured and the first course brought.” That is why I fear for Sfiatslev's daughter, Princess Rinka, for the Starviki have been stubborn in holding to their pagan ways. What if they induce her to marry one of their princelings? She might become apostate, or even worse, fall into the error of the Arethousans, for the Starviki are known to trade furs and slaves to the Arethousans in exchange for gold nomias. What news of your father, Sapientia? I trust we expect him in the east soon, for truly we have need of his presence here."

Sapientia glanced toward Hanna, standing back among the servitors.” This Eagle brought the most recent news," she said in a tone which suggested that whatever bad news she had to impart was Hanna's fault.” King Henry means to ride south to Aosta. He sent a paltry contingent of two hundreds of Lions and not more than fifty horsemen even though I pleaded with him that our situation was desperate."

"He seeks the emperor's crown," said Alberada.” I wonder what use the emperor's crown if the east burns," mused Bayan.

"These are troubled times in more ways than one." Alberada gestured to her steward, who refilled all the cups at the table.” An emperor's crown may bring stability and right order to a realm afflicted by the whisperings of the Enemy.

These Quman raids are God's judgment on us for our sinfulness. Daily my clerics bring me more stories of the pit of corruption into which we have fallen—

After so many days on sparse rations, Hanna was glad enough to be obliged to serve, since it meant she could eat the leavings off the platters. A stew of eels was followed by roasted swan, several sides of beef, and a spicy venison sausage. Despite the biscop's forbidding disquisition on sinfulness, the nobles ate with gusto, and certainly there was enough to spare both for the servants and for the dogs.

Prince Bayan had cleverly turned the topic of conversation to what interested him most: the war.” We must hold here the whole winter."

"Surely winter will put a stop to the Quman raids." Freed from her armor and heavy traveling cloak, Sapientia looked much smaller. She hadn't her father's height or breadth of shoulder, but months riding to war had given her a certain heft that she had lacked before her marriage.

Bayan laughed.” Does my lion queen tire of war?"

"Certainly not!" Sapientia had a habit of preening when Bayan paid lush attention to her. She could never get enough of his praise, and the prince had a knack for knowing when to flatter his wife.” But no one ever fights during the winter."

"Nay, Your Highness," said Breschius as smoothly as if he and Bayan had rehearsed the exchange, "the Quman are famous for attacking during winter, when ice dries out the roads and makes streams into paths. Snow doesn't stop them. Nothing stops them but flowing water. Even then, they have captive engineers in their army who can build bridges for them and show them how to make use of fords and ferries."

"I have prepared for a siege," said Alberada.” Although, truly," she added disapprovingly, "sieges come in many guises." Farther down the table, Lord Wichman was drinking heavily with his cronies. He had been seated beside Lord Dietrich, but despite baiting him with crude jokes and cruder suggestions, Wichman could not get Dietrich either to join him or to lose his temper. Having lost this skirmish, he had turned to harassing any servingwomen who ventured within arm's reach.” If your army winters here, Prince Bayan, then I must have some assurance that they will not disrupt the lives of my townsfolk and servants."

"It's my army, too!" said Sapientia.” I do not tolerate insolence or troublemakers."

"Of course not, niece," replied Alberada with such a soothingly calm expression that Hanna knew she would continue to talk around Sapientia because she, like everyone else, knew who really commanded this army.” I expect you to see that your Wendish forces behave themselves, just as I expect Prince Bayan to keep proper order among his Ungrian countrymen."

Bayan laughed.” My Ungrian brothers do not cause trouble, for otherwise they are to have their swords cut off, at my order."

"I do not approve of such barbarity," said Alberada primly, "but I hope your soldiers keep the peace rather than breaking it."

The stewards brought round a savory condiment of boiled pears mixed with hog's fennel, galingale, and licorice, as an aid to digestion for the noble folk who were by now surely stuffed and surfeited. Yet the feast dragged on well into the autumn night. A Polenie bard from Duke Boleslas' retinue sang, and he had such an expressive voice and so much drama in his gestures that the hall sat rapt, listening, although he sang in an unintelligible language. Hanna's eyes stung from the smoke in the hall. She had been so long marching out-of-doors that she'd forgotten how close air got within walls, even in a great hall as capacious as the one in the biscop's palace.

Despite the biscop's rank and wealth, her palace hadn't the ornamentation common to the older palaces in Wendar proper. This hall had only been finished ten years ago and had about it still an unfinished look, as if its wood hadn't yet been worn down by the use of many hands and feet, the polish of age. The pillars in the hall stared glumly at her, carved in the likeness of dour saints who no doubt disapproved of the gluttony and singing, men stamping their feet as they shouted out a chorus, dogs scrabbling under the tables for scraps, servingwomen deftly pouring out wine while at the same time dodging teasing fingers. In truth, Bayan's Ungrian lords did behave better than their Wendish counterparts; maybe Bayan's jesting threat had not been a jest.

Late, the nobly born went to their resting places while servants like Hanna scrambled for what comfortable pallets they could find. In a hall this large there were plenty of sleeping platforms built in under the eaves, and when Sapientia made no move to call Hanna to attend her to the chamber in which she slept more privately, Hanna found herself a snug place among a crowd of servingwomen. They lay close together, a warm nest of half-naked women covered by furs, and gossiped in the darkness.

"The Ungrians do smell. I told you."

"Not any more than do the Wendish soldiers. Ai, God, did you see how poor Doda had to dodge that Lord Wichman's hands all evening? He's a beast."

"He's son of a duchess, so I'm sure he'll have what he wants." Nervous giggles followed this pronouncement. A woman shifted. Another sighed.

"Not in the biscop's palace, friend," replied a new voice.” Bis-cop Alberada's stern but fair, and you'll find no such wild behavior in this hall. Now I'll thank you to hush so that I can sleep!"

But they didn't all hush. Hanna drifted asleep, lulled by their whispering and the strange way they hissed their "p"s and "t"s, just as the folk had in that lonely village east of Machteburg where a Quman scouting party had attacked them.

Where she'd seen Ivar again, seen how he'd changed so much from the impulsive, good-natured youth she'd grown up with. He had seen the miracle of the phoenix. Was it actually possible the story was true? Had God worked a miracle of healing and given Ivar and his companions, and Prince Ekkehard, a vision of truth?

She twisted the heavy emerald ring that King Henry had given her. Here, curled up beside the other women, she felt warm and safe in body at least, but her heart remained restless. She knew her duty. First and foremost she was Henry's servant, his messenger, his Eagle, sworn to his service and to uphold whichever church doctrine he recognized, not to question the authority of those he acknowledged as the rightful leaders of the church. Yet what of her grandmother's gods? Hadn't they treated their followers fairly and granted them good harvests, or sometimes turned their faces away to bring bad times? What of the many other people who lived outside the Circle of Light? Were they all damned to fall endlessly in the Abyss because they held to a different faith? How would Brother Breschius, who had survived the wrath of a Kerayit queen, reply to such questions?

She fell away into sleep, and she dreamed.

There comes into the hall as silent as the plague one of the slave men kep by t

Bayan's mother. His skin is so black that she can hardly see him in the smothering darkness of the hall now ill

,

uminated only by the glowing coals of

two banked hearth fires which are watched over by dozing servant girls. Yet he can see her where she lies half hidden among the other women. He beckons.

She dares not refuse such a summons, just as she would never defy the will of the king. She recognizes power when she sees it.

She rises, slips her wool tunic over her shift, and pads barefooted after the slave man. He walks the paneled corridors of the biscop 's palace without a torch, yet manages not to lose his way. The rough plank floors scrape her soles, and once she picks up a splinter and has to pause, wincing, catching a gasp in her throat so that she won't wake the soldiers who sleep in ranks on either side of the broad corridor.

The slave bends to take her foo in his warm ha

t

nds while she balances herself

on his shoulder, all the while aware of the taut strength of his body and the steady breathing of the sleeping soldiers around them. He probes, grips, and slips the splinter out. She would thank him, but she dares not speak out loud, and probably he does not understand her language anyway. They walk on in a silence that hangs as heavily as fog.

At last he opens a door and leads her into a chamber swathed in silk hangings, so many that she has to push her way through them until she comes free of their soft luxury and finds herself in the center of the room. It is cold here. No fire burns on the empty hearth.

The wasp sting burns in her heart as she faces the veiled figure that is Prince Bayan's ancient mother. The old woman's voice rasps with age and, perhaps, exhaustion brought on by weeks of weaving weather magic.” Where are you going?"

Hanna thinks probably she doesn't mean anything so simple, that no common answer will do: "to the privies," "west to the king," "back to my home."

"Idon't know," she answers truthfully. Cold bites at her hands, making them ache, and her foot hurts where the splinter pierced her skin.

"No woman can serve two queens, just as no man can serve two masters,"

remarks the ancient woman. One of her raddled old handmaidens hurries forward out of the shadows, bearing a tray.

A single ceramic cup, so finely crafted that its lip looks as thin as a leaf, rests on the enameled tray. Steam rises delicately from its mouth.” Drink," speaks the cricket voice.

The spicy scent stings Hanna's lips and burns her throat. As she drains the liquid, tilting her head back, she sees a scene engraved onto the bottom of the cup's bowl: a centaur woman suckling a human baby at her breast.

"In the end," continues Bayan's mother, "you will have to choose."

Cautiously, Hanna lowers the cup. Bayan 's mother sits sedately in a chair, her gnarled and wrinkled hands, age-spotted yet somehow still supple, resting in her lap. The veil conceals her face. The handmaiden waits patiently, like a statue, holding out the tray. Hanna sees no sign of the slave man who escorted her here. They are alone, the three of them, except for a green-and-gold bird perched in a cage that eyes Hanna warily as she sets the empty cup down on the tray. It lifts one foot, replaces it, then lifts the other in a stately if slightly anxious dance, waiting for her answer.

The handmaiden retreats behind the silk curtains, which rustle, sway, and fall silent. The only light in the chamber comes from a lamp. Shadows ride the walls, shifting as though they have caught the movements of unseen spi its.

r

"I have nothing to choose between," says Hanna, feeling a little dazed.” I am King Henry's Eagle.”

"And Sorgatani 's luck."

The words seem ill-omened. Hanna shudders.” Sorgatani lived years ago. She's dead." She chafes her hands nervously, remembering that Brother Breschius lost a hand when the Kerayit princess he loved and served as her slave died all those years ago.

"Souls never die,” chides the old woman.” I had a cousin twice removed who is dead now, it is true. That may be the woman you think you speak of, the one who took the Wendish priest as her pura. But a name is like a veil, to be cast o ff or put on. It can be used again. You are Sorgatani's luck, for so is my niece called. In the end, you will have to choose.”

The curtains stir as though in a wind. In those shimmering depths she thinks maybe she can see all the way to the land where the Kerayits roam and live among grass so tall that a man on horseback can't see over it. Here, in her dreams, she has seen

griffins. Here, in a distance made hazy by a morning fog rising up from damp ground, she sees the encampment of the Bwrmen, the dreaded centaur folk.

Pale tents shift in the wind, felt walls belling out, and sagging in, as though they are themselves living creatures. She smells the tang of molten metal on the wind. An eagle drifts lazily above the camp, then plummets down, out of sight. A young woman wanders at the edge of that camp, dressed in a gown so golden that it might have been torn and shaped out of sunlight.

Across the distance, Sorgatani speaks, "Come to me, luck. You are in danger."

Maybe Hanna could step through the silk curtains and find herself in a far land, in the wilderness, in the hazy morning. But she does not move. She speaks.

" haven't found your pura yet. I have no handsome man to bring you."

The sun glints over the mist, riding higher, and its bright light flashes in Hanna's eyes.

"Liath," she cries, thinking impossibly that she sees Liath above in the iridescent air, a lustrous play of colors glistening like silk as she pushes through the curtains, trying to reach Liath, only to find the slave man standing silently beside an open door. He gestures toward the door and the cor idor r

filled with sleeping

soldiers. With a foreboding in her heart, as though she had turned a deaf ear to a summons she ought to have heeded, she follows him back to the hall—

Hanna woke abruptly as a hand groped over her, fondling her roughly. She smelled the stink of sour breath on her cheek and felt a man's weight lowering over her. She kicked, hard and accurately. With an angry oath the shadowed form that had been molesting her staggered back and slammed into another figure who had also come calling to the sleeping platform. Women shrieked and cursed. The furs writhed as all at once every woman came awake. One woman, at the edge of the platform, choked out gasping cries as she struggled with a brawny man who had gotten on top of her.

Stewards and servants appeared, some carrying torches, and a scuffle started.

Half a dozen men went down before Prince Bayan came roaring in, furious at being rousted from his bed. Half a dozen Ungrian soldiers, the men who guarded him night and day, CHILD or FLAME waded into the fray with gleeful curses. By the time the biscop arrived, flanked by stewards carrying handsome ceramic lamps, the battle lines had been drawn: the servingwomen huddled in the pallet, all chattering accusations so loudly that Hanna thought she would go deaf, the steward and servants off to one side, licking their wounds, and Lord Wichman and his pack of wormy dogs—a dozen scarred, cocky, brash young noblemen—

standing defiantly by the smoldering hearth.

"Why am I disturbed?" Alberada held a lamp formed into the shape of a griffin.

Flame licked from its tongue. At this moment, dignified and enraged, she did not look like a woman Hanna would care to fool with.” Have you the gall, Wichman, to rape my servingwomen in my own hall? Is this how you repay me for my hospitality?"

"I haven't had a woman for days! These women were willing enough." Wichman gestured toward the sleeping platform casually, and for an instant one of his companions looked ready to leap back in.” We can't all be satisfied with sheep, like Eddo is." His comrades snickered.” Anyway, they're only common born. I wouldn't touch your clerics." This set off another round of snickering.

"You are still drunk, and as sensible as beasts." Alberada's stinging rebuke fell on insensible ears. One of Wichman's companions was actually fondling his own crotch, quite overtaken by lust. The sight of his pumping hands made Hanna want to throw up. Meanwhile, various armed servants had hurried up behind the biscop.” Take them to the tower. They'll bide there this night, for I won't allow them to disturb the peace in my hall. In the morning, they will leave to return to Duchess Rotrudis. No doubt your mother will be more merciful than I, Wichman."

At that moment, Hanna realized that Bayan had spotted her among the other women. He looked in that instant ready to leap in himself. He laughed, as at a joke only he understood, and began twisting the ends of his long mustache thoughtfully. He beckoned to Brother Breschius and spoke to him in a low voice.

"I pray you, Your Grace," said Breschius.” Prince Bayan suggests that you punish Lord Wichman as you wish, after the war is over."

Alberada's glare was frosty.” In the meantime, how does Prince Bayan suggest I protect my servants from rape and molestation?"

Bayan regarded her quizzically.” Whores live in all city. These I will pay for of my own wealth."

"Repay sin by breeding more sin?"

He shrugged.” To fight Quman, I need soldiers."

"To fight Quman," began Wichman, enjoying himself in the drunken way of young men who think only of themselves, "I need—"

"You are young and stupid," snapped Bayan, abruptly shoved to the end of his patience.” But you fight good. So in this season I need you. Otherwise I throw you out to the wolves."

Wichman had a high-pitched, grating laugh.” If you need me so much, my lord prince," he drawled, "then I'll set my own price and expect it to be paid tenfold."

He gestured obscenely toward the watching servingwomen.

Bayan moved swiftly for a man just risen from his bed. He grabbed Wichman by his shift and held him hard. Wichman was a little taller, and certainly half Bayan's age, but the Ungrian prince had righteous anger and true authority on his side; he'd commanded entire armies in the field and survived countless battles. It took a tough soldier to live as long as he had, and he knew it. So did Wichman.

"Never challenge me, boy," Bayan said softly.” Lrid myself of dogs when they piss on my feet. I know where to find the slave market, who always wants young men. I do not fear the anger of your mother."

Wichman turned a rather interesting shade, something like spoiled bread dough.

Any man might have said those words in a boasting way, but when Bayan said them, they burned.

"To the barracks." Bayan released his grip on Wichman. Ungrian guards surrounded Wichman and his cronies.

"I cannot approve," said Alberada.” These men should be punished, and banished."

"I need them," said Bayan.” And so do you and this your city."

"It is in this way that war breeds evil, Prince Bayan, because both good and bad alike profit in evil ways and sow evil seeds and lapse into evil deeds, driven by desperation or what they call necessity."

"To your words I have no answer, Your Holiness. I am only a man, not one of the saints."

"It is quite obvious that none of us are saints," answered Alberada reprovingly.”

Were we all saints, there would be no war except against the heathens and the heretics."

"Yet surely war is not the cause of our sins, Your Grace," interposed Breschius.”

I would argue that Wichman's evil was brought about not by war but by his own reckless and unrestrained nature. Not every man would behave so. Most of the soldiers come here today did not."

"I'm not the only one sinning," protested Wichman suddenly. He sounded as indignant as if he'd been accused of a crime he hadn't committed.” Why don't you see what my little cousin Ekkehard does at night now that he's lost his favorite catamite?"

Bayan gave a sharp whistle of anger.

Ai, God, Bayan had known al along. Why had Hanna thought that a commander as observant as Bayan hadn't known the whole time what was going on in the ranks of his army? He'd just chosen to overlook it, in the same way he choose to overlook Wichman's assault. All he cared about was defeating the Quman.

Given their current situation, Hanna had to admire his pragmatism.

"What do you mean, Wichman?" Biscop Alberada had a way of tilting her head to one side that made her resemble, however briefly, a vulture considering whether to begin with the soft abdomen, or the gaping throat, of the delectable corpse laid out before it.” What sin has young Ekkehard polluted himself with?"

"Heresy," said Wichman.

LIATH walked as if into the interior of a pearl. The glow of the Moon's essence drowned her vision, a milky substance as light as air but so opaque that when she stretched out her hand she could barely see the blue lapis lazuli ring—her guiding light—that Alain had given her so long ago. Her ears served her better.

She heard a

susurration of movement half glimpsed in the pearlescent aether that engulfed her. The ground, although surely she did not walk on anything resembling earth, seemed firm enough, a sloping path like to a silver ribbon that led her spiraling ever upward.

She had not known what to expect, but truly this nacreous light, this sea of emptiness, seemed—well—disappointing. Shimmers undulated across the distance like insubstantial veils fluttering in an unfelt breeze. Had she crossed the gate only to step right inside the Moon itself?

A shape flitted in front of her, close enough that its passage stirred her hair about her face, strands tickling her mouth. It vanished into the aether. An instant or an eternity later, a second shape, and then a third, flashed past.

Suddenly hosts of them, their hazy forms as fluid as water, darted and glided before her like minnows.

They were dancing.

She recognized then what they were: cousins to Jerna, more lustrous, less pale; some among the daimones imprisoned by Anne at Verna to act as her servants surely had come from the Moon's sphere.

They were so beautiful.

Entranced, delighted, she paused to watch them. Beat and measure throbbed through the aether. Was this the music of the spheres? Swiftly ran the bright tones of Erekes and the lush melody of Somorhas. The Sun's grandeur rang like horns, echoed by the soft harp strings that marked the Moon's busy passage of waxing and waning. Jedu's course struck a bold martial rhythm. Mok gave voice to a stately tune, unhurried and grave, and wise Aturna sounded as a mellow bass rumble underlying the rest.

They turned and they shifted, they rose and descended, spun and fell still. Their movements themselves had beauty just as any thing wrought by a master artisan is a joy to behold.

She could dance* too. They welcomed her into the infinite motion of the universe; if she joined them, the secret language of the stars would unfold before her. In such simplicity did the cosmos manifest itself, a dance echoing the greater dance that, hidden beyond mortal awareness, turned the wheel of the stars, and of fate, and of the impenetrable mystery of existence.

She need only step off the path. Easier to dance, to lose oneself in the universe's cloudy heart.

"Liath!" Hanna's voice jolted her back to herself. Was it an echo, or only her imagination?

She stood poised on the brink of the abyss. One more step, and she would plunge off the path into the aether. Staggering, she stumbled back, almost toppling off the other side, and caught her balance at last, quite out of breath.

The dance went on regardless. In the splendid expanse of the heavens, she was of no account. Her own yearning might bring her to ruin, but nothing would stop her whichever choice she made.

That was the lesson of the rose, which needs tending to reach its full beauty. Its thorns are the thorns of thoughtless longing, that bite the one who tries to pluck it without looking carefully at what she is doing.

She had come so close to falling.

With a bitter chuckle, she climbed on. At last the path parted before her, the silver ribbon cutting out to either side along a pale iron wall that betrayed neither top nor bottom. A scar cut the wall, a ragged tear through which she saw a featureless plain. Was this the Gate of the Sword, which heralded the sphere of Erekes, the swift sailing planet once known as the messenger of the old pagan gods?

As if her thought took wing and brought form boiling up out of the aether, a figure appeared, a guardian as white as bleached bone. It did not, precisely, have mouth or eyes but rather the suggestion of a living face. The delicate structure of its unfurled wings flared as vividly as if a spider had woven the threads that bound bone to skin. It barred her path with a sword so bright it seemed actually to cut the aether with a hiss.

Its voice rang like iron.” To what place do you seek entrance?"

"I mean to cross into the sphere of Erekes."

"Who are you, to demand entrance?"

"I have been called Bright One, and Child of Flame."

That fast, as though in answer to her words, it thrust, attacking her, and she leaped back. Instinctively, she reached for Lucian's friend, the sword she had borne for so long. Drawing it, she parried, and where the good, heavy iron of Lucian's friend met the guardian's bright sword, sparks spit furiously. It struck again, and she blocked, jumped back, checked her position on the path, and made a bid to cut past it.

Yet where it had not stood an instant before, it stood now, sword raised.” You have too much mortal substance to cross the gate," it cried triumphantly, its voice like the crack of the blacksmith's hammer on iron.

The breath of hot wind off Erekes' dark plain weighed her down. She was too heavy to cross.

But she would not be defeated. She would not fall, nor would she turn back now.

"Take this sword, then, if you must have something," she cried, and flung the sword at it.

The iron pierced it. The creature dissolved in a thousand glittering fragments of luminous iron. Unexpectedly, a strong wind caught her, and she tumbled headlong over the threshold into the pitch-black realm of Erekes.

THE trial commenced two days later, much to Bayan's evident disgust.

Surprisingly, Sapientia refused to hinder her aunt's inquiry, and while Biscop Alberada had shown herself willing, if reluctant, to look the other way when it came to sins of the flesh, she stood firm on matters of heresy.

It continued to rain steadily, making life in the palace environs wet and miserable. The stench of smoke from all the hearth fires became almost unbearable, and a grippe, an aching snot-ridden cold that left its victims wretched, raced through the army crowded into the palace compound and outlying barracks.

So there was a great deal of coughing and snorting and sniffling among the audience when the biscop's council met in the great hall. Alberada presided from the biscop's chair, flanked by Bayan and Sapientia to her left and a dozen scribbling clerics seated at a table to her right. Heresy was such a grave charge that Alberada's clerics wrote down a record of the trial as well as of her judgment.

to be delivered to the skopos so that Mother dementia might remain aware of the corruption that had infiltrated her earthly flock.

Normally Alberada would have called for at least two other bis-cops to be present, to lend full authority to the proceedings. Given the season and the desperate situation, with Quman patrols sighted daily from the city walls, she contented herself with the local abbot and abbess from their respective establishments ensconced within the safety of Handelburg's walls. They were complaisant, unworldly folk, unlikely to challenge the biscop no matter what she said.

As the King's Eagle, Hanna had to stand in attendance on the entire dreary proceeding so that she could report in detail to the king about the sins of his son and the righteous inquiry made by the biscop, Henry's elder and bastard half sister.

Ekkehard was given a chair facing his accusers. The rest of the accused heretics had to stand behind him, according to their rank, while witnesses were brought forward and, after several tedious hours of testimony, Alberada laid out her judgment: A prince of the realm had used his rank and influence to infect hapless innocents with the plague of heresy. And while some of his victims, faced with the wrath of a royal biscop, recanted quickly, others remained stubbornly loyal to his impious teachings.

Ekkehard sat through it al swollen with the most magnificent indignation that a youth not yet sixteen years of age could muster out of his own terror, uncertainty, and fanatic resolve. Perhaps he was too young and self-important to be truly afraid. Six of his intimate companions had survived the battle at the ancient tumulus. Biscop Alberada showed her respect for the loyalty necessary between a noble and his retinue by making no attempt to force them to repudiate their lord. For them to abandon him, as it were, in the heat of battle would have been a worse offense even than their spiritual error. Let them be punished along with him. That was fitting.

The intransigence of Lord Dietrich, his retainers, and about twenty assorted folk of various stations and purpose troubled her more.

"What minion of the Enemy has fastened its claws inside you?" she demanded after Lord Dietrich refused for the third time to disavow the doctrine of the sacrifice and redemption.” The Mother

and Father of Life, who are God in Unity, brought forth the universe. Into this creation they placed the four pure elements, light, wind, fire, and water. Above creation rests the Chamber of Light, and below lies the Enemy, which we also call darkness. Yet as the elements drifted in harmony, they came into contact with the darkness, which had risen out of the depths. Together, they mingled.

The universe cried out in distress at this pollution, and God therefore sent the Word of Thought, which we also call Logos, to be its salvation. God made this world through the Word of Thought, yet there remains darkness in it. That is why there is evil and confusion in the world."

"The blessed Daisan redeemed us," said Ekkehard stubbornly, interrupting her.

Lord Dietrich had the sense to remain silent.

"Of course he did! The blessed Daisan brought the Word of Thought to us all.

He prayed for seven days and seven nights seeking redemption for all who would follow the faith of the Unities and be brought into the Light. And at the end of that time, angels conveyed him to heaven in a light so blinding that St. Thecla herself, who witnessed his Ekstasis, could not see for seven times seven days afterward."

"He was sacrificed! He was flayed by the order of the Empress Thaissania, but his blood became roses, and he lived again! He rose from the dead.”

"Silence!" Alberada struck the floor with the butt of her crosier. The sharp knock silenced him as well as all those whispering excitedly in the hall at his outspoken words. Even the cleric whispering a translation into Duke Boleslas' ear clamped his mouth shut.” You are guilty of heresy, Prince Ekkehard. The penalty for heresy is excommunication and exile, or death."

"I am willing to die," said Lord Dietrich calmly, not without triumph. He coughed, and blew his nose into a handful of straw.

"You can't punish me," exclaimed Ekkehard manfully.” I'm the king's son, born out of legitimate marriage!"

"I am the church, here in Handelburg," replied Alberada, ignoring the reference to her own illegitimate birth.” I do not punish you, Prince Ekkehard. It is the church which punishes you and all those who follow your heretical teachings. But it is true that you represent a special case. You will have to be sent to the king's court."

"To my father?" Ekkehard abruptly looked much younger, a boy caught in mischief who has just realized he'll get in trouble for it.

Bayan let out an explosive grunt of anger.” How many soldiers must I send in escort to him? How fewer many then will stand on the walls, when Quman attack us?"

"Can't you just put Ekkehard in the monastery until the Quman are defeated?"

Sapientia placed a hand on Bayan's arm as though to soothe the savage beast.”

He's abbot of St. Perpetua's in Gent, after all."

"And expose the holy monks to this plague of heresy? Bad enough that I receive reports every week of this pollution spreading in the countryside! Nay, he must go to the king, or remain here in prison, without recourse to the sacraments, until the Quman are defeated and he can travel safely and with a large escort. A guard will be placed in the tower to assure that he does not communicate with any sympathizers—

"Ach!" Bayan threw up his hands in exasperation. With a foul glare at a dog which had draped itself over his feet, he kicked it free, grabbed his cup, and downed a full goblet of wine. A servant hurried to refill it, "I need guards to walls, to sentry. To fight the Quman. Not to sit on our own countryfolk."

"You do not appreciate the gravity of our situation, Prince Bayan, which I fear I must attribute to some deficiency in your understanding as a recent convert. I cannot allow the Enemy to triumph. I cannot allow the Arethousan pollution to defile the kingdom and the holy church. I cannot turn aside and look the other way when Prince Ekkehard's errors threaten us all."

"To my thinking," said Bayan, "it is the Quman who threaten us all."

"Better we be dead than heretics!"

Bayan twisted the ends of his mustaches irritably, but he did not reply. As at the ancient tumulus, he recognized the point where one chose a strategic retreat over wholesale disaster.

"I choose death," said Lord Dietrich.” Let my martyrdom prove who speaks the truth."

Alberada looked surprised and discomfited.” I am not accustomed to presiding over executions, Lord Dietrich."

"If you fear to do so, Your Grace, you must acknowledge that I am right. I do not fear death because the blessed Daisan embraced it in order to redeem humankind from our sins."

"Neither do I!" exclaimed Ekkehard, not wanting to look less courageous than a mere lord. Since he had not been afflicted by the grippe, his voice had a clear and robust ring, free of doubts or phlegmatic listlessness.” I will embrace martyrdom, too!"

"I think an execution would be bad for morale," said Sapientia wisely. Oddly, she looked not at all nervous at the thought of her younger brother's potential demise. After two days in the biscop's palace, she had a sleek satisfaction clinging to her in the same way a sour smell clings to a dying person. It was almost as if she hoped to be rid of him.

"King Henry must be told," began Alberada, temporizing.” A prince of the royal line, who wears the gold torque, cannot be treated as though he were a common-born troublemaker."

"Then send my Eagle," replied Sapientia, with a wickedly complacent smile.” She has made the journey twice before from the east. She'll take the news to the king."

Was this the blow that Hanna had feared for days, landing at last? Did Sapientia mean to rid herself of her supposed rival by any means necessary?

Bayan said nothing. Brother Breschius, standing behind his chair, leaned down to whisper in his ear, but the Ungrian prince merely shook his head impatiently as if, after his last outburst, he had resolved to stay out of the fray no matter what.

Abandoned on every side, Hanna waited for doom to fall. Thunder clapped in the distance. She heard rain clearly, and then it subsided again, as though a door had been opened and closed. Reprieve came from an unlikely source.

"Send an Eagle alone through the marchlands while the Quman ride where they will and we hide here behind our walls?" Alberada surveyed her heretics with distaste.” That is in itself a death sentence, Sapientia."

"Make way!" A messenger hurried in, sopping wet. Her dripping cloak left a drunken line of water drops the length of the hall, and her feet, wrapped only in sodden leather shoes laced up with a cord, made a trail of mud on the carpets.

Servants scurried forward to wipe the dirt away while it was still moist.

"Your Grace!" The messenger dropped to her knees. She looked relieved to be kneeling rather than walking or riding, secure in a safe haven.” Is this Princess Sapientia and Prince Bayan? Thank God, Your Highness. I bring terrible news.

Machteburg is besieged by the Quman. The town of Dirden is burned, and those who weren't killed have been dragged away into slavery."

Bayan rose, looking grim.” We are answered." He raised a fist as though it were a club.” Bulkezu mocks me." His good nature had vanished, and Hanna thought she saw the ghost of his dead son in his expression, ceaselessly goading him toward vengeance. She shivered, remembering how he had chopped off the fingers of a Quman prisoner. It was hard to reconcile a man so often pragmatic and cheerful with the harsh, merciless soldier who sometimes took his place.”

Your Grace, this is not time to prison good soldiers. Every person who can fight, must fight."

"The Quman are not our only enemies, Prince Bayan. Once we let the minions of the Enemy into our hearts, they will destroy us. What they will bring is worse than death."

She would not be moved. She called her stewards to her and spoke to them in an urgent undertone. As soon as they had hurried away to make whatever preparations she had ordered, her palace guards led Ekkehard, Dietrich, their retinues, and the dozen or so other heretics to the church. At Alberada's command, the rest of the assembly followed.

Like the great hall and the palace rooms, the biscop's cathedral—if one could dignify it with that word—had a raw newness about it. There were still artisans working on the ornamentation inside and out. Here in the marchlands, wood was easier tox;ome by than stone, and even a biscop's cathedral might appear humble compared to the old imperial structures still standing in the west.

Here, too, dour saints surveyed the multitude—some hundred souls—who crowded uneasily into the nave. These statues carved of oak and walnut looked so remarkably displeased that Hanna expected them to begin scolding the sinners gathering below them. Four remained unfinished, al angle and suggestion, a hand emerging from wood, the curve of a forehead half hewn from dark wood, a frowning mouth in an eyeless face.

Tapestries relieved the monotony of the oak walls, but they had been woven in such dark colors that Hanna couldn't make out their subject because so few windows cut the gloom. The largest win dow, behind the altar, faced east.

Segments of old Dariyan glass had been pieced together to formed a mosaic, an image of the Cir- ; cle of Unity, but because it was afternoon, most of the light filtered into the nave through the open doors. Cold air licked in from out- | side, stirring cloaks. From her station in the front, Hanna felt the ; merest breath of it on her lips, cool and soothing. A hot, oppressive atmosphere weighted down the crowded chamber, a scent of fear, anticipation, and righteous wrath as thick as curdled cheese.

Every noble in Bayan's army attended, because not to attend might place them under suspicion. From her position close to the altar, Hanna scanned the crowd, but she hadn't enough height to see anyone except the top of Captain Thiadbold's head, recognizable because of his red hair, far to the back. The biscop had commanded the highest ranking Lions to witness as well, so they could report the proceedings to the soldiers under their command. No spiritual charge was graver than heresy. It was, truly, akin to treason against the regnant.

But all Hanna could think about was losing her head to a Quman patrol. Maybe she would have been better off letting magic carry her east. Maybe she'd been meant to choose Sorgatani over that glimpse of Liath. Yet hadn't that been only a dream? Couldn't she j be excommunicated if Biscop Alberada knew the extent of her involvement with sorcery? Sometimes it was better to keep quiet. In a way, that puzzled her most about Ekkehard, Lord Dietrich, and lost Ivar. Why did they have to be so obstreperous about their be- j liefs? Why did they have to keep rattling the chain?

But that was her mother, Mistress Birta, talking.” Why make a date to meet trouble," she would say, "when trouble won't go out of its way to avoid you should you happen on it in the road?" Like Prince Bayan, Mistress Birta saw the world in practical terms. Probably that was one reason Hanna respected Bayan, despite his annoying admiration of her—scarcely possible to call it a flirtation, given the chasm between their stations—that might well send her to her death.

Of course, Birta had never cut off anyone's fingers, but there was no saying she wouldn't do so, if she thought it necessary.

A morose hymn came to its close. Hanna used her elbow to get room, nudging aside one of Sapientia's stewards so she could see better. Clerics walked forward in ranks. Each carried a lit candle to signify the Circle of Unity, the Light of Truth.

These they set in a circle around Ekkehard, Dietrich, and the others, who had been herded into a clump at the front of the nave. Their light burned hotly, making Hanna blink. The bright light threw the expressions on the carved saints into relief, a lip drawn down in pity, a hand lifted with two fingers extended to show justice, a glowering frown under heavy-cut eyebrows, twin to that emerging on its unfinished companion. They watched, and they judged.

Biscop Alberada mounted steps to the biscop's platform. She raised her hands for silence.

"Let unsweetened vinegar be brought forward, so that the accused may taste the bitterness of heresy."

Her servants brought cups forward, each distinguished according to the rank of its recipient: for Ekkehard a gold cup, and a silver one for his noble companions; for Lord Dietrich a silver cup as well, and one of brass for his stubborn retinue.

The common-born heretics had to make do with a wooden cup passed between them. One man refused to drink and was whipped, three times, until he did so.

All of them choked and gasped, coughing, from the bite, all but Lord Dietrich, who drained his cup as though it were honey mead and did not flinch as his defiant gaze remained fixed on the biscop.

"Let any who wear the Circle be stripped of it, for they no longer rest within the protecting ring of its light and truth. Let their hair be cut, to be a badge of their shame."

One of Ekkehard's youths was vain of his blond hair, and he began to weep while Ekkehard stood at a loss to aid him as clerics moved among them with knives, chopping off their hair in ragged bunches. Only when Lord Dietrich moved to comfort the lad and speak to him softly did the young man stiffen, clench his hands, and lift his chin with tremulous pride as a sour-faced cleric hacked off his beautiful hair.

"Let them see in truth that the light of truth no longer burns in their hearts."

Descending from her pulpit, she paced the circle, extinguishing the candles one by one by capping them. Smoke drifted up in wispy ribbons.” Thus are you severed from the church. Thus are you become excommunicate. Thus are you forbidden the holy sacraments. Thus are you cut off forever from the society of all Daisanites."

Light died. Afternoon dwindled to twilight. Colors faded into grays.

"Let any woman or man who aids them be also excommunicated. They no longer stand in the Circle of Light. God no longer see them."

Ekkehard staggered as if he'd been struck. One of his companions fainted.

Others sobbed.

"I do not fear," said Lord Dietrich.” Let God make Her will known. I am only Her willing vessel."

There was silence. Alberada seemed to be waiting for a sign. Back in the crowd, a man coughed.

Lord Dietrich gave a sudden violent jerk that spun him out of the circle. Three candles went rolling as he fell hard to the floor. He twitched once, twice, and thrashed wildly, struck by a fit of apoplexy.

"So you see," cried Alberada triumphantly.” The Enemy reveals its presence. An evil spirit has taken control of this man. This is the fate that awaits those who profess heresy."

The bravest of Lord Dietrich's noble companions knelt beside the afflicted man and got hold of his limbs, holding him down until he went unaccountably still.

Foamy spittle dribbled from his lips. A single bubble of blood beaded at one nostril, popped, and ran down his lax cheek. He shuddered once, and then the floor darkened and a stink rose where he had voided his bowels.

"He's dead," said Ekkehard in a choked voice, shrinking away from the distorted corpse.

In the shocked silence, Biscop Alberada's voice rang as clearly as a call to battle.” Take the excommunicates to their prison. None shall speak to them, for any who do so will be excommunicated in their turn. The Enemy dwells deep within. Tomorrow we will scourge those who remain, so that we may drive the Enemy out of their bodies."

No one objected. They had just seen the Enemy at work.

The church cleared quickly. Alberada left with a phalanx of clerics at her back.

Guards carried away the corpse, and servants stayed behind to clean up the mess. Hanna waited, because Sapi-entia did not move away immediately. The princess waited because Bayan knelt at the altar, as if praying. Somehow, Brother Breschius had gotten hold of one of the silver cups, and when the church was empty except for Bayan, Sapientia, and several of their most loyal servants, he offered it to Bayan.

Bayan wiped his finger along the lip of the cup, touched it to his tongue, and spat, making a face.” Poison," he said softly.

There was a long silence while Hanna willed herself invisible, hoping they would not notice she had witnessed this horrible revelation. If it were even true.

"Will she poison Ekkehard?" asked Sapientia.” Should we try to stop her if we think she might?"

They had their backs to Hanna still, examining the silver cup and the sooty smudge left on the floor by the overturned candles. She edged sideways into the shadows.

"Ekkehard is not threat to us," said Bayan heavily.

"Not now. He's still young. But he might become a threat. And what of the church? Surely my aunt knows what she is doing if this heresy is so terrible. We must support her."

Bayan shook his head just as Hanna touched the border of one of the tapestries.” If we not defeat Bulkezu, then are we dead or slave. This war must we finish first. Let the church argue heresy after. Eagle."

They all leaped, all but Breschius, looking as surprised and anxious as conspirators as they turned round to see her. The tapestry could not hide her now. Bayan had known she was there all along.

"Eagle," he repeated, now that he had her attention.” At dawn you ride to King Henry."

"Yes, Your Highness," she said, barely able to get the words out. She had a sickly vision of her shrunken, blackened head dangling from the belt of a Quman warrior. Was Bayan sacrificing her because of what she'd heard? Or was this only a sop to his wife's jealousy while they hatched their plans for the succession?

"Wife." He rose to take Sapientia's hand. The princess hadn't moved. One of her stewards held a ceramic lamp, a rooster crowing a lick of flame, and the light softened her expression and made her black hair glisten like fine silk.” To you, this task. Ekkehard must ride at dawn with the Eagle."

"Is this wise?" demanded Sapientia.

"He and other prisoners must ride. We need no—what is this, Breschius, nothing to make our minds fall away from the war."

"No distractions, Your Highness."

"Yes, none of this thing which I cannot pronounce. Consider, how matters are desperate. The biscop is a godly woman, I know this. But she believes God come before war. Bulkezu waits not for God." He indicated the altar and the wreath of candles burning there, the light of the Unities.

"But where do we send Ekkehard?"

"Let him go to the march of the Villams. There he can fight. There he will die or live, as God will it. He and his retinue can escort the Eagle so far, out of danger.

She must to Henry go, and speak our trouble. But Ekkehard will I not have in-Handelburg. That he is prisoner here makes strife in our camp. We have very bad of a situation. If King Henry send no reinforcements, if he not march east himself, then Bulkezu will burn all these lands. This is a hard truth. Maybe we can hold here for a while. // we have no strife in our army. If we have no dis—

ah! No distraction."

"It's a good plan," said Sapientia slowly as she considered his words. That was the great change Bayan had wrought in her; she had learned to think things over.” Ekkehard might still die, fighting the Quman, but that would be a better death for him than being executed for heresy. As a prisoner, his presence can only make things more difficult for us. Some will surely sympathize with his plight. He may still whisper his wicked words to the guards, and maybe there are some in the army who still believe him but lied about it at the trial because they did not want to get punished."

Bayan nodded.

"But how will I free him from my aunt's tower? She will excommunicate me for aiding him."

Brother Breschius stepped forward.” You are the heir, Your Highness. You have already proved your fitness to rule. Think of this as a test of your regnancy.

Biscop Alberada would not contest King Henry, were he to tell her that Prince Ekkehard must be sent to the Villam fortress for safekeeping, with or without a large escort, for surely in such times of trouble we cannot afford to lose a large number of men to guard duty. Nor should she contest you, who are destined to rule after your father, may God will that he be blessed with a long life."

Sapientia twisted the fine embroidered border of her tunic in her hands, crushing roundels between her fingers. The gesture made her look a little like a goose girl about to scold her lover. Yet even a humble goose girl might develop the habit of command.

For an instant, Hanna remembered what Hathui used to say: God make the sun rise on noblewoman and commoner alike, for all folk are equal before God. What truly separated Hanna from Sapientia?

Sapientia lowered her hands. She had a queen's bearing; in that moment, in the gloomy church with the silent saints staring down at them from on high, one could see the luck of the regnant in her face.” I will speak to my aunt. Ekkehard will ride out at dawn, to escort the Eagle until it is safe for her to ride on alone."

Hanna laughed softly to herself. At herself. God had long since separated the lowborn from the high, no matter what Hathui said. A few words exchanged, and Hanna's fate was sealed.

"Eagle." Bayan rose. His gaze on her was steady, a little admiring still, but quite final, as though he knew he had said farewell to her for the last time.” By no means turn south until you have come west of the Oder River. Even then, be cautious. The Quman range far."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Ekkehard is young and foolish, snow woman," he added.” Take care of him."

"Come, we should go," said Sapientia sharply. Bayan went obediently. He did not even glance back. His husky, authoritative figure faded into the gloom alongside that of the princess. Hanna heard them continue talking although she could not make out their words.

Breschius lingered. He took her hand and drew her forward to stand before the altar.” Trust in God, friend Hanna." He made the sign of a blessing over her.

"I thank you, Brother. In truth, I feel afraid,"

He walked with her to the entry way, still holding her hand. His grasp felt comfortable, like a lifeline. Once they stood on the porch, beyond the most holy precincts, he bent his head to speak softly into her ear.” Never forget that a Kerayit princess has marked you as her luck."

The silence, and the secrecy, and the strange tone in his voice, like doom, made her shudder. Death had brushed her with its cold, callous hand.

They left in the cold light of dawn, Hanna, Prince Ekkehard, his six noble companions, and the twenty other heretics, excommunicates all. Sixteen of them marched, since Bayan did not care to lose so many horses.

Frost made the ground icy, a thin crust that hooves and boots crushed easily. As they crossed the western bridge, Hanna looked back to see Lord Dietrich's head stuck on a pike above the gate. After that, she could not bring herself to look back again. Ivar was probably dead anyway. Looking back would not bring him to life. She kept her gaze fixed on Ekkehard's banner, fluttering weakly in a lazy wind. The rain that had followed them for so long had passed. They rode out in cold, hard weather with the sun glaring down and not a feather's weight of warmth in it.

Hanna had not even been given leave to say farewell to her friends among the Lions. Ekkehard's escape had an unsavory air about it, tainted by Lord Dietrich's ghastly death and the threat of excommunication.

They saw no sign of Quman scouts.

It seemed an inauspicious way to ride out.

VIII ALAIN pushed through the crowd now arguing and lamenting in the council house. Once outside, he whistled the hounds to him and ran to the small house, marked by various charms, chimes, and wreaths, that belonged to Adica. She never went in, or out, without making certain gestures at the threshold, and certainly he had not seen a single person from the village enter this hut. But if their gods, or their council, meant to strike him down, they could do it later.

Inside, he stowed the leather bundle with her precious items inside a wooden chest for safekeeping. He grabbed one of her sleeping furs and hurried outside, where the hounds waited.

Sorrow and Rage weren't alone. Half the village had followed him, although they hadn't come inside; the other half waited uneasily outside the council house.

As the hounds sniffed the fur, Kel stepped forward as if to speak, but Beor thrust him aside and set his spear against Alain's chest. The bronze blade gleamed wickedly. Alain grasped the haft of Beor's spear. The other man was stronger, with a bear's muscular bulk, but Alain was on fire.

"Move aside," he said in his own language, staring him down.” If we go quickly, we may still be able to follow their trail and get Adica back. If they meant to kill her at once, they'd have done so, but if they took her, it means we have a little time at least. For the sake of God, do not hinder me."

A strange expression passed across Beor's face. Behind him, villagers murmured to each other. Beor stepped back hesitantly.

"I go," said Alain, groping for words.” I find Adica."

Mother Orla spoke. Instantly, several folk ran off into the vil- j lage.

Kel jumped forward, carrying now a bronze knife in addition to the bronze spear he had taken off the corpse of the dead invader.” I go!" he cried triumphantly.

"I go," said Beor abruptly.

Belatedly, a dozen other adults volunteered, but a large party could not move in haste and secrecy.” Kel." Alain paused, then nodded sharply.” Beor. We go."

Quickly, they made ready. Alain wished keenly for his knife and sword, but he didn't know where Adica had hidden them, and there wasn't time to look.

Instead, he accepted a bronze knife. Mother Orla's errand runners brought rope, waterskins full of mead, a wooden tube lined with fired ceramic and filled with hot coals, and a pungent supply of dried fish, wayfarer's bread, and a bundle of leeks. Both Beor and Kel had wood frames to sling on their backs, fitted with a leather sack for carrying these provisions. Even this ! took precious time.

Alain led the hounds down to the birthing house. Urtan's daughter, following, showed him the scuffed ground where the altercation had taken place; by means of signs and mime, she showed him what she had seen from the watchtower at the gate. Urtan and his companions had run up to Adica and Tosti moments before a group of at least twenty raiders had come running down from the tumulus. They had split into two groups, one to harry the village and one to capture the Hallowed One, Adica.

The hound sniffed the ground and, at a command from Alain, trotted away toward the tumulus, following a trail only they could perceive. Alain followed at a jog, with Kel and Beor at his heels. The villagers gathered like mourners at the gate, watching them go. Then, prudently, the gate was swung shut. The half-finished outer palisade looked flimsy from this height. He saw a scrap of color fallen in the ditch: a corpse.

Who were the raiders who had struck? Why did they look like relatives of Prince Sanglant? Everyone knew that no Aoi roamed the Earth any longer—not unless they were shades, caught in a purgatory between substance and shadow. Why did they want Adica?

Beor and Kel could probably answer these questions, but he had no words to ask. He could only pursue.

He expected the hounds to lead them to the stone circle, but they cut away at the highest ring of earthworks and padded along in the shadow of the twisting serpent of earth until, at the eastern edge, they scrambled downslope.

There, most of the way down the eastern slope, stood a stone lintel, the threshold of a passageway that led into the great hill. Kel moaned with fear as the hounds sniffed at the opening. A long-dead craftswoman had carved into the left-hand pillar a humanlike figure wearing the skin and antlers of a stag. Beside the yawning opening lay an offering of flowers, wilted now, scuffed by the passage of animals and wind. A deer had left droppings where it had paused to investigate the flower wreath, and the hounds became enamored with this fascinating reminder of its passage.

Beor knelt. When he rose, he displayed a scale of bronze that might have fallen from armor. Alain searched to make sure they hadn't missed any other sign of the raiders' passage. A stone had fallen from the hillside and now rested among faded cornflower blossoms. Tansy had found a foothold in a hollow off to one side, where water collected. That was all.

Sorrow barked and vanished into the passage. Kel had gone quite pale, as though painted with chalk. Beor only grunted, but he had a fierce grin on his face as he looked toward Alain as if to see if the other man were brave enough to continue on.

No matter.

A half-dozen torches lay ready, stacked neatly inside the threshold. Alain caught a spark in the pitch-smothered head. Flame blazed up. With his staff skimming the ground ahead to test for obstacles and a second unlit torch thrust between his belt and tunic, he followed Sorrow into the passage.

Beor and Kel exchanged words, soon muffled by stone. Alain had to crouch to move forward. Ahead, he heard Sorrow snuffling and panting. The torch bled smoke onto the corbeled ceiling. Hazy light revealed carvings pecked into the stones that lined the passageway: mostly lozenges and spirals, but here and there curious sticklike hands which reached toward four lines cut above them.

Such symbols of power betrayed the presence of the old gods, but he wasn't afraid of them. They had no power over those who trusted to the Lady and Lord.

The ceiling sloped up, and the thick stone walls rose higher and higher until he walked, unexpectedly, into a great chamber. A stone slab lay on the ground in the center of this chamber. Sorrow sniffed impatiently around it, as though he smelled a rat.

Alain held up the torch as Beor cautiously stepped into the chamber behind him, spear held ready for battle. Rage padded in his wake. There was no sign of Kel.

The high corbeled ceiling arched up into a darkness the hazy torchlight could not reach. Opposite Alain, and to either side, lay niches, each alcove carved with the representation of an ancient queen.

Here, deep in the womb of stone and earth, not even the wind could be heard.

But someone was watching them.

"Where is she?" Alain demanded of that unseen presence.

The torch whuffed out as though a gust of wind had extinguished it. One moment, it hissed and threw smoky light al around them. The next, it was too black to see, and he smelled the scent of burning pitch curl and die away until all he smelled was earth and damp and cold, and the comforting aroma of dog.

Beor swore under his breath, more prayer than oath.

Then even those sensations were gone, and Alain could no longer feel or hear anything, not the breathing of the hounds, not the stone itself beneath his feet.

He was alone except for a shuddering, wheezing sigh that breathed in and out around him, as though the hill itself was a living creature, half asleep and half aware.

"Where is she?" he called again. The vision hit like a blast of light, searing his eyes. Three queens stand before him, one to the north, one to the south, one to the west.

"Whoareyou, to make demands of us?" cries the youngest. She holds in her hand a bow whose length runs writhing with gold salamanders, burning like fire.

Her tomb is carved with two sphinxes. Their clever faces, as much feline as woman, gleam as though touched by phosphorus.

"Who are you, holy one?" She is no saint known to the blessed Daisan, but he can respect her nevertheless, for she is a woman of power even if she is dead.

Her voice rings through him with the fierce clamor of a thunderstorm.” I am the one called Arrow Bright. Have you not heard of me? Was I not fostered by the lion women of the desert, who taught me the secret ways known only to the Pale Hunter?"

"There is much I do not know,” he admits.

"What do you want?" asks h

t e second queen, standing to the south. Her tomb

glows with gold beaten into the shape of a sow, and she has herself the ample outlines of a prosperous woman, sleek and radiant.

"What do you want?" Only a rash man states his true purpose before he knows what he is facing.

She laughs.” I am Golden Sow. It was my magic that made all the women of my tribe fertile, and all their children heal h

t y. Is this not what all people want?"

"How is it that death has marked you, and yet you stand living?" asks the third queen. Her voice has a rasp that makes his skin crawl. Her cairn stands to the west, opposite the passageway. More primitive than the others, it consists of a simple mound of discolored stones like so many worn teeth that once belonged to a creature so vast that each tooth was as big as an adult's head. She is ancient, and toothless, but her eyes are as brilliant as stars.

"How do you know I am living ? " he retorts.

"Only living things suffer desire," retorts Toothless in kind.” What can you give us in return for an answer?"

He laughs. I have no

”

thing to give you, for I came naked to this place."

"Do not say you have nothing," scolds Golden Sow.” You have youth and vitality. You have life.”

"You are untouched, still whole,” says Arrow Bright.” You are a virgin, as are all those sworn to the Pale Hunter's service."

"It is not the Pale Hunter I serve," he says, as respectfully as he can, for it would not do to insult queens of such power, especially since they are dead.

"You serve the Lady, as do we all." Toothless moves a step closer. The scent of the grave wafts from her as her cape, woven of grass, stirs in an unfelt wind.”

The Lady commands both life and death."

"Then I am in Her hands.” He bows his head under the weight of a greater presence looming beyond, an effortless stillness that pervades the chamber and, swelling, expands to fill the entire universe.

Toothless laughs.” Let it be witnessed.”

"I know where she went,” says Arrow Bright suddenly, "but it is the way o this f

place that no thing can be given without an offering pledged in return."

He will give them anything, if only it brings Adica back to her village. He has lost so many; he will not lose her, too.” What do I have that you want? I came naked—

He knows at once what they want from him, and he blushes furiously, heat spreading along his body.

"Pledge to us that which you have held to yourself for so long. If you find her, bring her here, and here, fulfill your pledge.”

"So be it,” he murmurs.

Sorrow barked. Alain staggered as though the ground had dropped out from under him. Beor caught the torch before it fell. He seemed about to speak, but they heard a ghostly whimper and both turned, weapons raised, just as Kel stumbled into the chamber, sweating with fear but with a grimace of determination on his young face.

Rage began digging furiously by the stone altar. Dirt flew, stinging the walls, and a moment later the deepening hole revealed-^ small plank door laid flat against the ground. Straining, Beor tugged it up. An ancient stairway cut down into the rock. At once, Sorrow descended cautiously. Kel muttered imprecations under his breath, but when Alain started down after the hound, he felt Kel head down behind him. Light flared; Beor had lit a second torch to bring up the rear.

The stairs were as smooth as if they'd been polished, and they descended in a curving sweep for long enough that they might have sung Nocturns and seen the sun rise at Prime. Instead of counting the steps, Alain focused his attention past Sorrow so they wouldn't be ambushed out of the dark. Once he stopped so abruptly, hearing a noise, that Kel bumped into his back. The entire party came to a halt.

The noise came again. And again. It was only water, dripping into an unseen pool.

Beor handed round the waterskin and a corner of wayfarer's bread, enough to slake thirst and hunger.

Torchlight flickered on featureless walls. The ceiling lay so low that he could easily touch it with the flat of his palm. By lifting his arms, he could tap the walls with his elbows. Truly, the rock had them closed in. Better not to think about it.

Better not to dwell on a force of armed warriors skulking ahead of him, with spears leveled to pierce his gut. Better to be grateful that the rock remained dry instead of dripping clammy water all over them. It was always wise to thank God for small mercies. He smiled grimly as Sorrow headed down into darkness again.

What need had he to fear, when he had already suffered the worst that could happen to any mortal?

They kept going until the stairs gave out abruptly in a landing just large enough to contain the two hounds and the three men. Beor lifted his spear to tap the rock ceiling, now out of arm's reach. Two tunnels opened before them. A breath of air teased Alain's face as though the rock itself had exhaled. Then all was still.

They each took a sip of water to wet their dry throats. The air had changed, stung with a sharp scent. The rock had changed as jwell; it didn't precisely look like rock any more but had a smooth, polished gleam to it, shuddering under torchlight.

Kel spoke in a frightened whisper, something about a hill, or something under the hill. Nay, a people who lived under the hill, or so it seemed, for he used the word skrolin-sisi several times, enough that Alain was able to pick it out from the others. Was there a tribe who lived deep in the earth? Someone had carved these tunnels.

Beor answered in his big man's rumble. If he, too, were afraid, it was impossible for Alain to tell.

J

Rage snuffled around the two black openings and chose the one to the right.

They went on, but soon the tunnel split into two again and two more. If not for the hounds, they would have lost themselves, for they had stumbled into a labyrinth that went on and on for what seemed forever. Yet the stone walls remained dry and unmarked, oddly warm to the touch, unnaturally smooth.

Whatever hand had built this place had not chosen to adorn it with any form of ornamentation. That made it easy for Alain to paint a sooty mark on the right-hand side of each new turning they took, so that they could, he devoutly hoped, find their way back.

The torch, burning low, began to sputter. They paused to take water with a bite of dried fish. The pitchy smoke steamed past Alain's head, making him cough.

His eyes streamed. Fighting for air, he inhaled but took in a lungful of the noxious smoke instead. Head spinning, he caught himself on the wall, leaning with his head pressed against the cool stone, trying to get steady. From deep in the rock noise shuddered up to drown out the pounding of his heart: a grinding rumble kicked at rhythmic intervals with a decisive clang, like the stroke of a gigantic blacksmith's hammer.

He shut his eyes to stop the dizziness. For an instant he hallucinated: his cheek, pressed against the wall, lay against iron, as though he had fallen asleep on his sword.

He slid a hand up the wall as understanding struck him. The walls were not stone at all. Iron had been forged and shaped to form a cloak for the walls in the same way that soft leather was formed into a glove to fit a person's fingers.

The torch died in his hand. He groped for the spare one tucked in his belt, but a big hand closed over his, to stop him. Beor's hostile presence hulked beside him.

Nothing could stop Beor from killing him right here and right now. The hounds did not growl.

In the silence, he heard what Beor and Kel were straining to hear: the distant clash of a melee echoing weirdly down the labyrinth of iron halls. Beor pushed past Alain to take the lead, but he had gone no farther than ten steps, past two branching tunnels, before he faltered. Some trick of the labyrinth made the sound fade. For a moment, the hiss of Beor's torch drowned out the battle. The big man turned back to try one of the other tun nels, but the hounds surged past him, Alain in their wake, and continued on in the same direction. As the passage twisted, the clamor of arms would sound close, then far, and although they went quickly, still Alain was careful to mark each turning so that they could return.

His sight had adjusted to the dimness. With Beor's torch flaring fitful y behind him, painting shadows and streaks of light over the uncannily regular curve of the tunnel's ceiling, he had no trouble marking his footing. The hounds did not falter. Kel brought up the rear.

He had no trouble marking his footing until he stumbled, slipped where the ground banked sharply down, and half slid into a chamber lit by sorcery, a flaring yellow-white light that blinded him because it was so bright.

One of the hounds barreled into him. He staggered back into the shadowed archway of the tunnel, fell to his knees, and flung up his staff, thinking he would be struck down while he was helpless. No blow came.

Not four steps in front lay an abyss, into which he had almost stumbled. From this angle, he couldn't see its bottom.

The clash of arms echoed all around the chamber, making it hard to tell where it was coming from. Strangest of all, he heard no voices, as if the melee were being conducted in silence. The hounds did not bark or cry out a warning. Kel whispered a word: skrolin! Beor gave a sharp hiss to keep Kel quiet.

Bright light flared again and immediately dimmed to a mellow glow as suddenly as if a giant's breath had blown out a rack of ten torches, leaving only one burning. By this light, Alain saw a melee strung out on the other side of the chasm. About a dozen of the masked warriors struggled against slender, small creatures, who looked like half-grown children whose skin had been polished until it\had the muted gleam of pewter. The feathers ornamenting the warriors'

helmets and armor convulsed with their movements. Many had pushed their masks down for better sight in the dimness. Their bronze spears rang on the round shields held by the little people, shields incised with strange geometric patterns too peculiar to recognize. In their left hands these small fighters held slender clubs with knobby heads that seemed inadequate to the task of war.

All at once, Alain saw Adica, caught in the mob, her hands bound. A man with a helmet crested entirely with snow-white feathers shoved her forward into the hands of his foremost soldiers, trying to move her toward a far archway that gave into a larger passage: their escape route.

Beor nudged Alain, pointing.

A bridge spanned the chasm.

"Ashioi," Beor continued in a low voice.” Fe skrolin d'Ash-ioiket."

Alain set two fingers to his lips for silence and crept forward.

The narrow bridge was cunningly spun out of massive iron rope. He crossed swiftly, crouched low, with the hounds at his heels and the two men following.

The bridge swayed beneath his tread. No one on the other side had seen them; they were too intent on keeping alive as the battle swayed back and forth, voices grunting, coughing, and once a shriek of pain, quickly cut off.

The light changed again, brightening with a flash. The skrolin leaped forward in unison to grapple with their enemies. Now Alain could see that the skrolin weapon was more vicious than it appeared: protruding from the club were two moist spikes, serpent fangs with drops of venom that sparkled in the sorcerous light. They used it to strike at the legs of their taller opponents, bringing them down. One masked warrior, forced to her knees, came eye-to-eye with the small warrior whose club was now pinned under her weight. The skrolin punched its shield into her beautiful hawk's mask, splintering wood, but as the skrolin drew back for another strike, the kneeling warrior wrapped the haft of her spear behind the neck of the skrolin to force it against its own shield, choking it until its eyes bulged and its head began to loll as it fought for air. Its helmet fell free, rolling along the edge with a rhythmic tinkling sound before plummeting into the black pit.

Alain leaped from the bridge to the firm rock below. Swinging his staff in a full arc, he caught the warrior on the side of the head to knock her flat. The skrolin struggled, squirmed, and rolled away. The fallen woman's eyelids fluttered. Her mouth, visible through the shattered mask, sighed open as in death. Had he killed her? But she moaned again and tried to rise before falling back, still stunned.

The nearest masked warrior slammed his shield against the skrolin facing him, before thrusting hard at Alain's head. Alain gave a sharp parry and stepped inside his range to bring the butt end of his staff hard up into the gut of the warrior, then whipped the staff back down onto the man's shoulder, forcing him to the ground.

Beor and the two hounds charged past Alain. The white-crested captain stepped forward to counter this new threat. Rage and Sorrow leaped to the attack but were met by a mist of gnats. Sorrow yelped and col apsed to the ground, scratching violently at his head, as Rage bit the haft of a spear. With jaws clenched tight over the wood, she shook the spear back and forth, worrying it free of the captain's grasp. Beor quickly took advantage of White Feather's helplessness with a thrust at the man's unprotected back, but the white-crested warrior let go of the spear, dropped, and rolled to evade the thrust. In an eye blink, he leaped to his feet and drew his bronze sword. Beor had no shield to counter its thrusting tip. With a berserker's fury or perhaps only an experienced warrior's quick calculation of the odds, Beor dropped his spear, dodged the thrust, and grappled hand to hand with the captain.

Kel had joined Alain and together they parried blows from the other warriors, trying to sow confusion. Trying to stay alive. Rage leaped into the fray and Alain quickly lost sight of her. Sorrow had rolled out of harm's way, still frantically clawing at his muzzle.

Kel had courage but little experience. His hesitations were costly, and only theNpresence of the skrolin kept the enemy from overwhelming them. But many of the skrolin had already fallen. Alain could mark each, one—who was wounded, who was dead. That awareness swellep to encompass the entire field marked by the skirmish as he fought to keep alive, to keep his companions alive, and to drive^ path through their ranks to Adica. The Lady of Battles did npt^attend him here. He had no desire to kill; the thought of killing revolted him. But as he parried and struck, spared Kel a glancing blow and shoved a fallen skrolin out of harm's way, the melee gained sharpness and clarity, an uncanny predictability, a slowing down of time and motion as though all the other participants had been caught in a spell.

The openings became obvious, the blows struck at him easy to counter. As a child he had so loved and dreamed about the frescoes that adorned the church walls: The fal of the ancient city of Dariya to savage horsemen. The fateful battle of Auxelles, where Taillefer's nephew and his men lost their lives but saved the empire. The glorious victory of the first King Henry against Quman invaders along the River Eldar, where his bastard grandson Conrad the Dragon charged his troop of cavalry straigh in

t to the midst o the terri

f

ble host of Quman riders,

breaking their line and sending them scattering back to their own lands.

The field of battle became itself like one of those tapestries, not an undecipherable chaos but a painting in which each fighter was as transparent to him as if he had opened a window into that mind. He knew who was scared and who was hesitant, who new to war, who dangerous through experience or because she was coldblooded. He knew who was ready to run and who was prepared to die.

The warrior before him did not wish to fight; she wanted nothing to do with humans and had al along thought it unwise to trespass below ground. The other warrior, facing Kel, was young, ready to prove himself valiant, and fearful enough of humans that he had the advantage over Kel. Alain stepped in to knock away a spear thrust that Kel, attention caught by Beor's tumbling on the ground, wasn't prepared to meet. At the same time the experienced warrior swung her haft toward his head, but he caught the blow on his staff. He pushed the lower tip of his staff behind the leg of the younger one, and with a twist tripped the young one while striking the elder in the forehead. Both fell.

Kel exclaimed aloud. The enemy line was breaking. Freed of her guard, Adica ducked low and dashed away along the cavern wall, into shadow.

The woman below Alain struggled to get up. Alain placed the heel of his hand on the center of her chest to pin her to the ground. Her eyes widened: they flashed green, like jade, bright and penetrating. Sanglant had such eyes, startling with their gemlike intensity. He stared at her and she at him, he in wonder at her beauty and fierce heart, she in a puzzlement that expanded into surprise and respect. Without a word, Alain granted her passage to leave.

She sprang up and retreated, dragging the stumbling youth with her. Rage tumbled, unhurt, out of the melee to take up her position beside Alain.

Beor hadn't as much luck. White Feather struck him hard in the shoulder, rocking him back, and jumped to his feet, calling out in a voice that reverberated through the chamber. His warriors, some still struggling and some in retreat, formed up into a stout line with their wounded at the rear. Where was Adica?

The skrolin, many of them leaking a greenish-tinged blood, waited in an eerie silence, as though they would not, or could not, speak. Alain sensed, then, that they were biding their time, delaying their enemy. Waiting—but for what?

Beor got to his feet, slipped on his own blood, and staggered back to stand beside Kel. Adica broke free seemingly from out of nowhere and tumbled over corpses to reach their side.

With angry cries, the masked warriors charged the four humans and the remaining half-dozen skrolin. That quickly, the skirmish dissolved into confusion again. With bound hands Adica grabbed for, and dropped, a spear fallen to the ground. A second time she got her fingers around it and lifted it just in time to clumsily parry a blow. A sword stroke hit Kel's back as he turned in the wrong direction in confusion, but the wood frame of the pack protected him. The leather sacking sagged, sliced open by the blow, and provisions spilled out. One warrior slipped on dried fish, falling hard. But the rest pressed forward under White Feather's command, seeking Adica. Kel fell back, unable to hold his own, and slammed into Adica, who stumbled. Half bent over, Beor set about himself, still a threat despite his wound, j Where had that clarlty-^gone; that had made of the battle a brightly woven tapestry? It had seemed so easy before, for those brief moments drawn out like thread into an unbroken present. Now Alain was barely able to block a blow thrown at Adica's head by the white-crested warrior as the captain's sword cut into and hung up in his oak staff. Sorrow was missing, and Rage had dashed out of his sight again. Claws scraped at his calves. Maybe it was possible to die twice. The thought struck him more with astonishment than fear.

Then the world came apart.

Light failed between one breath and the next, drowning them in blinding darkness. The ground buckled and heaved beneath him. Kel shouted out in fear.

Sound cracked like thunder in his ears. The earth splintered between his left foot and his right. He grabbed for Adica and dragged her backward but felt himself sliding forward on his knees toward a new chasm. Heat blasted up from black depths, unseen but felt as a narrow gulf of empty air blasted by a blistering wind. When he opened his mouth to shout a warning, the air scalded his tongue.

He couldn't hear his voice above the scream of the wind.

Teeth grabbed him. A jaw closed on his right foot. The hounds were trying to stop his slide. Adica scrabbled for purchase. A spear slid past him. Its cool length brushed past his calf and then tumbled away, and away, and away—it never hit bottom. It seemed an eternity he slid inexorably toward the chasm with Adica struggling upward beside him. His straining hand, trying to brace against the slick stone, scraped on the edge, and he was falling forward as his spare torch slid out of his belt, bumped back against him because of the force of that wind, and tumbled away.

A small hand caught his linen tunic, then his rope belt. A hundred hands swarmed him, poking and pinching everywhere as they hauled him back. He was helpless in their grip, his back scraping on the ground.

The hands released him, all but one, which searched his torso with wickedly sharp jabs. Its breath, made pungent by a sulfurous tang, tickled his face. Those claws scrabbled up his right arm and gave it a hard pinch, twisting the skin so he yelped. Blood welled where a claw had scraped through the skin. A cool pressure twisted onto his arm. At once, the hounds were all over him, licking and nosing him. The creature assaulting him had vanished.

"Adica?" His throat hurt, and his back ached. Utter darkness hemmed him in. He couldn't hear anything except for the wind.

A lamp flared.

Adica lay beside him, looking half stunned.

Their enemy glared at them from the other side of the chasm, a dreadful fissure out of whose depths boiled that searing wind, which shot straight up toward the cavern's hidden ceiling. The flame trembled and steadied as the captain sheltered it with a hand. Of the dozen warriors still able to fight, six had bows, which they had readied and nocked with arrows during the blackness. White Feather barked a command. Alain threw himself over Adica's prone body. They shot.

None of the arrows made it across the fissure. The blast tore them away, spinning them up toward the ceiling, lost to sight.

"Hei! Hei!" shouted Kel, a call for help.

Alain jumped up, wiping the sting of the wind from his eyes. Beor and Kel clung to the edge of the fissure. Alain dragged them up. In a strange way, the blasting wind helped him. Beor had lost his torches, and his injured shoulder still bled, but.he could walk. Kel's slashed pack dangled dangerously. They hadn't any weapons, but on the flat plateau between them and the bridge a few spears lay scattered. Kel hurried, limping, to gather them up as Alain knelt beside Adica, cutting the rope that bound her hands. Shaking her head and wincing, she got to her feet.

The fissure had split the ground in such a way that they could no longer reach the larger passageway toward which they had originally been heading. Instead, only a single, smaller tunnel opening offered escape from their section of the cavern.

White Feather shouted something very much resembling curses, but there was nothing he and his men could do. His proud face twisted with thwarted anger; a livid cut ran from lip to chin, and a bruise mottled his left cheek. Blood dripped from one ear, dribbling down to stain the leather armor that protected his shoulders. He wore a breastplate of beaten bronze incised with a vulture-headed woman, fierce and commanding. With a snarl, he turned his back on his enemies.

One archer masked^wilrra-bearVface loosed a second arrow, but the wind caught the arrow and lifted it high until it was lost in the cavern's murky heights as wind roared. They couldn't leap the fissure, and the chasm had fractured like a trident into three crevasses, slitting the cavern's floor into tiny islands surrounded by gulfs of wind. The most youthful of the warriors made as if to cast his spear, but a companion restrained him. After a brief conference, they walked cautiously across the length of floor left them, hauling with them three comrades too injured to walk, and crossed into a small tunnel so low that most had to duck as they entered.

" Kel swore furiously. As the lamplight faded, Alain looked to see that the bridge over the first abyss had split down the middle, each half dangling down the face of the chasm.

They were trapped in the middle, caught on a narrow ridge poised between two crevasses.

White Feather vanished down the small tunnel, and his light with him. Blackness descended again. From out of the fissure boomed a throbbing like a giant's reverberant footfalls, each one as loud as a thunderclap. The wind ceased in the next instant.

Rage barked as if surprised, and then all was still and utterly dark.

IER hands smarted as blood rushed back into them. She flexed them as she took steadying breaths in the darkness. Free, but not yet safe. Still, it was better than being trussed up as a captive of the Cursed Ones.

"Hallowed One, can you speak?"

"Beor, how came you to follow me? What happened at the village? Who else was taken?"

He stood to the right of her, panting in the way of a fighter trying to overcome the pain of his injuries.” One of Weiwara's infants was stolen, but the foreigner won it back. Nay, Hallowed One, no others were taken. Only you. It was all a feint."

"To get me."

He grunted to show his agreement.

"We're trapped." Kel's voice cracked, hitting a boy's pitch before sliding down again.

"Adica."

She couldn't see Alain, but she felt him as she would have felt a roaring bonfire.

He stood about an arm's length from her. Instead of answering, she extended her hand into the blackness and, searching, found his arm. He squeezed her hand. That was all. The darkness in the cavern was so absolute that she could not even see his face.

Or was it?

Light rose gently, with the gleam of magic in it. At first she couldn't see where it was coming from. Kel swore.

Alain was glowing.

Nay. An instant later she saw an armband the color of bronze, wound three times around Alain's upper arm. This object glowed. By his expression, Alain was as surprised as she was. He fingered the armband cautiously, twisted it, and grimaced in pain when it would not come off.

"There's an old story told by the grandmothers," said Beor in an odd tone, "that the Wise Ones give precious gifts to those who aid them."

Alain turned away, hiding his face as he examined the strange armband. The breeze blowing up from the fissure, light and cool now, stirred his linen tunic.

From the back, with his fine black hair and his slender build, he might have been a cousin of the Cursed Ones—but he was not. He had felt human enough to her, by the birthing house in those moments before the Cursed Ones' raid, when she held him close and kissed him.

"Rope," said Kel. She looked over at the sound of the youth's voice and saw him beside the fallen bridge, staring down into the gaping chasm with his expression painted with overflowing youthful frustration. He held salvaged rope from his pack. With his gaze he measured the distance between the posts on either side of the chasm. Beor limped over to test the strength of one of the bridge posts.

She crossed to him at once and made him sit so she could examine his wounds.

H/had several, chiefly cuts in both legs and a deeper injury to hjxleft shoulder.

Someone had thought to put a compress and alength of loosely woven cloth for wound-binding into Beor's pack. She used herbs from her own pouch to make a small charm, and bound it in with the compress and the cloth.

He grunted his thanks, no more.

Kel had a funny lopsided smile that betrayed his fear, although he wanted to look brave.” Will the Wise Ones kill us for trespassing in their territory?"

"Surely they could have killed us by now," said Beor, "if they meant to. How did it come about that they fought with the party who kidnapped you, Hallowed One?"

"I do not know. At first I thought the white-feathered one, he who was the leader, meant to take us to the loom."

Both Kel and Beor looked shocked.” Surely the Cursed Ones do not know the magic of the looms," said Kel, voicing what Beor knew better than to speak aloud.” Isn't that the only power we have that keeps us free of their dominion?"

"So I have always believed," murmured Adica.” In any case another party ran up to the stones, perhaps as a decoy. White Feather and his soldiers dragged me into the queens' grave, and there, as you found, was a tunnel built by the Wise Ones who live under the hills."

Beor coughed judiciously, as might a person who meant to step from hiding out behind an armed adult.” I never heard tell stories of a passageway leading beyond the graves of the holy queens."

"Truly, neither did I. It may be that the Wise Ones attacked White Feather and his party simply because they trespassed. The Wise Ones are not our allies, to come to our aid."

Kel said nervously, "I wasn't sure they really existed."

At once, Adica drew a complicated spell in the air to ward off bad luck.” Do not speak so! Just because you have not seen something does not mean it cannot exist! Have you seen the ocean, as I have? Nay, you have not. Have you seen your j mother's mother, may her soul be at rest on the Other Side? Does that mean she did not exist, to give birth to your mother, who in turn gave birth to you? The elders were not fools, to tell stories idly. Listen to their words, and do not close your ears to what they have to say!"

He bent forward, touching his forehead to the ground in apology, fearful of the spirits that always eddied around her, smelling death.” I beg your pardon, Hallowed One. Do not curse me!" He was almost weeping.

She felt immeasurably ancient, watching his young face, even though they had been born in the same season, the same year. He wasn't even old enough to grow a proper beard, although fuzz shadowed his jawline.” I won't curse you, Kel. You were brave to rescue me."

"Nay, it wasn't my idea," he said, and added defiantly, "nor even Beor's. It was Alain. We only followed him."

Alain gave up fiddling with the armband and, turning, paused when he realized that they were studying him. The grandmothers told many stories about ancient times. Adica had always supposed that some were true and some were not, and yet now Alain faced her wearing an armband woven of magical substance. She had always known that the Wise Ones who live under the hills existed, but she—

who had seen so much!—had never seen them nor had she believed the tales about the potency of their magic. She had witnessed their magic today: light without flame and the ability to split the very rock. Truly, what she had seen awed her, for she did not understand the root of their power.

Yet here also stood Alain, wearing an armband forged and shaped by the Wise Ones. She had seen him fighting, when she had had time to look. Nothing had touched him. He hadn't hesitated. Nor did he seem afraid now, watching them with a puzzled expression on his face, as if he expected them to ask him a question. The armband's light cast strange shadows on his face, but somehow it only made his eyes seem brighter and more sweet.

Maybe she understood then that he was not quite like other people. Some unnameable quality separated him from the rest of humankind, perhaps because he had walked on the path that leads to the land of the dead. Except he had stepped off of it. He had come back to the land of the living. He had been touched by a power outside any she understood.

She loved him.

One of the dogs brushed up against her legs and leaned into her so heavily that she staggered sideways, half laughing because her heart was beating so hard already/The other dog, standing at the edge of the light, whined softly^nd padded a few steps away into the blackness, down trie-rjdge^toward the far wall of the cavern, made invisible by darkness.

"I think we must follow the spirit guide." Her fingers still hurt as she collected three spears and two arrows from the floor. It was hard to really get a good grasp on anything, but her legs worked well enough.

As Alain moved, the light shifted, and together they walked cautiously along the ridge of stone, a crevasse gaping on either side.

The dogs had found an opening. This tunnel lay low to the ground, an easy height for the Wise Ones or for dogs, but Alain had to bend almost double to follow the dogs inside.

"I don't want to go in there," said Kel.

"Come." Alain's voice echoed weirdly out of the stone passageway.

Kel smiled weakly, and went after him.

"Go," said Adica to Beor.” You're wounded. Carry what you can. I'll bring up the rear."

Beor had many flaws, but arguing when he was wounded and their party possibly trapped was not one of them. They crept forward through the low passageway with the dogs in the lead.

The passage struck straight, only a few smaller tunnels branching off. In time, the ceiling lifted and they could walk upright, although never more than single file. After some time Beor tired, and they rested, sharing drink and food. They walked again, and rested again. The loss of Kel's provisions hurt them; they only had enough to gnaw off the edge of their hunger, not to satisfy it.

They spoke little. Beor had enough to do to keep going, and the silence and darkness frightened Kel too much to break it with words. Now and again Alain whistled softly under his breath. At intervals he would call lightly ahead to the dogs but otherwise he, too, remained silent.

Adica worried. Would the Cursed Ones stumble upon them, here in the dark? If they knew who and what she was, then had they kidnapped her six comrades as well? If there were not seven to cast the spell, then the spell would fail and the Cursed Ones would spread their empire of blood and sacrifice and slavery across all human lands.

Worst of all, did they understand what the human sorcerers meant to do? Had they learned the secret of the looms? Humankind could never triumph if they lost the power of the looms. These troubled thoughts distracted her. She didn't hear the scrabbling behind her until it was too late. An object, then a second, fell heavily at her heels, knocking her forward. She cried out just as Alain exclaimed out loud ahead of her. A dog barked, and Alain's light vanished.

She whirled with her spear raised to face the threat from behind, but nothing stirred in the black tunnel. Finally, hearing Beor question her, she knelt. Feeling along the floor, she discovered their lost torches, the ones that had fallen into the crevasse., A moment later she realized she could see her hand as a pale blur.

"Hallowed One! We've found a way out!" Kel called from up ahead. She gathered up the torches and followed the sound of his voice. He was helping Beor up a rugged slope of rock. At its top, light bled through tree roots. By getting purchase with one foot on the rocks and grasping the stout tree roots in a hand, she was able to drag herself up into a dense copse. The light hurt her eyes despite the protection of leaves. By the position of the sun she judged it around midday, but they had been so long underground that she supposed an entire day and night had passed since the raid. She gulped down cool, fresh air.

With some difficulty, they got the hounds out and helped Beor climb out as well.

Finally, they all lay on a hillside in the cover of the trees, panting. She wanted to laugh, out of relief, but dared not. Their enemies might be lurking nearby. Kel took a spear and went scouting, and after some time returned triumphantly with an escort of six astonished White Deer tribespeople.

"We're nearby to Four Houses!" Kel exclaimed, and with Ul-frega and her companions as an escort, they walked to the safety of the other village. A healer tended to Beor. A Swift was sent to Queens' Grave to deliver the message that Adica had been found. The Four Houses folk knew how to lay out a good feast: freshly killed boar and venison, pears and apples stewed into a potage, bread, and barley porridge sweetened with honey. Beer flowed freely, and the tale was told at length, and then a second time when the most experienced of the Four Houses warriors asked for more details.

What weapons did the Cursed Ones use? What of these clubs borne by the Wise Ones? Did the under hill people have eyes, or were they blinfd? Was it r/ue they could not speak? Had the foreigner been enchanted by the Wise Ones, or was he simply a sorcerer himself, hdarding great power? Could Four Houses take one of the bronze spears in exchange for the hospitality they had shown to the Hallowed One this day?

In return, Beor scolded them for their unfinished palisade, and Kel gained a circle of admiring youths who wanted to hear all about his heroic efforts. Alain sat quietly. He was too strange a figure to be fawned over, nor did he seem to care that he was left alone to attend to his food. Certainly he had become accustomed to being stared at. Now and again Adica caught him looking at her, and each time her heart beat a little harder for thinking of what might yet come to pass. For her own part, she waited with mounting impatience for the return of the Swift. The youth returned in the late afternoon: a large escort would come from Queens' Grave tomorrow to escort the Hallowed One back to her own village. The Walking One known as Dorren waited for her there; he had brought a message from Falling-down.

She passed a fretful night and in the morning paced restively while Kel and Alain helped the Four Houses villagers raise the log walls of their palisade and Beor rested. At last the escort came, overjoyed to see her and flush with the news that none of the injured people at Queens' Grave had died in the attack or caught a festering infection in their wounds. The march back to the village passed swiftly, and in the village itself, still marked by the recent battle, roasting and baking went on at a great rate in preparation for a celebratory feast on the morrow.

Dorren waited on the bench in the council house, sipping at beer. How eagerly he greeted her!

"Hallowed One!" He could not touch her. Standing beside the table, he contented himself with turning his mug around, and around again, with his good hand.” I bring a message from Falling-down, but I feared I came too late when I arrived here and heard the news of the attack." He glanced past her and flushed, eyes widening with surprise, as Alain entered the council house.” This is the foreigner. Just as Falling-down predicted. He saw this one in a dream."

"Did he?" A knot curled in her gut. Falling-down had the gift of prophetic dreaming, and if he spoke against Alain's presence, then even Mother Orla might go back on her agreement.

"He saw a foreign man stumble weeping through a gateway of blue fire, with two hounds at his side. There was a creature beside him, with flaming wings, one of the gods' servants."

"He came here through the loom. The Holy One brought him."

"Truly, Falling-down did not know whether he had had a vision of the past, or of the future. He said I must journey here to look at this foreign man myself, and to bring you a message."

Adica did not look again at Alain. She did not need to. She knew exactly where he stood in relation to her; she felt him take the mug of beer offered to him by Mother Orla's granddaughter, Getsi, and thought perhaps she could taste the bite of it on his lips as he drank.” What message?"

Dorren composed himself, going still as he brought the words to his tongue. She saw, in his face, the qualities that had attracted her to him, gentleness, intelligence, and wit, but somehow he seemed, not diminished, but set in shadow, now that she had seen Alain. When Dorren spoke, he did so in the singsong voice used by most Walking Ones to deliver their memorized messages.

His good hand wove little pantomimes as he spoke, each one helping him to recall.

"Falling-down of the Fen tribe speaks these words to Adica of the White Deer people. Shu-Sha of the Copper people sends this warning to her sisters and brothers." His hand fluttered like a crane, which flies easily and which because of its alert disposition cannot easily be surprised.” The Cursed Ones have discovered that we are leagued against them. They may strike at any time, from any direction. Be vigilant." He made the sign for a hawk, striking unexpectedly.”

Horn believes the Cursed Ones know the secret of the loom and hoard it until they will strike all at once against each one of us, but Brightness-Hears-Me speaks these words in disagreement: a man may see holy blood come forth from a woman, but that does not mean he can make it come forth from his own body.

Two Fingers has seen disturbances in the deep places. Beware above ground and below, for the Cursed Ones have the power to strike from any place. Fortify your dwelling places, and make fast your houses. Retire to the wilderness, or ring your encampment with charms. Do not walk the looms except in dire need.

If the Cursed Ones have unraveled the secret of the looms, then no person who walks the looms will be safe frorn them. Send the Walking Ones if there is need for a message. Be like the griffins, who watch their eggs carefully against the lion: Guard yourself well until the day that is coming, when we will act."/

She gaveJiim-'fieace to drink after he finished speaking, but she could not stop from shifting restlessly from one foot to the other, waiting for him to down the mug of beer. When he had recovered, she spoke.” Yet the Cursed Ones struck here. If they had wanted slaves, they would have carried off many, yet they only took me."

"Then what Shu-Sha fears is already coming to pass," said Dorren.” We had heard no report of any disturbances when I left the fens, but by the moon I would say that three days passed while I stepped through the looms."

"You must return quickly to see if anything has befallen Falling-down. Tell him what happened here, and let the Walking Ones take this story to my sisters and brothers, so they can know the danger that awaits us."

"Those words I will carry back to Falling-down. What of our allies, the Horse people?"

"The Holy One sometimes visits this place at the full moon. I wait for her then."

Dorren nodded. She looked back, wondering at the silence behind her, to see Alain listening intently. His expression burned with frustration as he shook his head and, with a grimace, set down his cup.

"Let me sit with him until it's time for me to leave," said Dorren.” I can teach him some of our language. The Walking Ones who taught me gave me certain secrets to help me learn the languages of our allies more quickly."

"Truly, do so, and I will be grateful."

He glanced at her oddly.” Is it true that the Holy One sent him to be your husband?"

She had to look away. Dried fish and herbs hung from the beams; smoke had gathered in the rafters.” I bow to the Holy One's will." Would they think it unseemly if they knew how quickly she had fallen under Alain's spell? Would they suspect that the Holy One had used magic to bind her to the stranger? Not everyone trusted the Horse people and their powerful shaman, but she did. No magic had influenced her. Sometimes passion took people so: like a hawk, striking unexpectedly.

Dorren examined the council house thoughtfully before addressing Mother Orla with respect.” Where is my apprentice, Dagfa? She does not attend the Hallowed One as she should."

"Her mother stopped breathing just as the barley harvest came in. She had to go back to Muddy Walk to help lay the path that will lead her mother's spirit to the Other Side. Your old teacher is too crippled to walk all the way from Old Fort, and his other apprentice has gone to learn the language of the Black Deer people."

"A strange time to do so when one is needed here with the Hallowed One at all times," said Dorren with a frown.” Send a Swift to fetch Dagfa back. Her sister can draw the final spiral herself. When I am gone, Dagfa can teach the foreigner, so he can learn to speak. Falling-down would not have dreamed of him if he were not important. What if he brings a message from the Other Side? What if the gods have chosen to speak through him, but we cannot understand him?"

"So be it," said Mother Orla, acknowledging the truth of his argument.

Yet Alain could communicate, even if not always in words. That evening when Adica led Dorren up to the loom Alain came with her, although no common villager dared witness sorcery for fear of the winds and eddies of fate called up by magic.

She had spent the afternoon with Pur the stone knapper, repairing her mirror.

He promised to make her a new one, but meanwhile he had glue stewed from the hooves of aurochs by which he could make the mirror whole again, good enough to weave the loom this night.

When she met Dorren and Alain again before sunset, Alain greeted her very prettily, although it was clearly easier for him to parrot the words Dorren had taught him than to understand her reply. They left the village and walked up through the embankments to the tumulus.

"I remember my father toiling on these embankments," said Dorren.” He believed that such fortifications would protect all the White Deer people from the incursions of the Cursed Ones, yet how can they if the Cursed Ones have learned how to walk the looms?"

They paused to look back at the village below, .the houses with their long^ides facing south to get the most warmth from the winter sun, the\garden plots denuded except for the last leafy turnips going to seed^ a restless mob of sheep huddled together for the

night. Adults swarmed around the outer palisade, raising logs.” Each village must protect itself," said Adica softly, "until that day we are rid of the Cursed Ones."

Dorren looked away from her quickly, remembering the fate laid on her.

Beside her, Alain knelt to dig a hand into the soil.” This is called 'earth,'" he said, sounding each word meticulously, although he couldn't reproduce the sounds precisely. He gestured toward the nearest curve of the embankment.” This is called 'wall of earth.'"

Dorren chuckled.” You will learn quickly with a good teacher."

"A good teacher," echoed Alain, wiping his hand off on grass.

They reached the loom as night fell. The circle of stones stood in silence, as they always did. She set her feet on the calling ground. Dorren knew to stand to her right side and, after a moment, she got Alain stationed to her left, although he seemed as likely to wander right into the loom itself.

Clouds covered part of the sky, which made the weaving more complicated.

Since the Grindstone lay concealed by clouds, she would have to weave a gateway by means of the Adze and the Aurochs, whose hulking shoulders she could use as a weight to throw the gate open to the west.

Lifting her mirror, she began the prayer to waken the stones: "Heed me, that which opens in the east. Heed me, h

t at which opens in the west.”

Alain did not tremble or run, as many would have, faced with sorcery such as she wove now out of starlight and stone. The hill woke beneath her. The awareness of the ancient queens gripped her heart, as though their hands reached through stone and earth and death itself to take hold of their living heir, to seize her for their own purposes.

Starlight caught in the stones and she wove them into a gateway of light. She scarcely heard Dorren's murmured "fare you well" before he swiftly left her side, stepped into the gate—and vanished from her sight.

Alain took two steps forward to follow him. Adica pulled him back.” No. Do not follow him." He moved no farther, yet his expression as he stared into the gateway of light had a blankness in it, as though his thoughts, his soul, his heart had left to cross into unknown country, where she could never follow. Unbidden, unexpectedly, her voice broke.” I would not have you leave me, Alain."

The light faded, the gateway splintered and fell apart, and al at once she began to weep.

One of the dogs whined. Its jaws closed, gently but firmly, on her hand, drawing no blood but tugging firmly. Alain took her mirror out of her hands and looped it at her belt. He scolded the dog softly, and it released her, but Alain clasped her hand instead.

"Come," he said, gently but firmly.” I give to the not-breathing ones. To the—

the queens." He struggled to recall the words Dorren had taught him.” To the queens I give an offering."

To the queens. They still resided in her. The echo of their presence throbbed in tune to the beating of her heart. The queens demanded an offering only from those who begged for their help. Yet once that bargain was struck, no matter how bitterly the price weighed on the one who had braved holy ground to petition them, it had to be fulfilled. Even she, especially she, could not escape promises made to the holy dead.

Like a stick thrown in a river, she went where the current pulled her. Alain led her down the eastern slope of the tumulus to the stone lintel that marked the sacred entrance to the queens' grave, the holy place for which the village was named. There lay the threshold of the passageway that led into the secret womb where the ancient queens rested. Clouds crept up over the heavens, veiling stars one by one.

Alain groped for and found a torch. She struck flint and lit it. The torch bled smoke onto the corbeled ceiling, revealing the symbols of power carved into the stones: ships drawing the sun down to the underworld, the spiral path leading the dead to the Other Side, the hands of the Holy Ones who had gone before, reaching for the four staffs of knowledge. Crouching at first, they were able to straighten up as the ceiling sloped upward, so that they walked upright into the low chamber where the queens rested in three stone tombs, each in her own niche.

The tombs bore carvings representative of each of the queens. The tomb of Arrow Bright, lying to the west, was carved with two sphinxes: the lion women of the desert from whom she had learned the secret ways of the Huntress. In the southern niche, Golden \

\

Sow's tomb gleamed with gold melted from phoenix feathers and beaten into the shape of a sacred sow, the spirit guide of the queen whose magic had made all the women of her tribe fertile and their children healthy. Last, in the niche that faced north, lay Toothless' cairn, more primitive than the others, for she had reigned in the days when the magic of metalworking was not known among humankind.

Here, deep in the womb of stone and earth, not even the wind could be heard.

She stepped forward to offer a prayer, but Alain pressed her back and stepped forward in her place. He stood straight and proud, bright and fearless, as he spoke words in his own language, which she could not understand.

What was he telling them? She knew they were listening, because the dead are always listening.

The torch blew out, leaving her caught in their vast silence. She couldn't even feel Alain's comforting presence nor hear the panting of the dogs.

The vision hit like a blast of light, searing her eyes.

Alain, dressed in clothing unlike any garb she has seen before, stands beside a stone tomb so remarkably carved into the shape of a supine man that she believes that in a moment the stone will come to life and the man will sit up.

Stone dogs lie with him, one at his head and one at his feet. Alain weeps silently, tears streaming down his face. A company of women enters the house behind him, only it is no house but a high hall of cunning and astounding design lo

, f ing

t

impossibly toward the sky. Alain turns to the one who walks foremost among them, a queen so thin and wasted that she is ugly; truly, the Fat One gave none of her blessing here. In the heart of this queen lies thwarted spring, knotted coils twisted and bent around a withered spirit stained with fear. But Alain loves her.

The young queen offers him nothing, and yet he loves her anyway.

Adica weeps, bitterly, and her tears wash the vision away until she floats on the vast waters. Foam licks around her as she is caught in the wake of an animal as sleek as a dragon and as swift as a serpent, d irving through the sea. At first she thinks it is a living creature, lean and long, but then she sees it is a ship. It is utterly unlike the low-bellied, hide-built curraghs in which the coastal tribes scour the shoreline for fish and fowl. A dragon's head carved out of wood adorns its stem. A creature like a man yet not one of humankind stands at the stem, searching as mist closes in around him. What manner of creature is he? What is he looking for?

But she knows as soon as she wonders, for within the vision she can see into the pumping mass of flesh veined with stone that serves him as a heart. He, too, is looking for Alain.

Mist sweeps in like a wave, blinding her. The tendrils that coil around her bum as brightly as if they are formed out of particles of fire. She sees into them and beyond them.

There are spirits burning in the air with wings of flame and eyes as brilliant as knives. Yet one among them sinks, weighted with mortality. This one falls, blazing, into a threshold composed of t\visting blue fire, the passageway between worlds. Through the gate this falling woman sees onto the middle world, the world known to humankind: there in the middle world, a huge tumulus ringed by hal -rui

f

ned ramparts rests in silence. Dead warriors lie

scattered along the rampart walls and curves. A killing wind has blown them every which way. Like leaves the dead lie tumbled up against a ring of fallen stones, some shattered, some cracked in half, that stands in ruins at the heigh t

of the hill.

Adica prays for the protection of the Fat One and the courage of the Queen of the Wild, though no words pass her lips—or if they do, she cannot hear them.

She knows this hill and these ramparts, now worn away, crumbling under the hand of an immeasurable force she cannot name. She recognizes the ring of fallen stones, covered by lichen and drowned by age. It is Queens' Grave, but it is not the Queens' Grave she knows, with f eshly

r

dug ramparts ringing the

queens' hill and a stone loom newly set in place on the summit in the time of her own parents.

It is Queens'Grave garbed as the Toothless One, the hag of old age. Its youth and maturity have long since been worn away by the bite of the seasons and the winds and the cold rain. It is like glimpsing herself as an aged woman, old and ruined and forgotten.

Yet one stone still stands within the stone loom. Clothed in blue-white fire, it shelters a dying warrior. Clothed in metal rings, slumped against the burning stone, he waits for death attended by t\vo spirits clothed in the forms of dogs.

The falling woman cloaked with blazing wings of aethe ial r

fire whirls past Adica's

sight. She reaches for the dying warrior, and as she gr asps him and pulls him

after her, Adica recognizes Alain. But the blazing woman's grip tea s -away, o r

ff

his shoulde s, and he is lost

r

, torn off the path that leads to the land of the dead so that he walks neither in the world where he lived or on the path that should take him to the Other Side. He is lost, with his spirit guides crowded at his feet, for the space of a breath and a heartbeat, until the Holy One's magic, the binding power known to the Ho s

r e people, nets him and drags him in. He lands,

bleeding, dying, and lost, on the great womb of the queens.

She gasped into awareness at the same moment his hand found her shoulder and closed there. He said her name and dropped down onto his knees behind her, his face wet against her neck.

"Alain," she whispered. She turned to face him, together on their knees, and he clung to her, or she to him; it was hard to tell and perhaps they clung to each other, flotsam washed in a vast wave off the sea.

It seemed to her then that they knelt not on stone but on a bed of grass, under the stars on a night made for mysteries. Trees surrounded them. Nearby a waterfall spilled softly onto moss-covered rocks. How they had come to this place she did not know, only that the wind breathed into her ears with certain subtle and al uring whispers. He held her tightly, and as she shifted, moving her arms on his back, his hands found other places to wander as well. He murmured under his breath, but though his words remained a mystery to her, the language of the body needed no words to convey its message.

He spoke in other, wordless ways: I ought not, but I want to. I am unsure, disquieted, yet my desire is strong.

This was the offering. Yet still he hesitated.

She had not become Hallowed One because she thought sluggishly. She groped for and found the rope that bound his linen tunic tight at his waist, and when he kissed her, she unbound this crude belt so that the linen fell askew. She slipped her fingers down through his, twining their hands together, and with her free hand bound the rope around their clasped hands, once, twice, and a third time.

She knew the words well enough: With this binding, we will holdfast together.

May the Fat One bless our union.

May the G een Man b

r

ing

r

us happiness and all good things.

May the Queen of the Wild reveal what it means to walk together.

Like coals stored within a hollow log, he burned hot and shy. But in the end, the queens had their way. No doubt in their silent graves they still dreamed of that congress which is as sweet as the meadow flowers. She felt them inhabiting her body just as she knew their power blazed in her for this while, caught in an unnatural enchantment of their devising. Truly, in this place, what man could resist her?

Not he.