PART FOUR

THE

XIV

THE flames scoured her clean. They emptied her of emotion, of her past, of all her links to any substance except fire, because she was fire. Long ago Da had constructed and then locked a door in the citadel of her palace of memory, hiding from her the truth of what she truly was. Even as the fire of the Sun consumed her, the pure fire of her innermost heart burned more brightly even than the blast of the Sun, waves of heat and golden towers of flame. The door remained in place, but now she could peer through that keyhole and understand exactly what it was she saw writhing and burning, the thing that Da had locked away from her: her secret soul, the blue-hot spark that had given her life and that permeated her substance.

am only half fanned out of humankind. She needed no words, no voice, because the fire itself was her voice. The daimones who took me at Verna are my kin.

I am fire.

Exultant, she reached easily into the blazing fire of the Sun and transformed it into wings. On these wings she rose on the updraft of an uncurling flare to the limit of the Sun.

Yet even so, to her surprise, she had not left everything behind. Maybe she could never leave everything behind. She still had her bow and quiver of arrows; she still had the gold torque, cold at her neck, that bound her to Sanglant, and the bright beacon of lapis lazuli, the ring Alain had given her. But nothing else, only the fire that suffused the physical form she called a body.

Jedu's baleful glare bathed the horizon in a bloody red, the home of the Angel of War. The gates were guarded by a pair of sullen but dreadful daimones, carrying spears carved of crystal. Skulls dangled from their belts, and their faces shone with blood lust. She strung her bow and nocked an arrow, lit it so it burned.

They laughed, seeing how pitifully small she was. Although she was fire, they did not fear her. They were big as castles, with thighs as broad as a house and arms as stout as tree trunks.

"Pass through, pass through!" they cried mockingly, with voices that boomed and crashed.” We'll watch the sport while you're hunted down and killed, Bright One."

"I thank you," she said, seeing no reason to stay and quibble with creatures who looked ready to squash her like a bug.

She passed through the arch as their voices followed her, deep and resonant.”

Go as you please, Child of Flame, yet you will lose something of yourself on the path!"

She tumbled into Jedu's angry lair.

AT dawn, Bulkezu ordered the vanguard driven forward with the lash to swarm the walls of Echstatt. Maybe the hapless men, women, and children would find mercy in the Chamber of Light, since they had certainly found none at Bulkezu's hands. He used his prisoners wisely, if one called ruthlessness wisdom. By pressing the unarmed mob up against the wal s first, he ensured that Echstatt's defenders used up much of their precious store of ar <> rows, javelins, and hot tar on folk who could do nothing to harm them in return.

Hanna refused to weep while Bulkezu watched her. He liked to watch her, just as he liked to make her watch each assault as his army struck deep into the heart of Wendar, having long since outflanked his pursuers. He was trying to batter her down, breach her walls, but she would not give in.

By midday the Quman breached the town's gates and the fires started. Smoke and flame curled up from houses, halls, and huts, melting the thin mantle of snow on the rooftops. Mounted on a shaggy Quman horse, surrounded by Bulkezu's command group as they surveyed their troops from a hillside overlooking the prosperous town, Hanna saw every bitter moment as the victory unfolded. Despair tasted like ash on her tongue as the winged riders started in on their usual slaughter, cutting the fingers off folk who didn't give up their rings quickly enough, dragging adult males out into the streets and kil ing any who resisted.

Smoke billowed into the sky as fires raged. A dozen riders hurried out of the church as it, too, began to burn, flames licking up through the roof. Four men held corners of the embroidered altar cloth; vestments, gold fittings, silver cups, and the deacon's bloodstained stole jostled in a heap at the center. After a moment, the glass window above the altar blew out.

In a prosperous town like Echstatt there was plenty to loot beyond fodder, provisions, and the church's treasure. Bulkezu's intentions remained a mystery to her, because he seemed remarkably uninterested in loot except in so far as it pleased his troops to enrich themselves with trinkets and slaves.

Now, of course, came the worst part as the Quman herded the surviving townsfolk out of the gates and onto their ruined fields. Bulkezu gestured, and the command group moved forward. Trapped between his warriors, she had to go along with them as they rode down to examine the captives.

An old woman limped, a trail of blood marking her stumbling path. A young man hugged a baby to his chest while at his side his pretty wife, her expression caught between terror and hopeless anger, slapped her screaming toddler into silence before clutching the now-stupefied child tightly against her as tears streamed down her cheeks. Children sobbed. A girl tried vainly to hold together her torn sleeve. A chubby man in steward's robes fell to the ground and lay there moaning helplessly, face buried in the dirt.

Smoke from the burning houses clouded Hanna's vision. Tears stung her eyes.

The townsfolk saw her then, an Eagle riding among the hated Quman.

An elderly man dressed in a rich man's tunic stepped forward, raising his merchant's staff.” I pray you, Eagle," he cried, "intercede for us—"

A Quman struck him down. Blood pooled from the old man's temple into the depression left by the heel mark of the warrior's boot. A half-grown boy with a cut on his cheek screamed out loud, once, and an older girl who looked to be his sister clapped a hand over his mouth. There was a terrified silence. All of the townsfolk dropped their gazes and hunched their shoulders, as if by not seeing, by making themselves small, they would not be seen.

Bulkezu laughed. The sound echoed weirdly, muffled by his helm. He gestured, and the interpreter hurried foi'ward, eager to serve. He had stolen a new tunic off a corpse about ten days ago and had recently gotten hold of a silver chain out of the ruins of a burned church. The finery made him vain. Hanna hadn't known his name before, but now that he had a half-dozen prisoners to use as slaves, he had begun to style himself "Lord Boso." Sometimes, if Bulkezu was in a magnanimous mood, Boso got to pick a fresh woman from among the newly-captured prisoners rather than accept the leavings after the Quman had done with them.

Bulkezu pulled off his helm. He spoke, and Boso translated.

"His Munificence feels a strong mercy weighing upon his heart. Be glad you do not face his wrath. Because of his good humor this day, he will allow the Eagle to choose ten from your number. The rest will become prisoners. It will become their good fortune to be allowed to serve their Quman masters."

Was this mercy? Hanna felt sick. The townsfolk stared at her, seeming not to understand his words. Already Quman warriors walked among the three hundred or so captives, testing the soundness of limbs, pinching the arms of the young women to see how pleasingly fat they were, prodding the few men who remained,” those who hadn't been killed in the first assault or the final desperate fighting. Some men made good slaves; some did not, because they would always struggle. Bulkezu and his men knew how to tell the difference.” What will happen to those left behind, the ones I choose?" she asked.

Bulkezu kept a stony face until Boso translated her words. His reply was swift and certain.” His Bounteousness gives his word that they will be allowed to stay behind, unmolested. Let the Eagle choose."

The reputation of the Kerayit shamans had protected her for this long. Bulkezu had not laid a hand on her, but perhaps he meant to win her regard using different methods, mercy and persuasion, if you called this mercy. She regarded him suspiciously, but he only smiled, looking ready as always to burst out laughing.

She made the mistake of looking again at the townsfolk. They were beaten, they were lost, but a few had managed to understand Boso's words. No matter how they struggled to keep their expressions blank, she saw hope flower in their eyes, she saw hatred burn for the choice she would be allowed to have over them. The girl with the torn sleeve hissed.” Slave! Traitor!" She wasn't talking to Boso.

The townsfolk all looked at Hanna; in their hearts they knew what she was, if she rode among the Quman. Fire hissed from the town, an echo of the girl's accusation. Boso whispered to Bulkezu, and the prince snapped a command. The girl was dragged forward, thrown down to her knees before him. She began to snivel and cry. She couldn't have been more than thirteen. He drew his sword.

"I choose her," said Hanna hastily.” I am a prisoner, too. I have no choice, I didn't ask to travel with them." These words she spoke to the watching townsfolk, but they didn't believe her. They hated her now anyway, whatever they believed of her, because she had the power of life and death over them, the power to choose who would remain free and who would become a slave. It was a cruel game to play with them, and with her. Hope is often cruel.

But if she didn't choose, then they would all suffer as Bulkezu's slaves.

He laughed as she choose them—the defiant girl, the young couple with the two small children, a man with the burly arms of a smith, a woman who reminded her of her mother and the teenage girl clinging to her side—because by the time there were only two choices left to make they were all begging and pleading to be chosen themselves, or thrusting their innocent children forward in the hope of saving them from the Quman yoke. So many.

Cold wind stung her cheeks, bringing tears. The Quman warriors shoved the desperate townsfolk back, away from Hanna.

Children wept. The boy with the cut cheek shuddered as his sister gripped him tightly, but no sound escaped him. The steward curled up and moaning into the dirt began to claw the ground as though he meant, like a mole, to dig himself in to safety. He was missing three fingers. His blood had spattered the front of his linen tunic.

"Two more," cried Lord Boso cheerfully. The townsfolk's fear excited him. His eyes ranged over the women who were left, measuring them, his own nasty gaze lit with greedy desire.

The Quman watched without expression, all except Bulkezu, who found the scene amusing. She hated him for his laughter. She hated him all the more because it would have been easier to hate him if he had been ugly, but even when he laughed, even when he reveled in her pain and in his captives's despair, when his laughter revealed a pitiless and ugly heart, none of that darkness marked his handsome face.

It wasn't true after al , what the church folk sometimes preached: as inside, so outside.

Let no one know she was weeping inside. She was the King's Eagle. It was her duty to witness, to save what she could. She picked out two more girls, both about the same age as the girl with the torn sleeve. Old enough to survive if they were left on their own. Old enough to be raped and taken as concubines if they were left with the Quman.

Boso cursed at her, having had his eye on one of them. Bulkezu finally stopped chuckling. With shuttered eyes, he watched Hanna, not the chosen ten being herded back to burning Echstatt. A captain called out the advance. A horn blew.

Weeping and wailing, the rest of Echstatt's survivors were goaded and lashed toward the waiting army.

<> The captives stumbled along. One toddler, falling behind, was killed where it lay sobbing, a prod for the rest. Riding with the command group, Hanna soon outdistanced them, but their cries and grief stayed with her anyway, melding soon enough into the morass of sorrow that attended the Quman army: the mob of prisoners driven along with livestock and extra horses.

Late that afternoon the scene was repeated again when the vanguard reached a village. Soldiers drove a crowd of prisoners forward to take the brunt of the initial assault. When the first flurry of arrows trailed off, the Quman troops attacked, burned the palisade and houses, and rounded up prisoners. Bulkezu brought her forward again, to grant mercy to ten.

"I won't do it," she said.” You're only playing a game with me. You don't care about mercy."

Bulkezu laughed. As he spoke, Boso translated.” Then I will choose, and leave ten behind for the crows."

This time a woman spat on her, calling her worse names than "slave" and

"traitor", and was murdered for her disrespect. But Hanna chose ten while the others huddled in hopeless silence or stared at her accusingly.

"Mercy is a waste of time," said Bulkezu as Boso translated.” People despise the ones who show them mercy."

"They feel I have betrayed them," said Hanna, "and maybe I have."

The vanguard set up camp an arrow's flight from the ruined village, upwind from the mass of the army and, more particularly, from the stinking mass of livestock and prisoners. But Bulkezu liked to survey his riches. He liked his luxuries, his silk robes, handsome gold trinkets, sweet-smelling women he did not treat badly as long as they did not resist him. Yet these were all things he could give up and leave behind without a moment's thought. What he enjoyed most of all, as far as Hanna could tell, was the misery he left in his wake.

With his night guard in attendance and Hanna perforce at his side, he rode back along the lines, weaving in and out through his troops, stopping at campfires, inspecting tents, until he reached the bloated crowd of prisoners mixed together with stolen livestock, cattle and goats and sheep bleating and lowing, chickens and ducks fluttering and squawking in cages, and

every variety of donkey and horse, from scrawny asses to sturdy work ponies to an aged warhorse now ridden by four small children. Even cowed as the prisoners were by their fear of their masters, they still made noise enough to wake the dead. She could not count them all; in the last few days the numbers had swelled alarmingly as the Quman army swept into more densely inhabited areas. By now, she guessed there were twice as many prisoners as soldiers.

Winter had become spring, although here and there snow lingered on the rooftops or in the northern shadow of trees. Cold and wet made conditions wretched even for those who traveled in some comfort. For the prisoners, most barefoot and half without even a cloak to warm them, spring was deadly. Every night some lay down who would not get up again in the morning. Children too weak to cry whimpered. A man scratched the festering sores on his legs. A mother clutched an emaciated child to her breast, but she had no milk. Here and there knots of people huddled together, protecting precious stores of food gained from relatives who had by one means or another come under the protection of a man in the Quman army—a young woman to be his concubine, her mother to cook his meat and gruel or to mend his shirts, a boy to groom his horses or polish his armor.

While Hanna watched, a dozen soldiers rode up to look over the new captives.

The guards rounded them up—easy to mark out the new ones because their look of terror hadn't yet been subsumed by numb despair—and prodded them forward. Bulkezu watched with that irritating half smile on his face. Other villages had been overrun today. Hanna saw prisoners who had not been among those she had seen taken, chief among them a pretty young woman who had just the kind of pleasingly plump figure that Quman men found attractive. Soldiers jostled each other to get close to her, to poke and pinch her, to check her teeth and test the strength of her hair; soon enough she was crying openly, so afraid that she wet herself. One man shoved another to get him out of his way. Curses flew fast and furious.

The smile vanished from Bulkezu's face as he urged his horse forward. At once, the jostling ceased and the men moved back obediently. His griffin wings hissed softly as a breeze rose. Bulkezu ruled his army with an iron hand. He did not tolerate fighting among his troops. Lord Wichman and his cronies would not have lasted a day among the Quman, no matter how great their prowess in battle.

He bent down from the saddle to touch the young woman's hair, letting it fall through his hands before lifting it up again, testing the weight and silkiness between his fingers. The young woman had wits enough to stop weeping, although maybe she was only shocked into a stupor.

Bulkezu had decided to take her for himself.

He called out orders. Then they all waited with that seemingly infinite patience the Quman had while two of the night guards rode away to the vanguard.

Bulkezu whistled merrily while he waited; some of the soldiers contented themselves with other, women, dragging them away from their families while cries of grief and fear broke out among the new prisoners. The young woman stood stiffly, bolt upright, only her gaze ranging as she looked for help, for succor, for escape—hard to say.

Hanna moved forward as the night guards returned with all five of Bulkezu's current concubines, to be handed over to the men who had been fighting over the new woman. One of them—the blonde who had been found hiding in a root cellar—threw herself down before his horse, crying and pleading, trying to grab his boot and hang on. Bulkezu, laughing, kicked her in the face and signaled to a soldier to drag her away.

Hanna used the cover of this mild disturbance to ride in close to the new captive. She bent forward as she passed, spoke quickly and in a low voice, hoping the girl had wits enough to pay attention.” No flattery. No whining. No fear. Don't cry."

Then she had crossed beyond her, not daring to turn to see how the woman had reacted. The blonde was still weeping as one of the soldiers who had started the fighting over the new captive hauled her away. The old captives merely watched, too ill, too weak, or too hopeless to react. A few enterprising children, grown wise from neglect, sidled over to the families of those taken away. They knew who had access to food: the ones who pleased their masters.

After all, the Quman treated their favored slaves no worse than the prisoners treated each other.

"Men are weak who fight over women," Bulkezu said suddenly in Wendish as he rode up beside Hanna. They now sat far enough away from the prisoners that none could overhear them.

"Why do you take so many prisoners, when all they do is suffer? They gain you nothing. What you want them all for?" "I want them so Wendar suffers."

Truly, he killed them with neglect.” What do you gain by burning and destroying? How does it help you, how do you enrich yourself, by ruining Wendar? Do you hope to rule here? You would have done better to offer marriage to one of the king's daughters." He spat.” What man of my people would wish to marry a barbarian's get? I'll take the king's daughter as my bed-slave if I want her."

"The king's daughters have their own armies. They aren't as easy to capture as these poor, defenseless townsfolk. What honor is there for a great warrior like you in defeating people such as these?" She gestured toward the prisoners.

His wings sighed as wind brushed through them. For a moment, she thought he had not heard her, or was not listening. His night guard, silent astride their horses, waited patiently. In a way, it was as if she and Bulkezu sat alone, separated from the army, from the hapless prisoners, from his personal guard, by the same unnatural mist that had protected him from the shadow elves.

She looked around, half expecting to see his shaman, but all she saw were soldiers, their campfires and bivouac tents, and the crowd of prisoners and livestock winding away along the track as they found a place to settle down for the night. Fields stretched away on either side, delicate shoots of winter wheat trampled into the mud. Farther away lay the line of trees and undergrowth, cut back by the villagers' need for firewood and building material. Smoldering fires lit the desolate village, now deserted. The ten lucky souls she had chosen for freedom had not stayed to see if Quman mercy would hold until morning.

"They hate me in my own country," Bulkezu said at last, softly.” The Pechanek elders have grown weak and cowardly. We were driven out of our pastures by the Shatai, and the southern Tarbagai is closed to us because of the Ungrians, those bastards, may their testicles rot. Now my sister's son is the favorite of the old begh, that son of a bitch, and he's handsomer than me, too."

Hanna looked him over, the smooth cheeks and vivid, almond-shaped eyes, the breadth of his shoulders under armor, the lift of his chin to draw attention to his handsome profile. He had tucked his helmet under his arm, a gesture eerily reminiscent of Prince Sanglant, the better, no doubt, to display his wealth of glossy black hair.” How can that be?" she said, having learned something of him in the last weeks.” Is there any man handsomer than you?"

"One," he admitted.” I saw him in a dream. But he had golden hair, spun from sunlight." He grinned, on the verge of laughing.” Women love a handsome man.

Why, women already married have risked death to creep between my furs. Why are you so hardhearted? I'll make you chief among my wives."

"I thought Quman men did not marry outside the tribes."

"Any man would be a fool not to marry a Kerayit shaman's luck if she offered herself to him."

"This one hasn't offered herself to you."

He laughed.” Yes, better that you stay out of my bed. I respect you now, but I wouldn't once I'd conquered your body."

"Which do you want?" she said, irritated by his games.

"I want victory."

"Against whom?"

"Against anyone who stands in my way."

A drum rapped smartly in the distance, answered by a second. He cocked his head to one side, listening to the message they brought. He whistled, turned aside his horse, and his night guard fell in around him. Hanna had no choice but to follow; she couldn't escape their net. Twilight washed the prisoners to gray, but the darkening light could not hide the smell of despair or the stink of diarrhea and sickness. An infant cried on and on and on. Hanna was suddenly hungry, smelling meat roasting up ahead, brought on the wind, but the appetizing scent curdled in her stomach as they rode alongside the line of prisoners, many of whom would not eat this night and had not eaten last night or the night before.

While she feasted tonight, a child would die of starvation, just as one had last night, and the night before. The Eagle's burden had never weighed as heavily as it had these last months, since her capture. She had to witness and remember, so that, in time, she could report to the king. Sometimes that was the only thing that kept her going: her determination to report to the king.

Bulkezu moved out to greet the last raiding party, come in to report. Truly, some things would be more difficult to report to King Henry than others.

Prince Ekkehard and his companions had taken to wearing princely Quman armor, cobbled together from armored coats stripped off of dead men, felt coifs, looted Wendish cloaks made rich by fur linings, supple leather gloves, painted shields, everything but the wings, which they had not earned. Everything but the shrunken heads, which not even Ekkehard had the stomach for.

They had brought loot, and news. Lord Boso was called back from the vanguard to translate as Lord Welf delivered the report.” Lord Hedo's fort was stripped of soldiers and easy to take. The servants said his son marched west last autumn with fifty men to fight in Saony."

"Who is fighting in Saony?" asked Hanna.” Duchess Rotrudis' children." With his highborn arrogance, meaty hands, and scarred lip, Welf looked remarkably like a fool to her, especially when he could barely bring himself to answer her just because she was common born. He only spoke to her because Bulkezu had a habit of whipping, and once castrating, men who treated Hanna disrespectfully: not warming the water brought for her bath, not getting out of her way fast enough as she walked through camp, daring to look her in the eye, who bore the luck of a Kerayit shaman.

The loot gained at the fort was a fine haul: gold vessels; silver drinking cups; ivory spoons; and two tapestries.

"His Contemptuousness bids you keep what you have earned," said Boso, translating for Bulkezu.” For are you not brothers? Are you not honorable, in the way of all noble folk?"

How Bulkezu kept his expression blank Hanna did not understand, considering the insulting way Boso had of speaking. It was another one of his charades, the games he played incessantly with his prisoners, because even Ekkehard, for all that he now rode and fought with the army, was nothing more than a glorified hostage made much of and let range wide on a leash. Ekkehard had women, he had silks, he had meat and wine, and he had his own honor guard, which he evidently chose not to recognize for what it was: his jailers. Let him get dirty enough with raiding under Bulkezu's banner and it would be too late for him to go back to his father's hall and authority.

No doubt Bulkezu counted on it. He didn't care one whit for Ekkehard. He had just found a more amusing way to ruin him.

"I'm surprised, my lord prince," said Hanna, "that you would war on your father's people. Isn't that treason?"

Prince Ekkehard did not deign to reply, but Lord Benedict rose to the bait.” Lord Hedo did not come to King Henry's aid when the king's sister. Lady Sabella, rose in revolt against him. This is his just punishment. We are doing nothing more than seeing him rewarded for his disobedience."

"Aiding an enemy as he devastates your father's lands and cripples his people scarcely seems the act of a loyal subject."

"You'll regret those words," Lord Welf said hotly, "when you don't have a prince to protect you." He nodded toward Bulkezu.

"Nay, I don't have a prince to protect me." She lifted her right hand to display the emerald ring.” I'm the King's Eagle."

Ekkehard flushed, and his companions muttered among themselves, glancing toward Bulkezu, gauging his mood. Ekkehard's boys didn't like her. She didn't like them much, either, if it came to that; they were the real traitors. Yet were they any different than most of the nobly born, fighting their wars across the bodies of the common folk?

Bulkezu laughed as soon as Boso translated the exchange. He moved forward to ride beside Ekkehard, treating Ekkehard to flowery compliments delivered by a sarcastic Boso; how well he acquitted himself in battle, how many women he had won for his slaves, how terrible it was that his relatives had tried to consign him t the monastery when certainly any fool could see that he was born for the glory of war. Ekkehard lapped it up like cream. He even forgot about Hanna, trailing behind, she who carried the wasp sting of conscience because she never let him forget that he had turned coat and embraced Bulkezu's cause.

A scream shattered the sleepy twilight. Deep in the crowd of weary, worn-down, lethargic prisoners, an eddy of movement spi-raled out of control like leaves picked up by a dust devil.

"Witchcraft! Demons! The Enemy has spawned among us!"

Panic broke like a storm. Prisoners pushed and shoved frantically, more afraid of an unseen menace in their ranks than of the

dour Quman soldiers who guarded them. Terrified captives spilled | across the invisible boundary into range of Quman spears. Like | raindrops presaging a downpour, the first handful turned an instant j later into a hysterical flood of ragged people desperate to escape ; the horror in their midst.

Even horses accustomed to war shied at the sudden agitation. Ekkehard's nervous gelding reared, backing sideways into Bulkezu's horse. The night guard, distracted by this threat to their leader, hastened forward. Hanna saw her chance.

She kicked her horse hard and galloped for the trees. The forest gave scant cover. Pale trunks surrounded her, bare branches clattering in the breeze. She heard the singing of wings, high and light, and the pound of hooves as her captors pursued her. Ducking low, she pressed the horse through a stand of stinging pine, forded a shallow stream running in three channels along the forest floor, and skirted a massive bramble bush. Her cloak caught once in its thorns; she tore it free, nudged her mount around its tangled verge, and found herself facing Bulkezu.

Even under the cover of the forest, with dusk lowering, there was light enough to see his expression. He laughed. But he had his bow strung and an arrow nocked, and at moments like this, with that half crazy expression on his face and something more than laughter in his eyes, she could not bring herself to trust to Sor-gatani's luck to keep her unharmed. Breathing hard, she reined up the horse and regarded him with disgust and resignation. And a sliver of fear.

He lifted the bow, aimed, and shot into the bramble, flushing out two escaped prisoners who had hoped to hide within the thorny refuge. Hanna recognized the adolescent girl and her half-grown brother, the one with the cut on his cheek, from Echstatt. The boy was gulping soundlessly, trying not to dissolve into hysteria, while his sister gripped his shoulders and managed a defiant glare.

Bulkezu chuckled. The movement of his shoulders made the shrunken head at his belt sway, knocking against one thigh. He pulled a second arrow out of his quiver and drew down on the boy.” Run," he said softly, in Wendish.

They ran, floundering out into the darkening forest. The child tripped. With a leisurely draw, Bulkezu marked the boy's back.

Hanna kicked her horse hard, driving toward him, shouting out loud, anything to spoil his aim. But the arrow was already loosed.

It whistled, the girl screamed and tugged at her brother; the point buried itself in the bark of a slender birch tree, less than a hand's breadth from the stumbling boy. With a strangled cry, the girl dragged him onward into the trees.

The night guard trotted up, but Bulkezu gave a curt command, and they made no move to follow the fleeing children. Tears of elation wet Hanna's lips.” You missed!" He laughed, that damned half-giggling guffaw. Sobering, he drew another arrow from his quiver and twisted it between his fingers. The wind whistled through his wings; she smelled a faint scent, like putrefaction, wafting toward them from camp.

"I never miss." His expression darkened.” Twice only, and they will suffer for it, when I have them in my hands again."

"Who could have defeated you, Prince Bulkezu?" She was too angry, at herself, at fate, at his arrogance, to watch her tongue, to curb her sarcasm, even if she knew it wasn't wise.

"Once, that Ashioi witch. Once, that smart-mouthed priest." "You tolerate insults from Boso all the time. You can understand every word he says."

"Boso is a fool. A dog would make a more worthy lord. It amuses me to wait and let him spin a little longer. Now Zach'rias was a clever man. He made war on me with his'tongue. I should have cut off his tongue instead of his penis. I didn't understand him well enough to know which would hurt him worse. My arrow missed its mark." He shifted in the saddle, lifting an arm to brush a finger along one of the griffin feathers bound into his wooden wings. The touch raised blood on his skin, but the wind wicked it away. A thin rain of snow spilled from a tree branch, a shower of white that melted where it touched the sodden, spring ground.

"But they only made me stronger, when they thought to humble me. Now I'm the only man born into the tribes who has killed two griffins, not just one." He did not smile. Nor did he laugh.

"You didn't wear those wings when you fought against Prince Bayan and Princess Sapientia,"

A spark of mischief and cruelty lit his expression.” I wanted Bayan to know that even wingless I could defeat him and his noble

allies." He laughed for such a long time that Hanna began to think something had gotten stuck in his throat. The shrunken head rolled along his thigh, staring accusingly at Hanna.” I'd never killed a lady lord in battle before," he continued at last, "so I thought it best to put my old guardian away and dedicate a new one." He laughed a little again, trailing off into giggles as he stroked the hair on his shrunken head and lifted it.” Do you know her?"

Bile stung in Hanna's throat. For a moment she thought she would vomit. Or ought to. No wonder the head, all twisted, blackened, warped, and nasty as it had become, looked familiar. She knew who had died in that battle.

"Judith," she whispered, "Margrave of Olsatia and Austra." Another of the night guard rode up to deliver a report. Bulkezu listened intently, eyes crinkling as he concentrated. He had already forgotten the head. Slowly his expression changed.

The only thing worse than his smiles and laughter were his frowns, and he frowned now as night fell and a warm breeze brought the fetid smell of camp to her nostrils, choking her. She could not bear to look at Bulkezu, not with Margrave Judith's head dangling there. One of the guards lit a torch. Back at the army, more torches blazed into life like visible echoes of the one snapping brightly next to her.

Out of the night, screaming rose like a tide.

"What's going on?" she whispered, horrified. It sounded as if the Quman had turned on their helpless prisoners and begun killing them.

"What is the name for this thing that has crept into the ranks of the prisoners, this thing we must drive out lest it infect my troops?" He mused aloud, absently fingering the point of the arrow as he cocked his head to one side, listening to the distant slaughter. Snow dusted his black hair as a last shower rained from the pine tree under which he sheltered.” First the demons slip invisibly into the body. Then the body turns gray and shakes. Then the noxious humors explode out of the mouth and the nose and the ears and the asshole, all the snot and blood and shit and spittle bursting forth. Zach'rias taught me the name for this thing."

She already knew. A cold worm of fear writhed in her heart, numbing her. She had thought the shadow elves the only thing more terrifying than the Quman.

But she was wrong.

He nodded to himself, remembering the word.

"Plague."

Back in the camp, the killing went on.

THEY came down out of the Alfar Mountains into a summer so golden that it seemed to Rosvita that the sun itself had been poured over the landscape. In the north, the light was never this rich and expressive.

When they stopped to water the horses and oxen at midday, For-tunatus took off his boots and dabbled his toes where the cold mountain water frothed and spilled over exposed rocks.

"Ah!" he said delightedly as he wiggled his toes under the water.” I'd forgotten how pleasant it is to have feet that are hot and dry for a change. After that tedious winter and spring, I thought I would never be comfortable again."

With relief, Rosvita dismounted from her mule and found a flat-topped boulder to sit on. From this seat—no harder, really, than her saddle—she could survey the stream where the clerics of the king's schola had gone to wet their faces, drink, and stretch. Although the king preferred that she attend him at all times, she had obtained permission to travel with the schola, the better to keep an eye on her precious books and young clerics.

Servants brought soft cheese from the wagons. She nibbled at this delicacy as she watched animals being brought up in bunches to water downstream, where a fallen log dammed enough of the current that a watering hole had been hollowed out of the earth. A hawk drifted overhead, spiraling on the winds that brushed down off the high peaks, now hidden by forest and foothills. A woodpecker drummed nearby, and she saw its white flash among pine branches.

"The months weren't wasted entirely, Brother. At last I was able to make a great deal of progress on my History of the Wendish People."

He smiled sadly, not looking up from the play of the water around his feet.” So you did, Sister. I only wish Sister Amabilia were here to copy your words in a finer hand than that I possess." "Truly," she echoed, "I wish she were not lost to us. I miss her." Fortunatus sighed. He had never gained back the healthy stoutness that had made his features round and jolly; their adventures crossing the Alfar Mountains three times in the last two years had taken a lasting toll on him.” Will we ever know what became of her?" he asked wistfully.

"Only if we can trust dreams. I fear they lie as often as they tell the truth."

As she finished her meal of cheese and bread, she called to her servingwoman, Aurea, and bid her bring her pouch from her pack mule. Aurea brought both pouch and travel desk, which unfolded easily to make a stout surface on which to set the History. Rosvita wiped her hands on a cloth and only then turned the unbound pages to her final entry, made three weeks ago on their last day at the palace of Zur, originally a villa built in the times of the Dariyan empresses and now a way station where a royal party could break its journey for a day or a week.

Some said that fully two hundred thousand Rederii barbarians were slain tha t

day, either cut down by the sword or drowned in the marsh when they tried to make their retreat. After this, the young margrave Villam moved his army against the city mentioned above, but the inhabitants now feared to stand against him and therefore they laid down their arms and asked for safe passage. In this way, the city and all its wealth and all the household furnishings fell into the possession of King Arnulf the Younger.

When the margrave and his companions returned to Saony, King Arnulf received them with gratitude and praised their victory. It so happened that the king's favored Eagle returned at this time from Arethousa with the news that the king had obtained what he most desired: an Arethousan princess who would stand in marriage to his son, Henry, a most radiant and worthy young man. When the glorious Sophia arrived with her splendid retinue, the royal wedding was celebrated with largess and rejoicing.

To Henry and Sophia were born these children: a daugh ter named Sapientia, a woman of merit, justly dear to all the peo

ple, who married Bay an, Prince of the

Ungrians, and also a daughter named Theophanu, wise in all matters and of a cunning disposition, as well as a son named Ekkehard, who was invested as the abbot of St. Perpetua's in Gent.

Here she had stopped. The rigors of a mountain crossing, even in the fine weather that God's favor had at last granted them after several unsuccessful earlier attempts, had not allowed her to write more. Truly, the long winter and dreary spring had been inconvenient and uncomfortable, but she had had the leisure to work because they had stopped for as many as ten days at a time at various estates and palaces. What lay before them in Aosta she did not know, but she didn't suppose that war would bring many peaceful interludes during which she might have the freedom to work without interruption. It was very difficult to work while on the move.

At times like this, she remembered why so many of her spiritual sisters, women devoted to their books, preferred to stay in the convent rather than traipse about the countryside as part of the retinue of their noble relatives.

"Sister Rosvita!"

She looked up to see the king's favored Eagle at the side of the road.

"If you will, Sister Rosvita, Brother Eudes is taken il again, and the king requests your presence."

Fortunatus padded over barefoot and took the unbound sheets carefully off the travel desk so that Aurea could fold it up.” I'll care for these, Sister," he said.

The mule was brought, and Rosvita mounted with a grimace. Her bones creaked and popped constantly these days. With Hathui as escort she rode forward along the lines, passing knots of soldiers and stands of dismounted horsemen like copses of trees. The road led down a steep valley, walled here by cliffs ribboned with slender waterfalls whose spray made little rainbows in the air, quickly seen and as quickly vanished.

Carefully, they picked their way down the path until they reached a broadening in the valley where the royal party had stopped to take advantage of a pleasant meadow as a haven for their noontime rest. The king and queen waited at their leisure

while servants watered the horses and brought their sovereigns ale, cheese, and bread as well as greens plucked from the hillsides. Adelheid sat on a blanket, so big-bellied in her pregnancy that she found the ground a more comfortable seat than her throne.

Henry conducted business a short way away from her, consulting with his captains and stewards and noble companions and dispensing judgment over disputes that had arisen in the train. Occasionally he would refer two quarreling parties to Adelheid, and they would hasten over to kneel before her. A steward hurried forward to Rosvita and, taking her travel desk, set it up at Henry's side.

She sat on a stool, trimmed her quill, and readied her ink as Henry listened to the complaints of a wagoner who had gotten into a fight with a Lion over a chicken looted from a farmer's shed. A knife fight had ensued, and both men had been wounded.

"Yet what of the injury you inflicted upon the householder whose chicken you stole?" demanded the king.” Made you any recompense to her for the loss of the chicken?"

"Nay, but. Your Majesty, she was just an Aostan woman, not of our people at all." On this point both men agreed.

"Yet were she a Wendish woman, would you have treated her so disrespectfully? Will the Aostans rally to our cause if we treat them as we would our enemies? They are not meant to suffer as our enemies but to prosper as our subjects. Let both of you make her some restitution. I will send an Eagle back to the village with this fine. As for the two of you, you will dig privies side by side for a week, so that you may learn to work together."

He dismissed them, then beckoned to a steward.” Here is Sister Rosvita, Wito.

Make your report."

Rosvita duly cataloged the steward's report. It had taken them three weeks to cross the mountains, moving at not more than five leagues a day. The weather had held fair, for the most part, and they had lost only twelve horses, eighteen wagons, and twenty-five soldiers, seventeen of them to an outbreak of dysentery that had luckily been confined to the rear guard.

When the steward finished, Henry's captains came forward to discuss the route, and Rosvita looked back over the hapless Brother Eudes' precise entries that in spare language told the story of the abortive attempt to cross the mountains last autumn, when the weather drove them back to the north and they spent a miser able winter moving from one palace to another pursued by sleet, snow, spoiled food, and a scarcity of ale and wine. It had been either too cold to travel or else not cold enough to freeze the ever-present mud slop that turned roads and stable yards into mires. The array had lost seventy-nine horses and forty-two cattle to foot rot alone, and ninety-four soldiers to lung fever and dysentery, mostly from that first awful outbreak. Indeed, Brother Eudes himself had barely survived that first outbreak of dysentery, and since then he had suffered several relapses, the worst after their second failed attempt to cross in the spring.

Henry sent his captains away, and for a moment peace reigned. Rosvita closed her eyes and listened to the murmur of Adelheid's noble companions and the laughter of Henry's personal retinue, most of whom had wandered down to the stream to cool their faces.

For an instant, Rosvita's hearing sharpened so intensely that she could hear Queen Adelheid speaking.” Yet a wealth of sun does not bode well. I do not like the sere golden color of the grass. There should have been more rain over the winter and spring. I see too little green."

"Sister Rosvita." Henry spoke in a voice that carried only to her ears.” What if it is true that his wife is the great granddaughter of the Emperor Taillefer? She could claim the empire."

Startled, Rosvita dropped her quill. Henry sat with his chin resting on a hand, elbow propped up on the arm of his throne. He stared into the distance, at the pine forest or perhaps at his fears and doubts. Marriage to Adelheid had lifted years from his face, but it also meant that he was even more rarely alone than during the years of his widowerhood. He rarely had opportunity these days to open his most private thoughts to her.

"The young woman has not proved herself fit to rule. Your Majesty, nor has she any retainers. A queen without a retinue can scarcely be called a queen."

"Yet according to my Eagles and other messengers, Sanglant rode east, gathering an army about him."

"The Quman lie east. Do you think he means to make allies of them?" She didn't mean the words to be sarcastic, but Henry glanced at her sharply, jolted out of his reverie.

"Nay, I do not believe any Wendish noble will make peace with the Quman. I think he means to fight them. But the Quman are not

the only people in the east who have an army. It has been months since we had word of Sapientia and Prince Bayan, nor has Margrave Judith sent word nor any representative to my court."

"To what purpose would they revolt against you? How can Tail efer's lost grandchild be a threat to you? Queen Radegundis made no effort to put her son on any throne. She gave him to God's service, not to the trials of the world. Nor did his child ever make any claim to Taillefer's imperial throne, if she even survived infancy."

"But you believe a child was born to Taillefer and Radegundis' son."

"I do believe that, Your Majesty."

He frowned, regarding the trees again with an intent gaze. Rosvita realized all at once the main difference between Henry and Sanglant: Henry had the gift of stillness, and Sanglant could never be still.

"This bodes ill," he said softly.” I fear Sanglant has been bewitched."

"That is a serious charge. Your Majesty, and one that Prince Sanglant has already denied."

"He must deny it, if he lies under a sorcerous spell. Do you know for certain that he was not enchanted, either by Bloodheart or by that woman's influence?"

"Nay, Your Majesty, you must know that I cannot say for certain. We all saw that Prince Sanglant was much changed by his captivity in Gent. It is true that the woman Liathano held some kind of power over him, even if it was only the power of lust."

"Then you do not think him bewitched?"

Yet how could she answer? She, too, had seen the daimone suckling his child.

She shuddered, remembering that abomination, and Henry smiled slightly, although the expression seemed more of a grimace.

Just as he seemed ready to comment further, a steward hurried up, followed by an outrider stffl dusty from the road. The man presented himself first to Queen Adelheid and then to the king. Adel-heid got to her feet with the assistance of her servants and came to stand beside Henry.

"I am come from Lavinia, Lady of Novomo, to bring you greetings." The man spoke only Aostan, but Henry could understand it well enough as long as the speaker chose his words carefully and spoke slowly.” She rides to meet you on the road, and show you honor."

Henry rose. At his signal the army began its ponderous gathering up, like a great beast getting its legs under it in order to rise and stagger forward.

The valley began to broaden noticeably, hitting a stretch as straight as though a giant had gouged it out with her hand. Cliffs became ridgelines peppered with rock ledges and outcrops, slick with overhanging ferns, brown from lack of rain, crisp moss, and oleander bushes whose white flowers hung like falling water down steep hillside clefts. Farmers had found room to plow fields and plant orchards, and the landscape began to be cut through with fields, clusters of huts, and neatly-kept orchards.

The captain of the vanguard shouted out the alarm, and an instant later a horn rang out. Below, a party ascended along the road to meet them. Banners flew in a stiff spring breeze flowing down off the foothills, gold and white, matched in splendor and number only by the bright pennants and banners of the king's army. Adel-heid's personal banner bearing the crowned leopard at rest below the royal sun of Aosta flew at the center of a six-pointed constellation of pennants.

These pennants bore the sigils of Henry's rale over the six duchies that made up his realm: Varingia's stallion, Wayland's hawk, Avaria's lion, Fesse's red eagle, Arconia's green guivre, and the red dragon of Saony, the duchy out of which his grandfather Arnulf the Elder had taken control of the kingdoms of Wendar and Varre. Behind these paraded the banners of his noble companions, those who had chosen, or been commanded, to accompany his expedition: Duchess Liutgard of Fesse, Helmut Vil-lam, Duke Burchard of Avaria, and a host of other lords and ladies. His army wound back up the valley, lost finally around a bend.

Strung out along the road in marching order, it was an impressive sight.

The king's vanguard formed a protective wall in front of him as Lady Lavinia advanced and, finally, dismounted in order to approach Henry and Adelheid on foot. She looked as if she had aged ten years in the year since Rosvita had last seen her. The line of her mouth was grim, and her hair had gone white. She knelt in the

middle of the road in the dirt, opening her hands in the manner of a supplicant.

"Your Majesties, I pray you, I give myself and all the lands and people I control into your hands. My fighting men are yours to command. You must take what you need from my storehouses, although we are sorely pressed in these days by drought."

Henry seemed ready to speak, but Adelheid made a slight gesture that drew his attention, and he nodded, giving way to her. With assistance, the young queen dismounted. She walked forward to offer her hand to Lavinia.

"I pray you, Lady, rise. Do not kneel here in the dust. We have come as I promised you last year." Lavinia took her hand but did not rise. She seemed incapable of speech, caught in some strong emotion that made her lips work silently. The calm, decisive woman who had aided Adelheid last spring had vanished.” What ails you, Lady?" continued Adelheid gently.” You are much changed."

Lavinia's voice was coarse with fury.” You know that Ironhead took my daughter to Darre to serve as a hostage for my good behavior. Now he has taken her against her will as his concubine. She is only thirteen. I will have revenge for the insult given to my fam-ily."

"So you will." It was always odd to hear such a steely voice emanate from that sweet, pretty face, but Adelheid had been raised in a hard school and had survived a forced marriage, a siege, Iron-head's pursuit of her, and an escape managed only with the aid of forbidden magic.

"She is not the only daughter of a noble house used in such an ignoble fashion,"

continued Lavinia.” Others have come to Novomo, hearing of your approach. We beg you to let us support you. Ironhead has brought dishonor to our families.

Yet we brought the shame upon ourselves by not rising against him when he pursued you, Your Majesty. You see that we are repaid by God for our sins, for there was not enough rain this past winter. I fear there will be famine if no rain falls soon."

She gestured toward the orchards and fields. In truth Rosvita could see that the winter wheat was stunted and yellowing, and the new leaves on pear and apple trees were already curling.

"I have brought King Henry of Wendar and Varre, as I promised," said Adelheid.” We have wed. I am pregnant with a child who joins the blood of both Wendar and Aosta."

Tears ran down Lavinia's face as she kissed Adelheid's hand.” Bless you, Your Majesty."

"Come then, Lady. Rise. We will not march to Darre on our knees."

"Nay, nay, we will not." Lavinia got up at once and came forward to kiss Henry's ring and offer him her allegiance, but it was clear that she looked first to Queen Adelheid.

"Who awaits us in Novomo?" asked Henry when Lavinia's horse had been brought and both the lady and the queen mounted. At his signal, the royal party started forward at a sedate pace. Lavinia's retinue split to either side of the road to let the royal party pass through their ranks, and for some while the cheering of Novomo's soldiers drowned out any attempt at conversation.

"Who awaits us in Novomo?" Henry repeated as Lavinia's retinue fell in behind, being given the place of honor behind Henry's noble companions and his cohort of Lions but before the king's clerics and schola and the rest of his army.

"Richildis, Marquess of Zuola. Gisla, Count of Placentia, and Gisla, Lady of Piata.

Tedbald, Count of Maroca, and his cousin, Red Gisla. Duke Lambert of Uscar, who can bring all of the nobles of his lands if he calls them."

"That is half of the north country," said Adelheid.” Some of these refused to aid me when my first husband died. How can I trust them now?"

"It is true that some may be spies for Ironhead, but they have all come here to pledge their support to Your Majesties. They like Ironhead no better than I do.

The drought has affected all of us, and we fear worse, because the Most Holy Mother dementia, she who was raised to the seat of the skopos eight years ago, is dead."

Rosvita drew the Circle of Unity at her breast and murmured a prayer for God's mercy, just as others did, even and especially the king.

"May God grant her peace," said Adelheid.” She is my great-aunt."

"Truly, she comes out of a noble lineage," agreed Lavinia. Anger lit her expression again.” Rumor whispers that Ironhead

means to appoint his cousin as the new skopos, although she is not even a cleric!"

Rosvita leaned forward over the neck of her mule.” Have you heard any rumor of a Wendish frater among Ironhead's counselors, Lady?"

"Nay, Sister Rosvita, although it is said that a Wendish-born presbyter held great influence with the ailing skopos. I have even heard it whispered that he used sorcery to keep her alive, for she suffered greatly from a palsy in her later years. No one knows whether this presbyter supports Ironhead, or defies him, although it's said that he tried as well as he could to keep young women out of Ironhead's rough hands. But I hear only rumor. No noble lady or lord who travels to Darre is safe from Ironhead. None of us dare go there ourselves, for fear he'll kill us outright. You know, of course, that he gained his lands and title by murdering his half brother, and that he murdered his wife when he had no more use for her."

"How many wait for us in Novomo?" The catalog of Ironhead's sins had made Henry impatient.” Who else will march behind our banners? What number of milites and horsemen may we expect?"

"The wars have taken a toll on us, Your Majesty. Perhaps seven hundred."

They rode on for a while in silence. The ring of harness serenaded them. The muted rumble of wagon wheels behind them sounded like distant thunder, but the sky remained cloudless, a hard blue shell.

"Shall we gather more support, Your Majesty?" asked Lavinia finally, as if she could bear the silence no longer.

"Nay," said Adelheid fiercely, "let us strike hard and immediately at Ironhead, before Lord John has time to respond and build up his army." But as she spoke, she looked toward her husband. It was his army, after all.

Henry stared ahead. They had come within sight of Novomo, its walls and towers rising where the land opened into a fine landscape of rolling hills and extensively farmed lands, fields cut by ranks upon ranks of orchards and vineyards. They had come down far enough that, looking north, Rosvita could again see the tips of the mountains touching the heavens, distant and cold.

Beyond Novomo the road ran south to the heart of Aosta. Some trick of perspective allowed her to see a distant, flat-topped hill studded with dark shapes that she first took for sheep. With a shudder of misgiving, she recognized the hilltop of standing stones. Through those stones she and Adelheid and Theophanu and the pitiful remnant of their armies had staggered over a year ago, in the spring, propelled to safety by Hugh's magic. A spike of dread crippled her heart. Certainly they had escaped John Ironhead's army, but they had not yet escaped the full consequences of letting a man accused of sorcery harness a most dangerous magic, one long ago condemned by the church, to help them.

She could not erase from her mind's eye the sight of the daimone Hugh had bound. She still saw clearly its writhing fury, heard the resonant bass hammer of its voice, felt the damning chill that boiled off the threads of hard light that made up its body, if the creatures known as daimones even had true bodies.

She had seen what the others had not, and yet she had acquiesced. She knew in her heart that decision would come back to haunt them all.

"A well-fitted army with horses and stout soldiers can reach Darre in ten days,"

said Lavinia as they approached the gates of Novomo.

In Darre lay the key to the imperial throne that Henry had for so long dreamed of possessing.

"God march with us," said Henry.” Adelheid is correct. We must not wait. Let us feast this night in your hall. In the morning, we will march south."

It seemed the entire populace of Novomo turned out to greet them, running out to stand alongside the road or waiting in the narrow streets and leaning out of the windows in their crowded houses inside Novomo's walls. Their cries and cheers rang to the heavens. When they came to the steps of Lavinia's palace, fully two dozen noblemen and -women laid their swords at Adelheid's and Henry's feet.

The feast that night had the slightly frenzied spirit of a man coming down with a fever, punctuated at intervals by the distant rumble of thunder, so muted that Rosvita kept thinking she heard wagons passing by on the streets outside.

Some hours before dawn, rain broke over the town, and in the »

morning the army began its march south beneath a steady, light rain. God was smiling on Aosta again.

Five days' march south they met outriders ranging through low hills, looking for them. Light cavalry chased off these scouts, but by midday the road brought them to a fine vantage point and here, arrayed in battle order, they could see from the ridgetop down onto the central plain that stretched away south until it was lost in a heat haze.

Ironhead was waiting for them. His army lay encamped across the road, its flanks stretching well out to either side, with a makeshift palisade thrown up before his lines. Ironhead had wasted no time, and it was obvious that he had assembled a larger army than Henry's, fully two thousand mounted men or more to judge by the tents and banners, herds of horses, and horde of wagons.

"He must have had word we were coming," said Villam.” A rider could have left Novomo and changed off horses to get to him in three days, but it seems impossible to me that he could have acted so quickly and brought his army five days' march north from Darre in so short a time."

"Unless he has one among his retinue who has the Eagle's sight," said Henry softly, glancing at Hathui, who rode at his right hand.

Villam had not heard him, but Rosvita did.” If Ironhead commands the loyalty of a sorcerer, who knows what he may attempt. Certainly Ironhead does not have the reputation of an honorable man. I advise that you proceed cautiously, Your Majesty"

"So I will."

It was quite warm already and bid fair to become a fiercely hot day despite that they were eight days short of the summer solstice. Henry's brow had a sheen of sweat. Absently, he mopped his brow with a cloth and handed it to one of Kis stewards, come up beside him. Three captains waited at his back, one carrying the king's shield, one his helmet, and one the holy spear of St. Perpetua, sign of God's favor.

"Where is the queen?" he asked, looking back over his shoulder.

"She comes now, my lord king," said Hathui.

In the last five days Adelheid had grown increasingly clumsy with pregnancy.

She looked ready to burst, and could only mount and dismount with difficulty, aided by a half-dozen servants. But ride she did.

"What is this?" she asked as the lines parted to let her through with her ladies and servingwomen riding in her train. Rosvita reined her mule aside to give place to the queen.” Ah! Ironhead has come to greet us."

"It seems the issue is to be decided sooner rather than later," said Henry.

Adelheid had a soldier's eye. She assessed the length and depth of Ironhead's force, and studied the banners.” He has more mercenaries than loyal troops.

Might they be bribed to desert him?"

"It might be," said Villam, "but Ironhead will have thought of that himself, if he's as wily as they say."

Henry examined Adelheid. The heat had not withered him; he sat as straight as a young man, unbowed by the aches and pains of advancing age that Rosvita felt every day now that she, like the king, was forty-two—or was it forty-four?—

years old. It was hard to keep track and not really important.

But infatuation can make a person young again, and Henry admired his pretty, young queen, just as he had so sweetly admired Sophia when they had married all those years ago; just as he had fallen hard for Alia, when he was only a youth of eighteen. Some men were taken that way, preferring attachment to lust, and in Henry, who had been given the regnant's luck, it extended to all of his friendships. His affections were strong, balanced only by those rare displays of his anger which, once kindled, could not easily be laid to rest.

"If battle is to be joined," he said now, with a handsome frown as he gazed at his pregnant wife, "it would be best for you to retire, my love, to the fortress of Lady Gisla, where we sheltered last night."

"I will take not one step backward in fear of Ironhead. I will ride myself into battle if need be rather than retreat!"

"Truly, you have earned the leopard banner your family bears, my heart. But as you know yourself, a battle can range widely, and what sorrow might there be in victory if you were jostled by some flanking movement—"

"I will not retreat."

Irritation flashed in Henry's expression, but the sight of her stubborn gaze fixed on Ironhead's distant army, the way she tilted up her chin when angry, softened him.” So be it. Will you lead the charge, my lady queen?"

She laughed, knowing herself outflanked. Although pregnancy had softened her features somewhat, blurring the sharp lines of her face, she had not lost the lightning-swift changes of expression that made her features so lively. She smoothed a hand down over the fabric of her gown where a placket of cloth had been added to accommodate her girth. A youth held the reins of her horse, solemn as he kept his hand up close to the bit so that it would make no sudden movement.” I would rather not ride all the way back to Lady Gisla's fortress, but I saw a stout little fort in good repair not more than a league back on the road. I would be willing to wait there, to be sure no harm comes to the child."

"My lord king." Hathui pointed toward the plain where a small group of riders broke away from Ironhead's line to ride toward them. They rode accompanied by three banners: that of the sun of Aosta, that of the presbyters' college, and a white banner bearing the olive branch that signified "parley."

"Do you suppose Ironhead wishes to negotiate?" asked Villam skeptically.

"We shall see." *

Henry fell back from the front line. Servants hurried to set up the throne he used when traveling, with its back carved as an eagle's wings, legs fashioned as a lion's paws, and arms shaped in the likeness of fierce dragon visages, painted in bold colors. Adel-heid sat beside him in a handsome chair that had been fitted with pillows and a special backrest for her comfort. Her ladies brought her the Aostan crown that was hers by right to wear; it and the royal seals were all that she had salvaged in her escape last year. Henry knew well the proper use of ceremony. His stewards dressed him quickly in his robes of state, and Rosvita hastily anointed him with a dab of holy oil on his forehead before placing the crown of Wendar and Varre on his head. In such state, and with his court and all the noble ladies and lords of Aosta assembled around him, he presided over a formidable gathering.

The sun beat down. Wind rippled through the assembled banners and bent the tall grass. The Wendish army, waiting beyond, made a thousand quiet noises, horses whinnying, men calling out, the creak of leather and the snap of cloth as they, too, held ready in case of a trick.

Henry did not rise when Ironhead's emissaries arrived and were allowed to approach the royal presence. But he looked surprised to see the man who strode at their head, brilliantly arrayed in handsome robes and the distinctive scarlet cloak worn only by presbyters. As beautiful as the sun. It always surprised Rosvita each time she saw him.

Hugh.

Henry had not ruled successfully for twenty years because surprises could overset him. One finger stirred, stroking the carven head of a dragon; otherwise he did not move nor give any further impression of amazement. The standard of the realm of Wendar and Varre stirred, bel ing out, then sagged back to conceal the bright animals embroidered there, the sigils of his regnancy.

He spoke in the king's most forbidding tone.” Hugh of Austra, son of Judith. Did I not send you to Aosta to stand trial before the holy skopos, on the grounds that you had soiled your hands with sorcery?"

Hugh bowed with the precisely correct degree of inclination, neither too proud nor too humble.” So you did, Your Majesty. I was judged and found wanting, but the skopos is merciful, may her soul be at rest. She saw fit to take me into her service so that I could serve God and the church in recompense for my sins."

"Yet who is it you serve," asked Henry in a dangerously soft voice, "when you walk forward now as an envoy from John Iron-head?"

"I serve God, of course, Your Majesty."

Henry's smile was as dangerous as his tone.” Wisely spoken. Yet you still stand there, while my army and my loyal retinue stand behind me."

Hugh gestured to his servants, who carried forward a basket, which they set in front of him.” No man may serve two earthly masters, Your Majesty. This I know well enough, for I was raised by my mother, who has always supported you faithfully."

"So she has."

"I have always been your loyal subject. That is why I made a place for myself at Ironhead's court."

Truly it was said that God favored the virtuous, and Hugh appeared so devoutly virtuous—as though butter would not melt in his mouth—that Rosvita shuddered with foreboding and moved forward to stand beside the king, thinking that maybe she could deflect whatever sorcerous spell Hugh meant to cast upon them.

Adelheid put a hand over her mouth and nose, grimacing.” I smell something terrible."

Rosvita smelled it, too, a sour iron taste like the odor of magic. She touched the king's arm and bent to whisper in his ear.” Your Majesty, I beg you—

Hugh was too fast for her.

He signaled. One of his servants whipped aside the cloth that covered the basket. Adelheid cried out, choked, and barely staggered out of her chair before vomiting on the ground while one of her ladies held her.

Henry leaped to his feet.

"I beg your pardon, Queen Adelheid." Hugh took the cloth from the servant and gently placed it over the grisly thing lying on straw in the basket.” I did not intend to upset anyone."

But the image of it had seared into Rosvita's mind. Even if she hadn't recognized that beak of a nose and those wretched features, frozen in a death grimace, she would have known anywhere the iron crown Lord John had worn to spite his enemies, now tumbled in blood-soaked straw.

Adelheid sipped wine and turned back, her face pale but her expression gloating.” It is what he deserved. Stick it on a lance. John's head is the banner that will clear our path to Darre."

The king walked to the basket and drew the cloth aside again. Henry had always been a cautious man, inclined to listen to others but to check for himself. He grabbed the head by its hair and hoisted it. Clotted fluids dripped from the severed neck onto the sodden straw. A spike had been driven through Lord John's temple.” Very well," he said, calling over one of his captains.” Ironhead will precede us to Darre." He dropped the head back into the basket, which shuddered at the impact. He turned to Hugh.” His body?"

"In camp."

"His mercenaries?"

"Loyal by reason of the gold he paid them, not to his person.

You will find, Your Majesty, my lady queen, that few will mourn Ironhead's passing."

"Yet such a large army of paid soldiers is doubly dangerous when left to its own devices. We'll have to negotiate carefully so as not to have a battle on our hands or a countryside laid to waste by marauders."

Standing under the sun's full glare, Hugh did not wilt; it seemed his natural element, as though the sun had been created expressly to illuminate his features.” You'll find their captains amenable to peace, Your Majesty. They'll not trouble your army."

"An ignoble fate for a warrior," mused Henry as the basket was carried away.”

How did it happen?"

Hugh shrugged.” As you sow, so shall you reap. He had a violent nature, my lord king, and I believe that he was murdered while sleeping by one of the girls he had raped."

"So be it," said Adelheid.” God favors the virtuous."

"Is there aught else?" Henry glanced around his court, made quiet by the gruesome sight now mercifully concealed. He looked toward Hathui and, last, at Rosvita. Hugh also regarded her, one handsome eyebrow lifted as though in a question. Words stuck in her throat. The sunlight flared as the wind whipped banners into a frenzy, dazzling her. Mute, she could only shake her head.

Servants hurried forward to divest Henry of his robes and crown.

"Come, Lord Hugh," said the king as his horse was brought forward.” Ride beside me."

IN his youth, Helmut Villam had built a strong fort at the confluence of the Oder and Floyer Rivers. In the forty years since its founding, Walburg had grown into a substantial town ringed by two walls and further protected by the Oder River on one side and a steep chalk bluff on the other. The Villams had enriched themselves on the spoils won in their wars against the heathen Rederii and PoJenie tribes, and in addition to founding two convents and a monastery, Villam had commissioned a cathedral.

Despite the drizzle, Zacharias could see its square tower from their fortified camp set up around a ruined watchtower that overlooked the steep river valley.

He could also see a Quman army encamped on the river plain outside Walburg's palisade and double ditch.

If they captured him, he'd go for the quick death. Fear warred with hatred; neither could win. All that mattered right now was that he didn't see the mark of the Pechanek clan displayed from any of the tent poles. As long as Bulkezu was far away, he could survive the morning with a stalwart heart.

"My lord prince." Captain Fulk came in with the evening's report.” Everwin and Wracwulf killed another Quman scout and brought in his wings."

Under the shelter of an awning strung between the walls of the ancient round tower, Prince Sanglant lounged at his ease on a pillow while he rolled dice with his daughter and her nursemaid. Soldiers sat around them sharpening swords, polishing helmets, and repairing harness. A handful of young lords sat uncomfortably in this rustic camp, used, perhaps, to more luxurious campaigns, but Sanglant rode without the extravagance of camp followers, concubines, and an extensive baggage train. Unlike most nobles, he shared the conditions of his soldiers. It was one of the reasons they loved him.

Several braziers had been set out, over which strips of meat roasted; smoke stung Zacharias' eyes as he ducked in from the back.

"This is the fifth group we've encountered and certainly the largest. Have we an estimate of their numbers yet?"

"Not more than two hundred, Your Highness."

Blessing jumped to her feet and dashed over to present Fulk, one of her favorites, with two of the dice.” You roll 'em," she said enthusiastically, as pure a command as Zacharias had ever heard.” You roll 'em, Cappen Fulk."

He grinned. Like the rest of the company, he would have walked through fire for his little empress, as they called her.” I'll rol them, Your Highness, but I've got to make this report to my lord prince first."

She glanced at her father, stamped her foot impatiently, but quailed at once when Sanglant frowned at her. With a fierce expression of disgust, she crossed her arms on her chest and glowered.

"I pray you, Your Highness, come sit beside me while you' wait." The nursemaid's hoarse little voice was like a soft echo of the prince.” We haven't done carding that wool."

"Don't want to."

"But you shall," said Sanglant.

"Shall not!"

"Than I shall do it myself," said the nursemaid tartly, sitting back and beginning to card wool over the comb.” Because I like to do it and I don't want to share doing it with you."

This was too much for Blessing. She trotted over on her short legs and crouched down to get a good look, biting her lip fretfully.” Can I try? Can I?"

"Here, you hold the handle like this—

Zacharias wiped raindrops from his forehead and sat down beside Heribert, who was playing chess with Wolfhere.” I can't take a turn around the camp without coming in to find she's grown another finger's span," he said, examining the little girl uneasily. She had lost her infant roundness. Her face had gotten leaner, making her blue-green eyes stand out even more than they had before. Wisps of black hair curled everywhere around her face where it escaped from her braid.

Heribert glanced at him.” It's not her doing."

"Nor did I say it was. But you must admit it's uncanny to see a child grow so quickly. It isn't natural. She must age a week for every day that passes."

"I thought it might stop once the daimone left us," murmured Heribert, looking round to see if the prince was listening, but Sanglant appeared to be deep in conversation with Captain Fulk.” But God know it hasn't. Lord bless us. She was born on the seventh day of Avril, on the feast day of St. Radegundis. One year and three months ago. Yet she looks like any well-grown three-year-old."

"It's your move," said Wolfhere patiently.

"Do you know, Eagle," said Zacharias irritably, "I think I particularly dislike that smirking little smile you wear on your face all the time. You know a lot more than you are telling us."

"So I do, but in the matter of the child I know as little as you do."

"Spoken contemptuously!"

"Hush, now," said Heribert.” No need to quarrel. If I've made peace of a kind with Wolfhere, so can you."

"I'm not meaning to quarrel," replied Zacharias, angry at himself for letting his envy of Wolfhere's knowledge get the better of him.” I just don't like secrets.

You know well enough, Wolfhere, that I'd be your pupil in whatever you cared to teach me, if you had a mind to. But you've made clear it that you won't teach me or anyone else. Except the absent Liath who, I swear to you, I'm beginning to quite dislike even though I've never met her." "You jealous bastard," said Heribert with a laugh.” It's still your move," said Wolfhere.

"I'll go." Zacharias ducked back outside, stepping over ropes staked down to hold the awning in place. Summer twilight painted the western forest, shrouded by low-lying clouds, in haze. Wind murmured through the trees, a counterpoint to the patter of rain. A mist had come up from the river, wreathing both cathedral tower and fortress tower in white. Beyond the palisade and ditch lay trampled fields, all that golden grain leveled by a malicious heart that reveled in destruction. A few abandoned hovels, homes of fisherfolk or tanners, stuck out as blackened hulks. Even the orchards had been hacked down, although intact gardens and orchards flourished within the safety of the walls.

The main force of the Quman army lay in wait by the front gates, but smaller encampments were scattered along the valley in a pattern Zacharias could not read. He wasn't a strategist. He'd never trained for war. Perhaps Bulkezu was only hiding in his personal tent, waiting to ambush him—

Nay, no use letting his thoughts tend in that direction. Fear crippled you. He had to beat it out of himself. That was the only way to defeat Bulkezu.

He had other angers he could nurse, to keep his mind off his fear of the Quman.

Why was Wolfhere so stubborn? What use were secrets? Knowledge only mattered if it was shared; people ought to be al lowed to learn rather than be kept in ignorance. The thought of that old man sitting on everything he knew, the way a dragon might hoard gold, rankled.

"Out here," said the empress' voice, and Blessing appeared with her nursemaid and young Matto, her constant attendants. She had a little wooden sword in her left hand and was waving it about enthusiastically.” Now we fight! Now we fight, Matto." When she saw Zacharias and the vista that lay beyond the low wall, she darted over to the wall, jumped several times trying to get a good look over it, and tested toeholds at the base of the wall before returning to Zacharias.” Lift me up!"

He hoisted her up in his arms and there she clung, hands on his shoulders, staring out with her eyes wide as she struggled to actually stand up on his arms to get an extra hand's breadth of height to see.” What's that?"

"That is Margrave Helmut Villain's city, called Walburg. Can you see that banner on the tower? That means his heir is in residence. All the people in the town have been besieged by the Quman army."

"Those Quman are bad," she announced.

"Yes, they'd like to break into the city and burn everything."

"But Dada won't let them. Dada will kill them all and make them go away."

Because Zacharias didn't reply at once, strangled by that plaguey fear, Matto strode forward indignantly.” Of course he will! There isn't anyone who can stand against the prince."

"Of course, lad," said Zacharias weakly as he gazed down on the distant army, their pale tents like dead maggots littering the ground.

Blessing wriggled out of his grasp and set out to climb the wall with Matto hovering behind her to make sure-she didn't fall until at last, disgusted, she glared at him to make him move back a step.

"Let her take a few falls, Matto," said Anna as she watched the determined child struggling with a toehold in the wall.” She'll learn better that way."

Zacharias chuckled.” Where did you leam such wisdom, child?"

Anna shut her mouth tight. She hadn't trusted him since the day she learned that he refused to pray to God.

With a sigh, he turned away. The rain had stopped and a dense <> humidity settled in, almost thick enough to lick out of the air. Twilight closed in and restlessness seized him though he hadn't anywhere to go. He just had to be patient. He'd survived seven years as a slave of the Quman. Certainly he could survive one night of waiting and wondering. He could survive Wolfhere's damnable se-cretiveness.

He ducked back under the awning just as a cocky young soldier, windblown and rather dirty, entered from the other side to approach captain and prince.

Sanglant sat up with sudden alertness, setting down his cup.” Si-bold. I'm glad to see you back safely. What's your report?"

Sibold had a rakish grin and a knife scar under his left ear, just the kind of reckless young man who would volunteer to ride out closer to the Quman lines to reconnoiter. He sauntered forward.” My lord prince. The ditches were well pleased to hide me, hating the Quman as they do. There are three banners flying in the Quman force. The siege is placed before the main gate, but there are two smaller camps, one southwest by the Floyer shore and the other north and east past the ferry. I saw four scouting parties, none above seven men."

Sanglant glanced at Wolfhere, who was still intent on his game with Heribert.”

An Eagle's sight is as keen as rumor has it."

"Even if princes do not always trust it," murmured Wolfhere without looking up from the board.

The prince smiled but made no answer. He slipped a ring off his finger and handed it to the young soldier.” You risked your life to bring us that report. It will serve me well."

"Your Highness." With a sly grin, Sibold backed away before swaggering out into the misting rain, no doubt to boast to his companions and show off his prize.

Sanglant picked up the dice still scattered on the carpet.” We'll attack in the morning."

Now his noble companions roused.

"But my lord prince," objected Lord Hrodik, "all the Quman soldiers are mounted. Three hundred of them! We have only one hundred and thirty, even if they are all horsemen."

Sanglant grinned.” Therefore they will not be at too great a disadvantage." The prince took his dragon helmet from the sergeant who had been polishing it and turned it in his hands, examining the fearsome gleam of the dragon ornamentation from every angle before he balanced it on one leg.” Do you have a better plan, Hrodik?"

Thus challenged, the young lord fell all over himself apologizing and finally Zacharias could stand his whining and awkward flattery no longer. He slipped away to the corner given him to sleep where, rolling himself up in his cloak, he dozed off.

Only to wake, later, feeling Heribert's warmth at his back. The pad of a sentry's footsteps drifted to him on the breeze. Fear, like a breath of cold night air, had already gotten its claws into him. What if the Quman overran their camp? What if Prince Sanglant lost the battle sure to come in the morning? Would it be better to end his life by his own hand, or would that merely damn him forever? Had he the courage to throw himself in the path of a Quman arrow or spear? Or would they drag him away and make him a slave again?

He shuddered, thinking of the mark on his shoulder. What if they captured him and, seeing the rake of the snow leopard's claw on his shoulder, returned him to Bulkezu?

Death would be better. If he only had the courage to embrace it. The night was hazy, the stars half hidden. The camp lay silent, shrouded in mist. A fire burned in front of the prince's awning, and two men sat there without speaking as the flames leaped and crackled: Wolfhere with his back to Zacharias, and a second person, fainter than the Eagle, sitting opposite Wolfhere. But that second person was no man; it was a woman, all bent with age, so thin she seemed without substance, like a shadow.

Zacharias shifted, raising himself up on an elbow. For an instant, he could see the other side of the fire without the flames sparking and twisting in his vision.

There was no one there.

He dropped, breath punched out of him. Mist streamed over the stars. Out in the forest, a wolf howled. Closer, a night creature rustled through the rocks.

Wolfhere did not move. From this angle, Zacharias saw through the flames again.

The woman's figure was still there, faded but clear. She was a shadow. He was seeing the shadow of a woman through the flames.

He began to push himself up just as a man crouched silently beside him and a strong hand gripped his shoulder.

"Let it be, Zacharias," murmured the prince.” Now is not the time."

"When will that time come?" he whispered harshly.

Sanglant did not relinquish that grip, forcing him down firmly until the ground pressed against his back.” When we're no longer fighting for our lives."

"That's me! That's me!" cried Blessing exultantly as her father rode out at dawn, resplendent in armor, tabard, scarlet cloak, and his magnificent dragon helm, with his army arrayed behind him. His banners carried no sigil; he rode with simple cloth-of-gold standards streaming behind him, in recognition of his royal birth, however left-handed it might be, and his daughter's imperial descent.

For Anna, waiting out the skirmishes was the hardest part of traveling in the prince's war band. Prince Sanglant was a grand fighter, but a reckless father.

"Come down from the wall, Your Highness," said Heribert nervously.” You might fall."

Blessing ignored him, bouncing up and down excitedly on the ruined wall as she watched the soldiers ride away.” I'll fight next time!" She brandished her wooden sword, which was about the size of a kitchen knife, poking and thrusting and hacking at the wind. Pebbles clacked and clattered off the wall to thump onto the ground in time to the pounding of hooves fading into the distance as the prince and his soldiers vanished down the track.

Anna shifted anxiously as Heribert simply swept Blessing off the wall and carried her—the little girl was too dignified to struggle—to the half-ruined watchtower.

They had to skirt the traps; Matto and Everwin set the last two in place once they had all ducked into the tower. The camp lay silent around them, awning, tents, traveling gear stacked neatly, although in fact everything of real value had been stowed in the watchtower. She scrambled up the stairs after Heribert and found a place beside him at the top, where she could see out over the valley.

Blessing had tucked her face into Heribert's shoulder, yawning mightily.

Fog concealed the valley except for the flames burning at the top of the two gate towers, symbols of Villam resistance. The defensive walls of Walburg looked stout and welcoming right now, compared to the crumbling watchtower and the little band of six men, not counting the clerics and the Eagle, left behind to defend Blessing. At times like this she was sorry she had left Gent and the safe routine of Mistress Suzanne's workshop. Fool, fool, fool. She squeezed back tears, sure a sob was about to burst out of her, but Matthias had trained her well. If she cried, the Eika might hear her. She had never forgotten the lessons she had learned hiding from the Eika in Gent. She knew how to swallow her fear and keep still, no matter what.

The sun was rising in the east, but the wind had died. Fog thinned into wisps along the two rivers. The sound of drums beating loud and fast rose from within the castle walls. This was surely not the doing of the prince, who preferred to approach a fight in silence. Horns joined into the rancor, incoherent blasts dragged out like the wailing of a stubborn two-year-old. Between the towers, the gate of stout timbers braced with thick iron bands swung open. Armored warriors advanced one by one to form a line before the open portal.

The Quman, whose defensive works were set more than a bowshot from the towers, scrambled for their horses, expecting the keep defenders to charge at any moment. For every mounted warrior who appeared at the gate, five Quman riders came forward to counter them. The wings made them seem ominous and even greater in number than they were. At last, after the banner appeared at the portal, drooping in the dying wind, the lord of the keep rode out to take up the foremost position. He turned to face his troop of four dozen mounted soldiers, his back to the Quman as if daring them to charge. Yet the Quman only formed up, waiting for orders or suspicious of a trap.

After a short span the lord of Walburg turned to face his foe, lowering his lance as if in salute.

Prince Sanglant's force, having reached the bottom of the wooded slope, broke out of the forest and onto the river plain. They advanced at a trot. As yet, a copse of scrub and open orchard

obscured them from the main Quman army, assembled before the gate. The scouts stationed to guard against a flank attack fled back toward their camp, occasionally loosing an arrow toward the prince's force to keep them off guard.

It did not take long for the main Quman force to recognize the new threat. A Quman chieftain joined the gathering horde. He was easy to spot because his wings glinted as if each were a knife of polished steel. Half his force split with him, turning neatly and breaking into a charge as the prince's troops cleared the orchard. At a gallop, the two forces collided.

Zacharias, beside her, grunted softly, as though he himself had been hit.

Heribert murmured a prayer. Blessing had two fingers in her mouth, sucking hard, as she squinted at the landscape below; it was impossible to tell if she understood what was going on.

Anna leaned forward. The sun was shining in her eyes and it was hard to see.

The prince, dragon helm gleaming, led the charge straight to the iron-winged Quman. Horse and rider disappeared under the prince's assault; the brilliant wings splintered and vanished as the fight swirled over them. Now, at last, Walburg's cavalry advanced as the gate closed behind them, blocking their retreat.

"How goes the fray?" Wolfhere's voice surprised her.

"Well enough, I think. Don't you ride with the prince?

He chuckled softly as Zacharias glared at him.” Nay, child. I'm too old for battle."

"Look," said Heribert softly.” They've routed them."

The field churned into chaos, Wendish soldiers pursuing the Quman, who scattered in all directions.

Sanglant split his group into three; his dragon helm could be seen chasing the largest surviving knot of Quman toward the river. Walburg's forces hunted down Quman as well. Anna lost sight of Walburg's lord where the slope and wood hid him from view, near where Sanglant had originally emerged.

"Quman!" From below, Matto called the alarm.

A group of fourteen Quman broke out of the trees and into the clearing, reining their horses aside when they saw the undefended tents, the ruined watchtower, and the square-walled little fort. Wolfhere drew his short sword and crept carefully to the parapet walk, avoiding rotted planks and gaps in the floorboards.

CHILD or FLAME Zacharias yanked her down beside him. Through the gaps in the floorboards she saw Matto, Everwin, and the man everyone called Surly standing with spears to cover the breaches that riddled the first floor of the tower. From this angle she couldn't see Den, Johannes, and Lewenhardt, who were stationed elsewhere. She stuck her hand into an alcove in the stone wall, drawing out the long knife she had laid aside just in case. Zacharias and Heribert had staffs, but everyone knew that Heribert was pretty useless in a fight. How well Zacharias could fight was a mystery to everyone, but the look of desperation on his face made_her almost feel sorry for him.

Heribert slid over to Anna.” Don't worry," he whispered.” They'll loot the camp and then ride away. They won't even know we're here."

"I kill them," interrupted Blessing. The cleric hissed softly and set two fingers over Blessing's lips. The little girl sighed disgustedly and shut her eyes.

By now the sound of horses crashing through the undefended camp and of men calling to each other in their harsh language carried easily. Fabric ripped. Pots clattered. A horse neighed. Anna took little comfort in Heribert's words. She hid the knife up her sleeve so that, should a Quman reach her, he might think her unarmed and easy prey.

What betrayed them she never knew. Maybe it was only curiosity on the part of one of the Quman soldiers.

She heard it because, crouched down, she could see nothing except her companions, the crumbling parapet wall, and the sky. A soldier must have investigated the stairs, where one of the traps had been laid.

A scream cut abruptly through the sounds of looting. A body fell, wetly, in awful silence. At once, the Quman shouted to each other and a rain of arrows spattered down along the parapet walk. One slammed into the wall above Anna and flopped over to clatter onto the plank beside Heribert. She peeped out over the wall.

Crazy Lewenhardt had found himself cover on a slab of wall broken off on either side and therefore hard to climb. The best archer in Sanglant's troop, he started shooting now, picking his targets carefully. A dismounted Quman who was advancing on the tower fell writhing, then scrambled backward with an arrow sticking out of his thigh. Another shower of arrows followed; Anna ducked.

Through the floorboards she saw Everwin grab at a rope just as Matto yelled.

"Three of them, in the left breach!"

Rocks tumbled as a winged soldier pressed through, leading with his spear.

Either the rocks crushed him or he leaped out of the way; she couldn't tell as dust rose, screening her view. Surly was already hacking at the central breach, trading blows with an unseen foe. Shouts rose from Den and Johannes as Quman found the other usable stairs leading to the parapet. She heard the sharp

"twang" of the last trap released. Wolfhere ran down the walk to aid them, but he hadn't gone more than ten steps when a Quman leaped onto the parapet between Wolfhere and the tower. The stone archway, all that remained of the old door, framed his frightful figure. His wings fluttered as the wind picked up; several feathers, scraped off from his climb, drifted out into the gulf of air beyond the wall.

Anna shouted a warning, leaping up as she drew her knife. Lewenhardt's arrow took the man from behind. He staggered and fell forward just as Wolfhere, turning, struck him down. But he still wasn't dead. Anna ran forward as he groped toward the wall. She kicked away his spear, then leaped back as Wolfhere rolled him over and slit his throat.

"Wolfhere!" shouted Heribert desperately. Anna turned to see Matto scooting up the narrow stair that led from the lower room to the upper. The youth jabbed his spear down, and down again with his right arm while his left arm was wrapped around Everwin, dragging him up as the other man kept kicking and kicking as though to shove away an enemy or to catch a step to propel himself upward.

"Damn," said Wolfhere casually. He tossed the dead man's spear to Anna.” Do your best, child." He turned back to help Den and Johannes, both of whom she could now see being pressed backward up along the other stairs.

Heribert set Blessing down and leaped forward to pull Everwin free. Amazingly, the child had fallen asleep. Zacharias was nowhere to be seen.

Anna ran over to stand beside Matto as he heaved himself up onto the planks.

Once Everwin was clear, she thrust the spear into his hands, then pried loose rocks free from the wall with Heribert's help and started dropping them down the stairs as fast as they could get hold of new ones. Wings shattered. Men cursed.

The angle and ferocity of their attack stymied the Quman for the moment.”

Anna,.Anna, give me the baby!" Zacharias' voice called from below, from outside the guard tower.

Darting to the side of the tower overlooking the inner ward of the little fort, Anna peered over the side. Zacharias had actually climbed over the parapet wall and slid down the outside of the watchtower to the inner ward, where only the ruined square of walls protected him from their attackers.

A trio of Quman archers had Lewenhardt pinned down in his redoubt. Den was wounded, an arrow stuck cockeyedly out of one shoulder, and he had fallen back behind Johannes and Wolfhere, who retreated step by laborious step back up the stairs in the face of superior numbers. An arrow glanced off Johannes' helmet and he stumbled, only to be yanked out of reach of a Quman spear by Wolfhere.

"Rocks!" cried Everwin.

Two Quman riders leaped the fallen stones half blocking the entrance to the inner ward and pulled up inside. Zacharias shrieked in helpless fear and threw himself onto the ground in abject surrender. There was nothing she could do to help Zacharias, if he'd been so stupid as to leave the only refuge they had. But she could still, maybe, save Blessing.

As one of the Quman drew and aimed at the frater's prostrate body, Anna gritted her teeth and tugged another stone off the wall before staggering back to throw it down right on the helmet of the Quman soldier trying to push up onto the second floor. Matto cheered weakly as the Quman dropped out of sight.

Blood ran from both his legs as he sat down hard, face pale, too weak to fight.”

They'll never take her," cried Heribert, grabbing the spear out of Matto's hands.

A horn rang clear and sweet. The Quman shouted to each other. The attackers below vanished between one breath and the next, and she heard them scrambling over rocks to get to their horses. The ring of swords over by Wolfhere ceased as abruptly. Anna ran

over to the outer wall, standing on tiptoes and craning her neck just in time to see Wendish soldiers break out of the woods.

The lord of Walburg and twenty stout fighting men had arrived, thank God.

Good Wendish steel made short work of the last of the Quman. When they were all dead and sentries had ranged out to cover the ground, the lord pulled off his helm and coif to reveal that he was a woman.

"Well met, my lady Waltharia," cried Wolfhere from the parapet walk. To Anna's surprise, he was grinning, an odd expression on that normally secretive face. He shouted to the others.” Best go down and pay our respects."

Zacharias staggered out of the inner ward, having suffered no worse injuries than scraped knees and hands. Only Anna and Heribert had noticed his ignominious escape attempt, and if Heri-bert meant to say nothing, then Anna decided she would keep her mouth shut, too. Surly was dug up from the first-floor rubble; he'd taken a hard blow to the head and was only now waking, but otherwise looked unharmed. The rest straggled over, limping, cursing, but otherwise victorious.

"God save us," said Lady Waltharia as the motley defenders gathered before her.” I've never seen a more wretched crew than this one. Where's the brat?"

Heribert was carrying Blessing, who yawned sleepily and cracked one eye, twisted up her face in a delightful grimace, and decided against waking up. With another yawn, she snuggled her head against Heribert's shoulder and promptly went back to sleep.

Lady Waltharia dismounted to examine the child, although she was careful not to wake her.” Handsome little thing. Although I suppose she'd be so, with the prince for a father. Who are you?"

"I am Brother Heribert, my lady. Brother Zacharias and I constitute Prince Sanglant's schola."

She had a good laugh, friendly and open.” A schola, an Eagle, a brat, and this nut-brown creature."

"I am called Anna, my lady," said Anna stoutly.

"So you are, if you say so, but why on earth does a girl of your tender years ride with Sanglant's war band?"

"I am the nursemaid, my lady."

"Ah. A good thing, too, for the prince to provide his child with a nursemaid if he insists on dragging her about with his war band. Are you practical? Do you scare easily? Can you endure the pace of his army?"

"That's a lot of questions, my lady."

"Nor should you answer them, if you're wise. Here's a few likely looking youths as well," she added, marking Matto and the other five soldiers with a comprehensive glance. She was perhaps thirty years of age, a tall woman made imposing by her mail and swagger, with ruddy cheeks and light brown hair pulled tightly back in a braid. Sweat beaded on her forehead. One of her ears was missing the tip of its lobe, and her easy grin revealed a missing tooth. She beckoned to Wolfhere, who stepped forward respectfully.” So, Eagle, I hear a rumor that you've been banished again. Or that you deserted the king. It's so difficult to sort out rumor from truth, is it not? Ought I to send you on your way with the flat of my sword, or imprison you?"

Wolfhere smiled. To Anna's amazement, she could see that he genuinely liked this woman. He was always so reserved that it was remarkable to see a real spark of emotion in his face.” I am pledged to aid the prince, my lady. I throw myself on his mercy in this case."

She snorted, delighted by his reply.” On the mercy of the prince! Whom you tried to murder when he was but a mewling infant, if the old story is indeed true, and certainly my dear father believes it true, since he's the one who told it to me."

A sharp whistle, repeated three times, sounded from the trees.

"But I trust we can ask him ourselves," she finished, turning at the sound of riders approaching up the track.

Blessing woke up abruptly, lifting her head and squirming so determinedly that Heribert gave up in disgust and let her wriggle out of his grasp.” Dada!" she yelped ecstatically as streaming gold banners appeared among the trees. A moment later the prince himself rode into view, quite splendid in his gold tabard, scarlet cloak, gleaming armor, and the intimidating dragon helm, gold dragon plating sculpted onto the helmet in such a way that it looked as if the dragon was about to launch itself into attack.

He pulled up his horse and dismounted at once, had barely gotten his helm off before Blessing was on him, clamoring to be picked up.” Hush, Daughter," he said, laughing as he picked her

up.'He looked at Waltharia, who was admiring the fine figure he made.” It worked."

"It always does." She smiled as at an old memory, meeting his gaze straight on.

"Dada, look at me!" scolded Blessing, then shrieked with glee when he tweaked her nose.

"How is Hedwig?" asked Wolfhere.

Waltharia chuckled.” Hates you as much as ever, or so I assume from the stream of oaths she let fly when she realized last night that it was you who had arrived in the train of the prince."

"I shall endeavor to keep out of her way," murmured Wolfhere mildly.

"So you had better, if you value all your limbs." She turned back to Sanglant.” A timely visit, my lord prince. The Quman invested Walburg only six days ago. You saw what they did to the fields and orchards. There are a dozen farmers unaccounted for from the estates." She walked boldly up to him and fingered the hem of Blessing's tunic, smudged and ragged from play. The little girl eyed her suspiciously.” I am surprised, though, that you expose the child to so much danger, riding on campaign with you."

"Less danger with me than with any caretaker." Anna knew how fiercely he loved his daughter. She could see it in his expression now as he glared defiantly at Lady Waltharia, as if her good opinion mattered to him.” Better she die if I die than that she live without my protection."

"And her mother—? Ah. Best we leave that subject for another time, I see. I'll personally escort your schola and your nursery to the safety of my fortress."

"I thank you," he said stiffly, still looking irritated. He kissed Blessing.” You go with Anna, little one. Nay, no arguments now." Nor did he wait for arguments.

He handed Blessing over to Anna's care and left again with his war band, thundering down toward the plain, no doubt to track down and kill as many fleeing Quman as he could.

Lady Waltharia did indeed escort them to Walburg, but she left them at the gates in the care of a steward and herself rode off to pursue their enemies.

Planks had been thrown hastily down over the outer ditch to accommodate the sally. Anna walked over, feeling safer that way as a servant led her mule. The planks shifted under her feet, and she had to throw out her arms to keep her balance before she reached solid ground. The next bridge led directly under the wall, guard towers looming on either side and murder holes spaced at intervals.

She heard voices murmuring down the holes and glimpsed movement, soldiers watching from the safety of their fortifications. The gate creaked open; they passed through into Walburg itself.

For a city under siege it was remarkably clean and orderly. Avenues wrapped around the hill where the original fort had risen. Newer streets, all of them lined with plank walkways, radiated outward from the cathedral square. Tents had been thrown up in the square and in a handful of vacant lots in neat lines to accommodate refugees, but most of the unbuilt ground had been given over to orchards and gardens, provision against the siege. Smaller than Gent's cathedral, the basilica of St. Walaricus had a tidy look about it, everything squared off, the lintels painted with intertwined spirals and linked circles flowering into wreaths and the tower decorated with a carved tree on each face, painted silver.

"The Villam sigil is the silver tree," explained Zacharias as they passed through the cathedral square on their way up to the fortified palace.

"So it is," agreed Heribert, "but so also was St. Walaricus martyred by being hung from a tree by a heathen prince."

"Clever of Villam to dedicate the cathedral to Walaricus, was it not? Then he could have it both ways."

Heribert looked surprised. Anna liked him much better than she liked Zacharias, who had spit in God's face, but even so, he made her kind of uncomfortable just because he was always so tidy and clean even in the worst camp conditions.

Sometimes she just didn't see the point of being so fussy.

"Do you think Villam chose to dedicate his cathedral to St. Walaricus just so he could display his own sigil upon the church tower without anyone calling him to account for such presumptu-ousness?"

Zacharias laughed.” Do you suppose Villam did not? He's a more clever man than I, friend."

"Than I devoutly pray we be spared his intrigues."

Zacharias merely smiled. Anna didn't trust him when he smiled, no more than she trusted the old Eagle Wolfhere who, like any wolf, looked as ready to bite you as to lick your hand.

The men-at-arms, even Matto, were led to the barracks, but Blessing and her personal retinue were given a tower room in the palace, good enough to see out along the river. There was a bed all downy soft, a smaller trundle bed heaped high with a feather quilt, and four sleeping pallets stacked against one wall. A half-dozen braziers heavy with coals wanned the chilly room. Anna sat cross-legged on the thick carpet since Zacharias, Wolfhere, and Heribert took the bench and chair. Blessing decided to sit on the table, right in the center, where she could command the servants as they brought in a hearty meal of chicken basted in mustard and parsley, a juicy broth, leeks cooked in butter, slices of veal with a mint sauce spooned over it, and honey dumplings.

The rich meal made Anna burp. She curled up at the foot of the bed, suddenly so sleepy that she wanted nothing better than a nap. Woke to a shriek.” Dada!

Dada! See me up here!"

"Lord save us, Your Highness!" That was Heribert, frantic.” You'll fall to your death!"

Hiding from the Eika, Anna had learned to wake quickly and with all her wits intact. She leaped up in time to see Wolfhere grab Blessing bodily and sweep her down from the window ledge. The girl shrieked louder, if that was possible, twisted in Wolfhere's grasp, and bit his wrist, hard. He yelped and dropped her.

"Now there's a child whose taste I admire." An elderly woman wearing the badge of an Eagle moved in through the door, leaning heavily on a cane. She measured each person in the chamber with a keen gaze more likely to chill than to warm. Even Blessing, drawing breath for a good, loud, outraged scream, deflated abruptly, staring at the new arrival with puzzlement.” So, Wolfhere, I had prayed I might never have the pleasure of seeing you again."

"I beg your pardon, Hedwig," he said.” Out of respect, I'll offer no 'hail, fellow, and well met.' " "I expected you'd be dead by now." "I heard you were."

She snorted.” It will take more than five Quman arrows to kill me."

"I heard it was bandits."

She laughed dryly.” Quman weren't the only ones who have tried to kill me. The bandits you speak of soon learned their mistake. Lady Waltharia strung them up for their trouble in Cathedral Square. They hung there until the crows and ravens ate them down to the bone." She dug in one of her dangling sleeves and after a moment fished out a string of finger bones.” This is all that remains of them."

"A handsome trophy," observed Wolfhere.” I keep it with me to remind me of what befalls those who make me angry."

He laughed, but Anna could see by the flush in his cheeks and the way he squinted his eyes all tight and shifty-like that he loved Mistress Hedwig no better than the elderly woman loved him. Anna scooted over to Blessing and made the child graciously accept the old Eagle's homage.

"So this is the child." They examined each other, the crippled old woman and the young princess. Blessing's hair had escaped its braid, and wisps curled around her sharp little face.

"I will sit," Blessing announced. She sat on the center of the carpet and gestured imperiously toward the bench, where Zacharias hastily moved aside to make room.” You will sit."

"I thank you, Your Highness, but if I sit it will be a day and half before I can get my old bones to lift me up again. I am bid by Lady Waltharia to bring you down to the feast. She means to serve you and your father most handsomely, as befits a margrave hosting a royal prince."

"I thought Helmut Villam was margrave here," muttered Zacharias.

The comment earned him a cutting look from old Hedwig.

Wolfhere hastened to explain.” Lady Waltharia is margrave in all but name."

"Her father isn't dead yet! He looked damned lively to me when I had the misfortune to be brought to his attention!"

Heribert shrugged.” The secrets of King Henry's inner court are hidden to me. I am only a lowly cleric from the schola at Mainni."

Wolfhere grunted, half amused by the elegant cleric's protestation.” Why do you think old Villam rides in attendance to the king? He and his daughter respect each other, but they don't get along. She's competent to rule the marchlands, and he can't live forever. He stays out of her way. It's a form of retirement, since he hasn't the temperament to abide the monastery. And better—" He glanced at Hedwig. When their gazes met, it was like blows being exchanged.” Better for all concerned than rebellion. It's been known before for a restless adult to rebel against a parent when no independence is forthcoming. Villam is a wise man, and he did better than most to raise an heir as wise as he."

"That you respect her as she deserves is the only good thing I have to say about you," observed Hedwig.

"So be it." Wolfhere raised a hand, as if in submission.” Let us not scrape old wounds raw, I beg you."

"Don't fight!" commanded Blessing, fists set on hips as she glared at them. She had such a fierce way of screwing up her face that it was—almost—impossible to laugh at her. In another year, it wouldn't be funny anymore.

"As you wish, Your Highness," said Hedwig without expression.” If you will allow me to escort you."

Anna admired Hedwig for the steady way she took the stairs, even though every step seemed to hurt her. The stairway twisted down, curving to match the tower. She'd never seen a tower so big built all of stone before except for the cathedral tower in Gent, and it had been square. This one was cold and dreary and dark, but once they reached the base they passed through an archway girded with a double set of doors, each one reinforced by an iron bar, and out into a sizable courtyard where soldiers swarmed. Anna smelled blood and excitement like perfume, the heady scent of a victory won. A great pile of wooden wings lay in a heap to one side. Feathers drifted in the air like a fine chaff of snow. Prince Sanglant stood by one of the troughs. He'd stripped down to almost nothing and now sluiced water over his bare chest and arms, washing away blood.

Blessing drew in air for a shriek of delight, glanced at Hedwig, and abruptly thought better of it. Instead, she yanked and yanked at Anna to get her to move faster as she trotted through the crowd. Soldiers gave way before her, calling out her name, as she made straight for her father.

As they came up behind him, he spoke without turning around.” Nay, little one, I'm in no mood for sport."

Sometimes, like now, the prince seemed consumed by a passion for washing that put Heribert's fussy ways to shame. Anna had never seen a person scrub as hard as he might do when he got in one of those moods. But she remembered the way he'd looked when he'd been chained in Gent's cathedral, two years ago.

Maybe he could never scrape all that grime and filth away, or at least not in his heart.

Lady Waltharia's soldiers spoke together in low voices, watching the prince as he bathed.

"Nay, I'd not have believed it. I swear those Quman would have run from him even if he'd been alone." "I've never seen a man fight so bravely." "I heard he went mad when his banner bearer went down." Lower still: "Is it true he can never be king?" A sudden arc of noise ended in silence as Lady Waltharia entered the courtyard with a broad-shouldered lord in attendance. He was still armed, cheeks as flushed as though he'd been running. Drying blood streaked his blond hair, cut short to frame a square face. Waltharia had already shed her mail but the padded coat she wore showed stains of sweat around the collar and under the arms, and tiny discolored rings where her mail had pressed into the cloth. At once, the soldiers broke into cheers.

She lifted a hand to call for silence.” Let Prince Sanglant be honored. If he had not struck, we would still lie under siege."

As the soldiers hurrahed and shouted, Matto ran up with Sanglant's feasting tunic. He pulled it on over his damp hair, a fine wool tunic dyed a mellow orange, embroidered with yellow and white dragons stretching like snakes along the hem and at the sleeves. He did not ask for quiet but got it anyway as he finished belting the tunic at his hips.

"Don't rejoice too much." Though he did not seem to shout, his hoarse voice carried easily over the throng.” Drink your fill tonight, but remember that we have more battles to fight. This was only a small portion of the Quman army.

Their leader isn't dead yet, nor are they running east like whipped dogs. As they will."

The soldiers liked such words. They shouted his name, and then that of their lady and her husband, Lord Druthmar. The celebration carried them into the great hall. Prince Sanglant hoisted his daughter onto his shoulders where she shrieked and shouted with the best of them, her high voice lifting above the clamor. Anna thought she herself would be overwhelmed and trampled, but Matto and Captain Fulk closed in behind her, protecting her in a pocket of space behind the prince so she wouldn't be crushed. The months hadn't been as kind to her as they'd been to Matto, who had grown a hand in height and filled out through the chest. Although she never got bitterly hungry, she'd gotten lean. All the fat she'd earned in Mistress Suzanne's compound had melted away under the rigors of riding to campaign. Caught up in the rush of rough and ready soldiers, she felt like a stick thrown into a stream swollen with the spring flood.

It was hard to hear anything at the feast over the constant singing and toasts, the dull roar of a satisfied and triumphant assembly. Anna stood in attendance on Blessing, as always. At intervals, she nibbled at the delicacies heaped up on Blessing's platter as course after course rolled through: roasted goose with parsley and bread stuffing; a meat stew strewn with rose petals and sweetened with cherry preserves; oyster loaves; breads sprinkled with caraway and fennel; beef broth cooked with dill and leeks; a potage of ground hazelnuts, flour, and elderflowers; and honey dumplings again.

The victorious soldiers drank heavily. Lady Waltharia herself poured Prince Sanglant's wine through a gold sieve spoon that she had gotten, so she said, as part of her inheritance from her dead mother, who had been Villam's third and favorite wife.

Lord Druthmar seemed a steady sort of man, open, honest, good-hearted, and not one bit chafed by his wife's authority.” We've heard reports that Bulke/u has captured Prince Ekkehard." "Has Bulkezu asked for ransom?" Sanglant chased off a greyhound that was trying to lick grease off the linen cloth laid over the prince's knees.” Or do you think he'll kill him?"

Lady Waltharia sat down between the two men. Anna moved quickly to stop Blessing from feeding a choice morsel of meat to the rejected greyhound.

"It's only a rumor that the Quman captured Ekkehard," said Waltharia.” Prince Bayan and Princess Sapientia wintered in Han-delburg. We heard that Prince Ekkehard was imprisoned there, but he escaped the biscop's custody and fled the town. The roads are cold and difficult in the wintertime, when he was last seen. I think he must be dead."

Sanglant sipped thoughtfully at his wine.” It's an implausible story. You know Bayan as well as I do. How could a youth like Ekkehard escape not just Bayan's but also Biscop Alberada's watch?" He shook his head.” For what offense is it said he was imprisoned?"

Blessing dropped her spoon. Anna crouched just in time to see the recalcitrant greyhound nosing the ivory spoon, licking off the remains of broth. She hissed, and the dog scrabbled away, kicking rushes up in her face. Half under the table, hands covered in rushes and a discarded bone digging into her knee, she heard Lady Waltharia's quiet reply.

"Heresy."

Did the hall quiet, or was it only the thick table and the heavy embroidered tablecloth hanging down to brush the floor that muffled the noise of the feasting multitude? Lord Druthmar began laughing at a joke told to him by the lord sitting at his right hand. Lady Waltharia had the prince's attention all to herself.

"It's been said that these heretics use evil magic to gain followers. It's also been said that God aided Ekkehard. Take your pick."

"I let the church folk quarrel about religion."

She chuckled and called for more wine. Anna felt it safe to emerge from under the table, wriggling back under the bench. Standing, she wiped off the spoon on her tunic so that it was clean enough to give back to Blessing.

Petitioners came forward to beg Lady Waltharia to allow them to return to their farms now that the Quman menace had fled. A poet begged leave to entertain them with the song that he had composed this very night in honor of their victory. Blessing's head drooped, her eyes fluttered, she yawned, and tried to climb into her father's lap to sleep.

"I'll take her to her bed." Sanglant rose, cradling Blessing in his arms. A great shout rose from the assembled soldiers, cheering him, and for the first time since returning from battle he smiled, acknowledging their tribute. He raised a hand for silence, and the crowd quieted, waiting for him to speak.

"Drink well this night," he called.” Tomorrow we hunt Quman."

With the soldiers' cheers still echoing, Anna followed him out by dark passages that led them not immediately to the tower but rather to the barracks, a long attic room built over the stables. Pallets of hemp and straw made lumpy beds, but they were a softer mattress than the plank floor. She could smell the horses below and even catch glimpses of them through warped floorboards. It was quiet in the barracks; most of the men stil feasted in the great hall. Those who had been wounded in today's engagement had been carried up here to recover, or die.

With Blessing asleep on his shoulder, the prince visited each of the injured men, traded jokes, checked poultices, or quizzed them closely about what they had seen and done in the battle. A few were too injured even to speak, although one of these could at least grasp the prince's hand. One man had a gray face, as though the life drained quickly out of him. Anna knew all their names, Chustaffus, Fremen, Liutbald, and even reckless Sibold, who had taken a grim wound to his chest but joked in a lively enough manner when he saw his prince before him. Maybe he wouldn't die.

There were, of a miracle, only three corpses, hauled back from the battle and now covered with shrouds, but one was faithful Wracwulf, who had been given the honor this day of carrying the prince's golden banner. Sanglant knelt beside his body for a long time while Blessing snored quietly in his arms. After a while, Captain Fulk appeared to take his place with the dead. Only then did Sanglant take his sleeping daughter to the tower chamber where her bed waited. Anna carried a lamp to light their way. Once inside the room, she hung it from an iron hook set into the wall, then helped the prince wash Blessing's hands, sticky with grease and honey, strip her down to her under-tunic, and tuck her into the trundle bed. He stood over the child, watching her slide into a deeper sleep as intently as he had studied his wounded soldiers.

"You're a good girl, Anna," he said suddenly. With a poker, he stirred the coals in the brazier closest to Blessing.” What do you think? Should I leave her here at Walburg under Waltharia's protection while I ride east? Yet who can I truly trust?

Can I trust anyone?"

"You can trust me, my lord prince."

He looked at her finally and grinned a crooked grin, a charming grin. She would have jumped out the window right then and there, if he'd asked her to; he had that kind of shining honor to him, so bright that sometimes she thought she could actually see it like a nimbus around him even though she knew it was only her heart that loved him, just as his soldiers loved him.

"So I can," he agreed, and her heart leaped with joy, knowing she'd won his trust in return.

He had remained still for a long time. Now he began to pace, working the length of the chamber, cutting it into patterns, squares and stars and circles, until she got dizzy watching him. She took off her shoes and lay down beside Blessing on the trundle bed. The feathers were so soft that she thought she might sink forever. She was tired, and she hadn't slept in such a comfortable bed since she'd left Mistress Suzanne's. But she cracked an eye open to see what he was doing. He had stopped by the door and stood there listening, hand poised a finger's breadth away from the latch. The latch creaked, shifted, and turned. He jumped back so that, as the door opened, it hid him.

Lady Waltharia entered the chamber alone. She halted a few steps in, surveying with an ironic smile the empty bed, the silent pallets, the table laid with a pitcher of cider and three silver cups, and the sleeping child. The door closed sharply behind her and she jumped, startled, and whirled around to see Sanglant laughing silently behind her.

She chuckled, sweeping her hair back over her shoulders. Somehow, between the hall and this chamber, her braid had come undone to reveal waist-length hair, still crinkled from its recent confinement in the braid.

"You haven't changed," she said as she crossed to sit on the edge of the bed, tying back the hangings so they didn't get in her way.

"Haven't I?" he asked, not moving from his place beside the door.

"You once told me you would never marry."

"Only because my father forbade it. I was captain of the King's Dragons. It was not my right to marry. Then."

"Maybe I'm wrong," she observed, rising to go to the unshuttered window.” You are not what you were." She leaned out on o

the ledge, hands braced on the wooden frame set into the stone opening. From the trundle bed Anna could not see what Waltharia was looking at, if indeed she was looking at anything except the sky and the stars. It was probably warmer outside than in. The stone walls had a way of holding damp and chill jealously inside them.

"What is she like? Your wife, I mean." "Do you envy her?"

She turned.” I suppose I would have, once. But you would have been too much trouble, even if I could have had you. My father was right about that. I needed a more compliant husband." Because he remained silent, she grinned delightfully and sat on the ledge. Wind stirred her hair.” He's a good man, Druthmar. Good enough."

"He acquitted himself ably today."

"So he did. But he isn't you. You're the best stallion in the king's stable. I can't help but admire so much handsome flesh. Especially when I discover it standing half naked at my trough." He laughed.” I needed a wash." "You can wash here. I can have water brought up." "You're the one who hasn't changed."

"Perhaps not. In the old days before the church of the Unities saved my ancestors from the Abyss, it was said that certain priestesses of my people mated with stallions in order to bring good luck to the tribe. I must be descended from one of them."

He came forward finally and threw himself down on the bed, lounging on his back with casual grace as he watched her. From her place in the trundle bed, Anna saw him outlined in lamp glow. The mellow light gave his tousled black hair a silky sheen.

Waltharia remained seated at the window.” You married a woman who claims to be the great granddaughter of Emperor Taillefer and who has also been excommunicated and outlawed for sorcery, one who hasn't been seen since she left Werlida in your company. In truth, nothing remains of her but the child. The same could be said, I suppose, about your mother."

His lips curled, although not in a smile.” What a great deal you know."

"Do I? It seems to me that the person who believes she knows a great deal most likely knows very little."

"A wise saying."

"My father taught me well." She walked to the table to pour herself a cup of cider, letting the rim of the cup linger at her mouth as she examined him over the lip.” What happened to your wife? Did you abandon her?"

His expression grew stiff.” More like she abandoned me. I have reason to believe she still lives. Whether she cares to return to me and the child I do not know. But you are right. The same could be said about my mother. How have you learned so much, out here in the marchlands?"

"I received a message from my father some weeks ago." She paused suggestively, lowering the cup. Anna almost sat up, eager to hear what would come next, but just in time she remembered that she was pretending to sleep.”

He suggests that I support you as well as I am able."

"What does he mean by that?"

"What do you think he means? Why did you leave your father's court and turn your back on your father's authority?"

"Because he wouldn't listen to me. There is a cataclysm coming, and we must prepare for it."

"The folk who work my estates think the Quman raids are cataclysm enough."

"So they are, but they are nothing compared to what we will have to face."

She set down the cup and simply watched him for a while in silence. Anna examined her profile: a strong face, as proud as a margrave's heir must be but also clean Jike unstained linen. She had faint scars along her jaw below the mutilated ear, and a wine-colored birthmark in the hol ow of her throat, easy to see from this angle, but nothing evil in her face, no hidden hatreds or petty jealousies. She knew what she possessed, and she wasn't afraid to rale what was hers.

"Of course, I am inclined to support you in any case, Sanglant."

"Are you?" He was either very drunk or very tired.

Her smile hadn't any answering softness in it.” We live in a time of troubles. Eika raid from the north while Quman strike at us from the east. Machteburg burned to the ground, did you hear that? For two years running there have been poor harvests in the march-lands. A hailstorm flattened a church south of here this spring. A two-headed lamb was born in Duchess Rotrudis' lands. A child here in Walburg was born with six fingers. Along the north coast a thousand birds washed up on the shore, all of them dead. Half of the fraters wandering in my lands speak heresy instead of truth, and the people listen to them. In a time of troubles, the land must have a strong leader."

"My father is a strong leader."

"So he is, but he thinks too much about Aosta and Taillefer's crown. We need a strong leader here in Wendar and the march-lands. Sapientia is weak, Theophanu is cold, and Ekkehard is young and by all reports foolish, if not already dead. But we march lords have not forgotten that Henry has one other child."

Sanglant had been resting his head on his hands, but now he pushed himself up.” What intrigue is Villam hatching?"

"My father loves Henry. No man loves the king better. But my father loves Wendar most of all." She fished into her sleeve and drew out a gold torque, holding it up. Its metal gleamed richly; light winked on the braided surface.” You no longer wear your gold torque, my lord prince. But you should."

He hissed sharply, taken aback by the precious ornament hanging so casually from her hand.

"I pray you," she went on, her voice sliding into a sweet languor as she dangled the torque from her fingers, "let me see how it becomes you."

Anna was old enough to understand what went on between men and women.

That Sanglant was aroused was evident enough; he was flushed with more than the wine. Women were subtler but not always more difficult to interpret. Only a fool or a child would not have known what was on Waltharia's mind at this moment.

Blessing grunted in her sleep, rolled over, and nudged up against Anna, who squeezed her eyes shut and desperately tried to keep still even though Blessing's elbow was jabbed against her ribs.

"We wintered at Gent." That hoarse scrape in his voice gave his words a nostalgic tone but in truth, his voice always sounded like that.” There was a woman there, a servant in the palace. Frederun. She wept when I left."

"Thinking already of the gifts she would no longer get from you."

"No. She was genuinely sorry to see me go."

"So will I be, Sanglant." She spoke the words teasingly, but he did not respond in kind.

"That's not what I meant. It didn't seem right somehow, to use her that way. It seemed as though I'd offered her something she desperately wanted and then snatched it out of her hands."

"I don't understand you," said Waltharia impatiently.” I am a woman, just as she is. You know well enough what appeal you have to us, or at least you once knew it well enough to encourage our sighs and offers, and I know you have never suffered a lack of interest on our part. She was lucky you paid her any attention at all."

"Was she?" he murmured, but Waltharia either did not hear or did not reply.

Sanglant sighed sharply. Blessing gave a snorting sigh as if in answer and rolled away, flinging an arm out as she shifted. She had grown into a remarkably unquiet sleeper. Lying still, Anna risked opening one eye. Sanglant still sat on the bed, looking intent but rather rumpled, as though he'd already taken a few rolls in the hay. He fingered his hair, playing with the tips, needing something to do with his restless hands.

"Where is my schola?" he asked at last.

"They were given my leave to sleep by the hearth in the hall this night."

At last he rose, walking to the window, leaning out to stare into the night just as Waltharia had done before him. His embroidered tunic showed off the breadth of his shoulders and the tapering line of his torso and hips. Anna was old enough now to note that men were good-looking. Sometimes she peeked at Matto, watching the changes overcome his youthful body, but she had never precisely thought of the prince himself in those terms. He was too old, and too high above her. The night breeze breathed in his hair, stirring black strands along his neck.

"It would be treason to rise against my father," he said to the night sky.

"Walburg is a stout fortress, Your Highness. I do not doubt I can bide here safely, despite war and famine. But my people will not do as well, and if they suffer, then what kind of steward am I? Will

there be anything left for my children, and my children's children, to rule? I cannot take that chance."

"I am not ready to take so bold a step." "Do not wait too long, Prince Sanglant."

Her voice roughened, and not only from passion.” Your child is precious, but children are easily lost in times like these." He turned back, startled, to regard her. Tears shone in her eyes.” Our daughter was but two years of age when she died."

"I was never told. She was to be placed in a convent. That's all I heard. My father made it clear that was to be the end of it, as far as I was concerned."

"And so it was the end of it," she said bitterly.” Is the church not the proper place for an illegitimate child? When a stallion is brought in to breed a mare, isn't he returned afterward to his master?"

"What happened?"

Anna feared to breathe, seeing how still the prince stood and knowing how well he could hear.

After a moment, Waltharia continued.” Bandits fell upon the party that was escorting her to the cloister at Warteshausen. I had them hunted down and hanged, and let their corpses rot to nothing on the walls. But that did not bring back the child." She smiled bravely, wiped her face, and downed another cup of cider.” There," she finished, setting down the cup. It rang lightly on wood.” I had done grieving, until you reminded me. It happened four years past, not yesterday. I lost my second son to fever two winters ago, and I pray to God every dawn and every night that I shall not lose the other three." Anger made her tears wither and dry, a heat that wicked them away.” I will not risk Villam lands and all that my father has left in my care so that Henry may run to Aosta seeking an illusory crown among foreigners."

"You risk Henry's wrath if you counsel rebellion. You could lose everything, even your life."

The fever had passed, leaving her calm again, the kind of woman who rarely lost control and then only when she really, really wanted to and was prepared for the consequences. She displayed the gold torque again, tracing the curve of the braid sensuously with her finger. Sanglant, shuddering, shut his eyes. His hands, lying open against the stone ledge, curled into fists.

She smiled as at a challenge offered and accepted.” We march lords must be prepared for anything."

He stirred at the window, opening his eyes.” Is that an invitation, or a proposal?"

"It's whatever you take it to be. Will you wear the gold torque, my lord prince?"

THE Eika fleet sailed out of Rikin Sound before a fair wind, two hundred and twenty-three longships and forty-six knarrs, the big-bellied cargo ships that plied the northern seas. Behind them came eight ships of various size and shape, captained by human allies. These were mostly young men from the merchant colonies that now paid tribute to Stronghand, restless youths eager to make a fortune looting Alba's rich towns and heathen temples.

At first the weather favored them, but they had no sooner seen the shorebirds flying overhead, they had no sooner heard the first shout from the foremost ships, sighting the green hills of Alba, than a gale blew up from the southwest and scattered the fleet north and east.

Stronghand ordered his men to shorten their sails and they rode out the storm with ease, but it took six days for their merfolk allies to track down the scattered ships and escort them back to a rendezvous at the Cackling Skerries off the rugged northeastern coast of Alba, far from the southern lands where lay the most prosperous towns, fields, and temples.

He met with his commanders on Cracknose Rock. Their skiffs were beached in a narrow strand strewn with coarse rocks as grainy as pumice. Cracknose Rock lay at the center of the Skerries, a fist of stone thrusting up defiantly out of the sea.

Climbing to the top, scrambling on rock split and cracked and seeping water from every crevasse and depression, Stronghand could see the fleet riding at anchor in the choppy waters, most of the ships pulled well

back from the scatter of rocky islets. Spray whipped off the sea. Breakers surged and sucked among the smaller rocks crowding like children about the foot of Cracknose. Dark clouds made iron of the sky. A pale promontory flashed in and out of view on the western horizon as a rainstorm occluded it at intervals.

The storm had made a few of his allies timid.

"What if it's true that the Alba tree sorcerers raised that storm?" said Isa's chief.” Our priests don't have the power to call wind and make the waves into mountains."

Stronghand set his standard pole at the center of the gathered chieftains. He pivoted around, gripping it, looking each of his commanders in the eye. None looked away. They had more pride than that. But he knew he could not trust them all.

"I have nothing to fear from the Alban tree sorcerers. They must fear me, although they may be too foolish to do so."

After a pause during which the chieftains fingered their spears in silence and a few regarded him as if they were thinking that it might be a good idea to run him through that instant, his littermate Tenth Son raised the expected objection, as they two had agreed beforehand.” It is foolish not to fear those with powerful magic."

"I am protected against their magic." He raised his standard. Feathers adorned it, bones strung together with wire and clacking softly against strings made of beads and scraps of leather that twisted in the breeze as they brushed against the desiccated skin of a snake. Chains forged from the spun and braided hair of Swift-Daughters, iron and gold, tin and silver, chimed softly. The bone whistles strung from the crosspiece clacked together, moaning as the wind raced through them.

"You may be protected, but what of us?" said Skuma's chief, a huge warrior with massive hands the size of a spade and skin as pale as powdered arsenic.

"All those I hold in my hand cannot be harmed by any magic thrown against me."

"What of spears and arrows?"

He grinned, displaying the jewels set into his teeth.” Not even I can protect your sorry hides from plain iron. Are there any among you who desire such a shield in battle? Do you fear to fight?"

They roared their answer as the wind ripped through their lifted standards, raising a hellish noise.

CHILD or FLAME After a bit, the wind dropped enough, and their shouting ceased, so that he could speak again.” Those who faithfully follow me, I hold in my hand.

Those whose hearts are not loyal receive no protection from me." He gestured toward the fleet before counting his commanders.” Who are we missing? Who has turned tail to run home?"

Eight longships and two knarrs were missing from those that had set out eight days before. One had been seen drifting lifeless on the open waters, and no captain had dared board it for fear that the tree sorcerers had poisoned its hull with their magic.

"It flew Ardaneka's banner," said Hakonin's chief.” Not one of Ardaneka's ships do I see now."

Some of his chieftains eyed the distant shore nervously. A blanket of fog had settled in over the headland, tendrils probing out onto the open sea before they were ripped to pieces by the wind. A warning whistle blew shrill and strong. At the fringe of the gathered assembly, right where the rock dropped precipitously away to the sea on its steepest side, his human allies huddled. They had pulled their cloaks up in a vain attempt to shield themselves from the battering of the wind, but now they exclaimed out loud and pointed to the northeast.

A longship was coming in, bucking in the swells. Its mast had been snapped off halfway, and shreds of sail draped the deck. Seaweed wreathed the stem of the ship. A half-dozen oars had survived the wreck, but not one body could be seen.

Deep gouges marred the clinker-built hull, scars cutting through the red-and-yellow paint to reveal pale wood beneath. Rigging trailed behind like so many snakes wriggling through the sea, except for two lines drawn taut at the front.

The merfolk were hauling in the crippled ship.

Four merfolk surfaced near the strand, propelling a bloated corpse. Two swam in close enough to give it a final shove, and it scraped up along the beach, rolling against the pebbled shore until it wedged face up between two rocks, caught there. They watched in silence as the sea troubled its rest, trying to suck it out as waves receded, trying to force it in to shore as waves rolled in.

Even from the height of Cracknose Rock every soul there recognized the corpse.

Like the rest of them, Ardaneka's chieftain bore distinctive markings on his torso.

Seawater and feasting crabs

had obliterated portions of the three-headed yellow serpent painted onto his chest yet, even with sea worms writhing in the rotting oval that had once been his face, enough could be seen to identify him.

Hakonin's chief hissed derisively.” Ardaneka's master only bared his throat to you after the battle at Kjalmarsfjord, when he saw no one else had the strength to resist you. It seems his faith in you was not strong enough to protect him from the tree sorcerers' storm."

"So it was not," remarked Stronghand.

They all agreed then, one by one, that Ardaneka's chief had been furtive and tricky, eager for gold and silver but reluctant to place his people in the front lines where they might take the brunt of an assault. His seamanship hadn't been anything to boast of, either, and he had only raided where the pickings were easily gained, not where he might meet real resistance.

"He was weak," said Stronghand at last, "and he was not loyal." He regarded his captains calmly, baring his teeth in a grin meant to provoke the irresolute among them.” That storm was only the first magic that the tree sorcerers will cast at us.

But I do not fear them. Do you?"

None stirred. None dared show weakness, or hesitation, now that they had seen what the magic of the tree sorcerers had wrought.

Perhaps the tree sorcerers were in fact capable of raising a storm that great, although he doubted it. He did not doubt the danger the Alban wizards posed to those unprepared to meet them, but he had seen for himself that their magic did not reach far beyond their physical bodies: a shrouding fog, a temporary storm front blasting through a line of ships drawn up for battle, a mist to dazzle the minds of men swayed by their power and guile. The gale that had scattered his fleet had encompassed a vast swath of the northern sea, according to his own observations as his ship had ridden out the gale and to the reports he had received as his loyal captains had straggled in to the Crackling Skerries afterward.

Perhaps the tree sorcerers had called up that storm, seeing his fleet poised at their shore. But whether it was born out of the sea or out of their magic, he knew just how to make use of such opportunities, blown to him on the wind.

That was why he had told the merfolk, in the aftermath of the^ storm, to hunt down Ardaneka's ships and destroy them, each one. To bring him the chieftain's body, drowned and broken.

Let the capricious ones fear that they might be next to suffer under magic's cold claw.

Below, the red-and-yellow ship listed to one side. Seawater swamped the deck, and with a sucking sigh the ship sank under the waves, ropes slithering down until, at last, nothing could be seen except scraps of flotsam, bobbing on the swells. Waves battered the bloated corpse. One of the arms came loose, rotted away at the shoulder, and it rolled away like a lifeless slug. A ripple stirred its steady course; a ridged back sounded. Eels writhed, mouths snapping in eyeless faces, as one of the merfolk raised its gruesome head and, that fast, snatched the decaying arm. Limb and merman vanished beneath the gray-blue sea.

The headland emerged from a low-lying mist. Chalk cliffs gleamed invitingly where the sun lit them. Clouds scudded away northwards. Gulls screamed.

Stronghand raised his standard once more. The haft hummed against his palm as though a hive of bees lived within, but it was only the voice of the magic, always aware, always alert. Always awake.

The magic that protected him never slept, and never dreamed.

"Summer wanes," he said softly, making his commanders strain to hear him above the pound of the surging sea against the rocks and constant blowing rumble of the wind.” Alba waits. And they can do nothing to stop us."

IT all happened so fast: Henry's and Adelheid's triumphant entrance into Darre, Adelheid's labor pangs and her delivery of a healthy daughter in the presence of a dozen witnesses on the sixteenth day of Cintre, a mere twenty days after their arrival. The

CHILD or FLAME queen was too exhausted to be moved; the rigors of the mountain crossing in the fullest months of her pregnancy had worn her down.

Henry could not wait, nor did Adelheid counsel him to tarry in the palace while she recovered.

So it was that a month later Rosvita found herself once again at the head of a triumphal procession riding into Darre. King Henry had made a brief progress through the northern counties and dukedoms of Aosta, restoring daughters and sons that Ironhead had held hostage and allowing the ladies and lords to feed and house his impressive army. Every gate opened to admit him, although it was by no means clear that every count, lord, and duke was overjoyed at the prospect of Queen Adelheid restored to her throne at the hand of the Wendish king. But the northern lords did not want to fight.

"As long as they don't want to fight this year, then we can hope for peace while Henry establishes his power in the south," said Villam as they halted an arrow's shot from the massive gates of Darre.

The magnificence of Darre still awed her. The city was built on five hills, with the two palaces—representing spiritual and temporal power—sitting at the height of Amurrine Hill. The city walls remained more-or-less intact from the time of the old empire, repaired and rebuilt over the course of the four hundred years since the last empress had died defending her throne from the invading Bwr horde.

The Bwr army had left the walls intact and razed the temples instead, to show their hatred for the empire's bloodthirsty gods. Cut from huge stone blocks quarried to the east, the walls rose to the height of ten men, and it was said that a person might walk five leagues on those parapets and not come to the end of them.

Villam, too, admired the walls, but he hadn't done speaking.” A good harvest, a mild winter, the Jinna bandits beaten back out to sea—all these will pacify the Aostan nobles more than any battle can."

"So we must hope," replied Rosvita, "because if reports are true, the southern counties will not yield easily. Is that the queen come to welcome us?"

Henry looked eager, seeing the crowd of folk gathered at the gate, but he was quickly disappointed.

i "Clerics all," said Villam, surprised enough to show it.

Hathui rode forward to meet the welcoming party halfway. Presbyters in red cloaks and clerics garbed in robes of white sang a hymn of praise in strong voices. Incense rose in clouds from gold thuribles; even at this distance, the heady scent made Rosvita dizzy, or perhaps that was just the scorching heat of the summer sun. She had grown accustomed to wearing a broad-brimmed hat, like those Aostan clerics favored, but it was so hot that even such shade gave trifling respite from the heat. Fortuna-tus had remarked several times that it was so hot that not even flies troubled them.

The Eagle returned, escorting a single man resplendent in rich vestments surmounted by a scarlet cloak trimmed with gems at the collar. The blazing sun was not more golden than his hair. He knelt in the dirt before the king.

"Your Majesty, Her Most Blessed Majesty Queen Adelheid has sent me to receive you into the city and to escort you to her. She awaits you in the Ivory Pavilion."

"I had thought she would greet me herself, at the gates of our city," said Henry in a dangerously low voice.” I did not march the breadth of Aosta on her behalf only to be brought before her like a mere prince come to pay my respects."

Hugh wore no hat. Sweat gleamed on his brow, but he looked otherwise cool and collected as he lowered his voice to speak in a voice meant to carry no farther than the king and his closest companions.” The queen is well, my lord king, after the rigors of birth, but her physicians still confine her indoors in this heat. She had a pair of fainting spells some ten days after the birth, and they fear the sun might cause another."

Henry had the grace to change color, and his mouth, tightened into a line of annoyance, shifted subtly to mark concern.” Escort me to her at once."

They rode into the city to the accompaniment of cheers and garlands, thrown by the populace. Clearly, Adelheid had won their love in the month Henry had been gone. They blessed the Wendish king, foreigner though he was, for freeing them from Ironhead's tyranny.

But Villam leaned toward Rosvita, speaking in a low voice.” Do you see how they call for 'Father Hugh'? Look at their faces. The flowers are for the presbyter, not for the king."

Yet Hugh walked humbly enough beside the king, leading Henry's horse as though Hugh were the king's servant. He was, amazingly, barefoot, in the guise of a humble frater—except, of course, for the richness of his clothing.

"Do you think so?" whispered Rosvita. How could she tell, as garlands fell onto the avenue, a mass of lilies and roses, poppies and narcissus, to make a sweet carpet for the triumphant king? Vil-lam cocked an eye, looking skeptical. When had he grown so suspicious?

The northern road struck straight through the city to the heart, where the twin palaces lay. Along the lower southern slope of Amurrine Hill, huge walls almost obscured the hill itself, but to the northwest a rocky escarpment fell away below the high parapets to the river beneath. The road ramped up, buttressed by a complicated series of arches, and they dismounted in the forecourt and gave their horses over to grooms'.

In the month they had been gone, all trace of Ironhead, his whores, and his furnishings had been swept out of the palace. Are-thousan carpets ornamented the corridors. Brass hooks set into the walls supported oil lamps fashioned into the shapes of animals: roosters and eagles, griffins and dragons, a pair of phoenix, and a flock of golden swallows. Every shutter had been taken down, every room and chamber thrown open to the light. A crowd of servants beat dust out of tapestries. A trio of girls polished the brass fittings on the doors.

The Ivory Pavilion was not the grandest hall in the palace, but the intimacy and richness of its furnishings gave it a grandeur that many a vast hall could not rival. Narrow window slits allowed a breeze to work through the chamber, but otherwise the thick stone walls as well as the shade of cypress trees in the gardens set to either side of the old building allowed the inhabitants some respite from the heat. They entered through a porch screened off by doors so cunningly carved in a pattern of intertwined roundels that those within could look out upon any courtiers who waited beyond, hoping for admittance.

The inner chamber was dim enough to need illumination: six handsome lamps in the shape of leopards with the flame licking out of their snarling mouths. The wainscoting was all of ivory, each plaque detailing a scene: battles, the martyrdom of saints, the journey of Helen and her founding of the ancient city of Dariya, stories depicting the queens and kings of Aosta and the trials of the Holy Mothers of the church side by side with heathen tales of "gods and magic.

Queen Adelheid reclined at her ease on a couch, in the ancient Dariyan style, eating grapes and drinking wine while she conversed with a woman whose hair was as pale as moonlight. Rosvita would have thought her a simple churchwoman, except for the exceeding richness of her white cleric's robes, ornamented by eagles and glittering circles picked out in red-and-gold thread on silk. A nursemaid dandled a plump baby nearby.

The two women, one young and handsome and the other impossible to put an age to, looked up at the same instant as Henry and his companions entered the chamber. Rosvita saw it at once. Even Hathui caught in her breath with an audible gasp.

Adelheid, of course, wore no gold torque to mark her royal descent. It was a Wendish and Salian custom, one that had never migrated south of the Alfar Mountains. Nor could Aosta boast a true royal lineage. In truth, any of the noble families of Aosta might claim the throne for themselves, if they were strong enough.

But the mellow gold of a masterfully crafted torque gleamed at the throat of Adelheid's companion. The ends of the braided gold had each been formed into the face of an angel. The woman did not rise as Henry strode forward.

Adelheid did.

"Henry! I pray you, forgive me for not meeting you at the gates. My physicians—

He kissed her warmly on either cheek before insisting she sit.” Rest, my heart,"

he said fervently, seeing that she was comfortably settled before he beckoned to the nursemaid.” Here is my sweet Mathilda. How fares she?"

The sleeping Mathilda looked healthy, red-cheeked like an apple at first blush, her limbs plump and her downy cap of hair as dark as her mother's.

"She fares well," said Adelheid proudly.” She eats well, and grows quickly."

"But not as quickly as your granddaughter," said the cleric seated on the couch next to Adelheid's.

Henry gave the baby back into the nursemaid's arms and examined this woman who had not shown him the least deference. King and cleric studied each other.

A difficult winter and spring waiting in Wayland for the passes to clear, a grueling journey over the mountains, and a month spent in almost constant motion winning over or, at times, intimidating the Aostan nobles had not wearied Henry as much as his new bride, new child, and new throne had uplifted him. He had more silver in his hair but, like a crown, it ennobled him. A man half his age might well wish for as much vigor as the king possessed. Certainly Adelheid had never complained of his bed, and even now she gazed at him admiringly, seeing what a fine figure he cut in a rich tunic and with his hair still tousled from the day's ride.

But the cleric had vigor also. She wore arrogance with an ease that betrayed high birth and an expectation that others would bow to her authority. And she had stillness. She sat, hands clasped in her lap, and regarded the king with a thoughtful gaze unblemished by strong emotion. If she felt fear, or anger, or joy, no hint of it touched her eyes.

"Who are you, who sits while I stand?" he asked bluntly.

"I pray you, Henry," began Adelheid, reaching for his hand.

At the same moment, Hugh came forward.” Your Majesty, if I may be given leave—"

"Nay, Hugh," objected Adelheid, addressing him in a most casual manner.” It must be done, and done quickly." She turned to Henry.” We have had word from the south. Ironhead's cousin has raised an army to avenge him. Jinna raiders have put to shore in both Navlia and Tratanto. The Arethousan emperor claims the entire province of Aelia, and the Count of Sirriki begs for our aid in fighting off the pirates who have besieged his ports. Six of the northern lords refused my summons to come to court to make their submission. Untimely rain threatens the grape harvest in Idria, and the stores of rye here in Darre have all been taken by rot. Two deacons in Fiora were struck dead by lightning. There are rumors of a heresy taking hold in the northeast. Meanwhile, Mother dementia is dead these three months or more, and the throne of the skopos remains empty."

"Surely the presbyters meet and hold council, as is their tradition," began Rosvita.

"The council of presbyters may argue for months," said Hugh quietly before bowing his head to await events.

Adelheid glanced at Hugh, as if expecting him to go on, but he kept his gaze lowered modestly, fixed on the parquet floor and its two tones of wood, blond and ebony, spreading out from his feet in a pattern of repeating squares. Like good and evil, the warring inclinations stamped into every human soul.

"The presbyters weave their own intrigues that have nothing to do with the security of Aosta," continued Adelheid fervently, taking Henry's hand again.”

Many of them do not care to act in favor of restoring the empire. Yet those same clerics will not necessarily move against a strong hand setting the emperor in place."

"What are you saying?" asked Henry.

But Rosvita already knew, with that sudden, sure instinct that causes dogs to shy and birds to twitter in the hour before an earthquake hits. She had heard Sanglant's testimony. It did not take any great wisdom to add two to two and count up four.” You are Sister Anne, of St. Valeria's Convent."

"Liath's mother!" murmured Hathui, standing just behind the king.” I see no resemblance."

Henry was not slow to catch their meaning.” Are you the woman who claims to be the granddaughter of Emperor Taillefer?"

Anne did not rise. She lifted a single hand, like a queen calling for silence.” What need have I to claim such a thing when it is truth? Why else would I wear the gold torque of royal kinship?"

This argument stymied Henry, but Villam could not remain silent.” Any woman or man might put a gold torque around their throat and say what they will. In the marchlands, imposters sometimes ride into villages and claim to be clerics, or lords, or heathen sorcerers with the power to make birds talk and the rivers run with gold. What proof have you?"

Anne was neither amused nor angry. Her calm ran as deep as the ocean.” What proof do you desire? Is it not obvious?" She whistled, an unexpected sound coming from that ageless, composed face. A huge black hound trotted into view, emerging from behind

a carved wood screen. Servants shied away, but it approached meekly enough and lay down submissively at Anne's feet.

"That looks like one of Lavastine's hounds," said Henry, examining the hound with the keen interest of a man who keeps a large kennel and knows the names of all his dogs.” I thought they were all dead."

"I do not know where the beast came from," said Anne, "only that it did come to me one day to offer its obeisance. I believe this hound is descended from the black hounds who were loyal to Taillefer. They are spoken of in poems, and I have seen them depicted in tapestries."

"There is one carved in stone in Taillefer's chapel at Autun, faithful in life as in death," said Rosvita, and while it was true that one might mark a resemblance, too much time had passed between the reign of Taillefer and this day to know whether this fearsome creature was itself the descendant, many dog generations on, of the emperor's famous hounds.

"Nay, Your Majesty." Villam crouched to get a better look, although he did not venture too close.” This is indeed one of Lavastine's hunting hounds. I recognize the look of it. The ears. The size. The breadth of its chest. It might as well have swallowed a barrel. I respected those hounds too well to forget them now."

"What do you want?" asked Henry.

"To serve God," said Anne.” That is all."

"If queen and king agree, then there can be no impediment to Sister Anne's crowning as skopos," said Adelheid.

Anne did not smile.” If I am skopos, then I cannot contend with you for the imperial throne that is rightly mine."

Henry smiled sharply. He eased his hand out of Adelheid's grip and gestured to his servants. Two stewards had already hurried in, and they hastily set up his traveling throne, with the dragon arms, the eagle-wing back, and the lion legs and paws to support it. Sitting, he set chin on fist and elbow on knee, regarding Anne more with curiosity than with animosity.” With what army do you mean to contend for the imperial throne?"

"God's favor and the right of birth ought to be army enough. So have you put forth your own claim, I believe."

He glanced at Hathui, who fingered her Eagle's brooch selfconsciously, her expression fixed like stone. What was the Eagle thinking? What did Henry mean to do?

Like a good commander, he attempted a flank attack.” Is it true the woman named Liathano is your daughter? Do you know what became of her?"

"No more than I know what became of your bastard, Sanglant."

"Who does not trust you and spoke most damningly of your powers and your intent. You are a sorcerer, I believe, a mathe-maticus. There was talk of a cataclysm soon to engulf us. The return of the Lost Ones. A war, perhaps, or some other disaster."

"I pray you, King Henry, do not mock what you do not understand." As they had spoken, it had grown dark and the chamber dim. Wind rustled through the cypresses outside. Adelheid's banner, hung from the wall behind the couches, stirred, the cloth sighing up and settling down as though an invisible daimone's hand toyed with it. No one had lit lamps; even the servants watched in anticipatory silence as king faced cleric.

Even the servants understood that something monumental was at stake.

Servants could smell the heady brew of a silent struggle for power sooner than anyone else.

"Very well," agreed Henry softly.” It's true I understand practical matters better than sorcerous ones. I know that a woman may not rule as queen regnant in Salia. But if you are indeed Taillefer's granddaughter, then you might well gain adherents enough to drag Aosta into a long struggle over the crowns, which none of us desire. Your aspiration seems reasonable enough, Sister Anne, but of what use can you be to me if I support your election as Holy Mother, skopos over all the church?"

Anne lifted cupped hands. A silvery sphere of light spun into being just above her palms. Villam muttered a prayer under his breath. Adelheid sighed sharply, like a woman in the throes of pleasure. Henry remained silent, watching.

Anne raised her arms and, as a woman tosses rose petals to the wind, flung up her hands. The silvery globe dissolved into sparks of shimmering white light, each one a butterfly swooping and fluttering throughout the chamber. The winged light threw the scenes carved onto ivory into relief: a lady with her falcon; the entombment of St. Asella; fair Helen on the walls of Ilios, calling the CHILD or FLAME troops to battle; the tortures of St. John of Hamby, each one depicted in exquisite detail.

Anne stood. Each white butterfly spark bloomed with color— ruby, sapphire, emerald, carnelian, aquamarine, amethyst and rose quartz, banded chalcedony, iridescent opal—each one as lustrous as a gem. Their dance swirled around the chamber, making Rosvita's head ache at the same time as her heart exulted.

Henry rose slowly, staring as butterflies swarmed around his head to form a crown of luminescent stars at his brow.

For an instant he gleamed there, crowned in splendor.

The sparks vanished, leaving them with a steady gleam of magelight and a cool, pale woman of vast power and middling height. Whispering, half frightened and half in awe, the servants hurried to light lamps as the magelight spun itself into delicate threads and, at last, into nothing, simply fading until it disappeared.

"Illusion," muttered Villam.

Hugh of Austra's gaze glittered just as brightly as had those dancing sparks. In his expression gleamed an unsettling hunger.

Queen Adelheid looked no different than he did, dazzled, thirsty for more.

Even Henry. God save them, even Henry.

"What do you want?" Henry asked again, his voice as hoarse as that of a famished man who has just seen a feast laid out on the table.

Villam's hand brushed Rosvita's fingers, a signal she could not read. Nor could she speak to ask him, not even whisper, not with the silence lying so deeply around them, a cloak thrown over the assembly.

Can we trust her?

Rosvita no longer doubted Anne's right to wear the gold torque. Granddaughter of Taillefer and Radegundis, daughter of Fidelis and the foundling girl Lavrentia; a mathematicus of considerable power. One could not ignore such a woman.

Anne bent to pick up a shard of glass, as blue as lapis lazuli, off the parquet floor. She displayed it in her palm, blew on it gently, and a brilliantly blue butterfly opened its wings and flew away, quickly lost in darkness. She did not smile as she addressed the king. A woman with so much power does not need to smile, or to frown.

"Do not turn away from me, Henry, Lord of Wendar and Varre," she said, untroubled by the agitated currents roiling around her.” For without my aid, you will have no empire to rule."

EVERY soul tainted by the touch of mortal earth is peppered with shadows and black recesses, caught where they are least expected: hates, loves, fears, passions, envies and angers, lies and truths. Every soul born on Earth can never be free of them. No matter how fiercely the cleansing fire rages, she will never be pure fire.

She will always be trapped in her body.

She hit the ground running, half crouched, bow ready. Here in the sphere of Jedu, a light snow fell. She loped over a plain marked by hundreds of small outcrops, tumbled boulders, heaps of stone, irregular folds, every lump and swell concealed under a blanket of snow. Cold flakes dissolved on her lips, swirling around her naked body. The only place she was warm was along her spine where her quiver gave her skin some protection from wind and falling snow. Her toes had already gone numb from the cold; each step was agony, like walking on needles. It was a bad place not to have any clothes.

It was a bad place to be trapped in a physical body. Looking back, she saw no gate, no entry point, only her footprints, steaming as the brief warmth of her passing was whirled away into the bitter air. She could only go forward. That was always the case, wasn't it? She could never go back.

She brushed snow from her hair, felt it tickle her eyelashes and dust the end of her nose. Flakes melted on her nipples and strung a mantle across her shoulders, rubbed clean at intervals by the leather strap of her quiver. Her ears stung. Despite the stiffness in So

CHILD or FLAME her fingers, she kept her bow raised and an arrow taut. In Jedu's angry lair, anything might happen. She had to expect the worst.

It didn't take long for the worst to find her.

Thunder rolled and tumbled in the distance. Lightning flashed, sparks of brilliance on the horizon. She paused, seeing no storm clouds, only the steady gray bowl of a fathomless sky.

Not a storm at all. At first the figure looked impossibly small. In the time it took Liath to take in two sharp breaths, the creature doubled in size as the thunder of its footsteps rang in the air. As she caught in a gasp, it filled her sight, a monstrous giant.

The Angel of War.

In place of eyes she wore shining mirrors. Her mouth was huge and fierce, as red as poppies. Her black hair was as tangled as a bramble bush, and from it peeped two hideous horns, each one tipped with a stain of blood. For armor she wore masks, a hundred or a thousand or more covering her massive body. On each shoulder she wore a mask with mirror eyes. On each elbow there hung another such face, a mask with mirror eyes, and on her knees there hung masks as well, faces glittering and shining with every least movement she made; even her abdomen and back bore faces, each one frozen in a leer or a grimace. With mirrors hanging upon every part of her body, it looked as if she could see in all directions.

She bore a spear and a sword, but not a shield. The masks—the mirroring eyes—were her shield.

Where the Angel of War walked, the ground came alive. Snow shuddered. What Liath had thought were rocks and boulders uncurled into living beings. She walked not on an empty plain but on a battlefield that stretched impossibly far in every direction, a plain of corpses, the detritus of war.

They didn't look very dead now. They were rising out of the snow, and they were all armed.

The easiest choice was to run.

But she had only taken two halting steps backward before she knew that running was no choice. The dead were everywhere, too many to count.

Thunder crashed. Jedu loomed, filling the sky. The angel's face bore that grimace of uncontrolled rage that turns a beautiful face hideous. Thousands of huge mirrored eyes stared at Liath, yet their gaze did not perceive her. In each glittering, faceted eye she saw, not herself but a death on the field of battle, the killing thrust, the mortal wound, the last breath and bubble of blood. There were more than enough suffering dead to fill the vast plain.

Out of the field of moldering bones and broken weapons, misty figures appeared, insubstantial at first but solidifying like wax sculpted into forms. To her left a phalanx of a hundred warriors moved into position, each man armed with a lancelike spear twice as long as any she had ever seen. She recognized these warriors from tapestries and frescoes, with their hammered breastplates and crested helmets: the soldiers who carried the banner of the old Dariyan Empire. Other groups of fighters cohered on the plain around her. Some of these cohorts she recognized, Aoi, Quman, or Eika. Others she knew only from stories or dreams, centaurs, men mounted on camels or huge elephants, a wild hunter leading his mastiffs, guivres and griffins rising in flight. Sounds issued forth, orders in a thousand languages, the cries of the beasts, the clamor of armies in motion.

In the sphere of Jedu, war was never finished.

Moving slowly at first, the armies began to advance. The phalanx at her left shuffled closer step by step, their hedge of sarissas leveled at her—nay, not at her but rather at a line of elephants formed up to her right. A clear trumpet belled the advance. The ground shook under that weight as the elephants advanced toward the phalanx, and toward Liath.

AITOWS, darts, and slender javelins filled the sky as a thousand conflicts unfolded. A stone from a sling struck a glancing blow on her thigh. She fell to her knees, blood streaming down her leg. The elephants rumbled forward, and the men in the phalanx braced themselves against that charge.

One of the massive gray beasts lumbered forward directly toward Liath, trampling everything that came under its broad feet. Recoiling, she shot an arrow as it came into range. The shaft slipped between two armored plates protecting its throat and disappeared, buried deep. The creature bellowed in pain; its screams echoing along the line of elephants as they responded to its death cries. It collapsed to its knees after three more steps. Two men spilled from the carriage on top, one rolling clear while the other was caught under the ramp of the beast as it pitched to one side and ! let out a weak, and'final, trumpet. , Then the rest of the elephants passed her position and crashed i into the spears. The phalanx dissolved as the massive forms shattered spear and bone. Elephants, skewered through limb and neck, went berserk, tossing and stomping on their riders, on their j foes, on anything they could reach. Blood spilled on the snow. Behind the elephants, soldiers advanced, carrying great axes; their job was to finish off the shattered phalanx. She could not tell if they saw her at all, but she dared not wait to find out. Rising to her feet, she shot any creature that seemed to approach in her direction. They weren't real, after all. She wasn't really killing them because they were already dead. She was only protecting herself.

She fired ten times, and ten men fell dead or dying.

Jedu's expression warped, rage turning to sadistic joy. Liath reached to her quiver for another arrow. Only two remained.

Ai, Lady. These warriors were as much victims of Jedu's wrath as she was. She could remain here, trapped in the agony of war, or she could seek the gate that led to the sphere of Mok. With an effort, as the battle raged around her, she remembered her wings. She called fire and, with her wings burning at her back, lifted above the fray. Arrows that flashed toward her burst into flame, their ashes raining onto the carnage below.

Men screamed. Horses fell, kicking. The killing went on and on and on.

Let there be an end to it.

She nocked arrow to bow and drew Seeker of Hearts one more time, aiming true at Jedu's grimacing face.

Loosed the arrow. That blissful smile of joy melted from the angel's hideous and beautiful face to be drowned once again by an expression of rage. Her maw opened, exposing teeth like a thousand daggers; in that dark cavern, the arrow was lost at once.

Heart pounding, wings hissing at her back as she beat hard to stay aloft, Liath reached back for her final arrow. Her fingers touched silken coverts, the gold feather given to her by Eldest Uncle, which she had used to fletch her last arrow.

Before she could pull it free of the quiver, Jedu gave a cry, shrill and piercing, that caused every creature on the plain to shudder to a halt. Liath tumbled backward on the wind of that cry, fighting to control her flight, as the angel's words boomed out over the battlefield.

"Die a million deaths. Suffer for all eternity. No one, Daughter of Fire, enters Jedu unbidden. No flesh escapes my bite."

Then Jedu heaved out her chest, and sucked in.

With all her might Liath fought to fly higher, but she was drawn in despite her struggles. The mirror eyes grew huge and in their depths she saw the slain, and the slayer.

Ai, God. Some she knew. There a guivre, killed by Alain. There an Eika chief, falling under Lavastine's sword. There a Quman soldier, being drowned by Ivar.

There Ironhead's pretty concubine, driving a spike through the sleeping king's head.

A lord outfitted in mail and helmet tumbled from his horse, dismounted by a spear thrust. The man who unhorsed him was no luckier; the impact of his own blow overbalanced him and he was thrown from his horse to land hard on the ground, losing his helmet, while a skirmish raged around him, made misty by the slant of light obscuring the mirrored eye into which she stared in horror.

It was Sanglant, except he was so young, scarcely more than a boy.

The stinking aroma of a charnel house dizzied her as the angel's mouth opened wider, to swallow her whole.

She twisted, reaching for Sanglant, spinning herself into the mirrored eye, into the grasp of her lover.

She landed on a soft cushion of long green grass. The blinding sunlight stung her eyes, but at least it was warm here. Yet she hadn't escaped Jedu's rage. Her horse, leaping over her, galloped off, and the din of battle still filled her ears.

She was not herself. She lay in a man's body, a lord of Hesbaye, nephew of the countess, risen in rebellion because his mother's portion had gone to his aunt at her death instead of to him. So inconsequential did King Henry think him and his rebellion that the king had sent his half-breed whelp against him, a child not more than fifteen or sixteen years of age, untried and unfit even with an older, wiser captain riding in attendance.

How was it, then, that the brat had unhorsed him?

A body slammed against him, pressing him into the grass. Ai, Lady, it was Sanglant, helmet lost and black hair streaming. He was so young, lithe, lean as a reed, not yet filled out with a man's height and breadth. Yet he still felt firm and reassuring, lying against her.

"Sanglant!" she whispered, having no breath to shout.” It's me. It's Liath!"

He slipped his arm across her chest, a broad knife clenched in his fist as he brought it to her throat. In a quick motion, the merest sting, the blade bit deep and her words choked and drowned in blood as she struggled to tell him. Her life gushed from her neck. She clawed toward her throat, anything to stop the blood, but he pinned her arms under his weight. Gasping, she looked into his green eyes, but all she saw was the rage of Jedu. Rays of sun melted holes in her vision; murky stains blotted out Sanglant's face. The world narrowed, sound faded, and all washed black.

The clash of arms and the jerk of her horse woke her as if from sleep. On her left side the begh, with his fearsome griffin feathers gleaming from the wings fastened to his armor and his iron visor making a mask of his face, urged their line forward. His standard billowed in a stiff wind, the rake of the snow leopard's claw that marked the proud warriors of the Pechanek clan. They charged and she, like her chief, lowered her lance. The banner of the Dragons amidst a mass of mounted Wendish and Ungrian soldiers surged forward to meet them.

The King's Dragon led the charge. Sanglant, older now, drove straight for her chieftain, his ax raised. With a deft shift of his point, the griffin rider slid his spear around Sanglant's shield and caught the prince just where his coif gapped to expose his throat.

The young prince fell back across the rump of his warhorse but still, somehow, managed to drag himself back up. He clung to the saddle, blood from the wound pouring down over his Dragon tabard, as the steed charged through the crowd and broke to the rear of the Quman charge. Behind, his Dragons raised a cry of alarm and fury.

Liath fought her horse back through the chaos to catch up to Sanglant. His helm had fallen askew and he was as pale as if all his blood had drained out through that horrible wound. He lay like a dead man over the withers of the horse. Tears streamed from her eyes as she called out to him and brought her mount up alongside his. He convulsed once, like a man spitting out his death, and heaved himself up to strike with the speed of a snake.

A crushing force came down on her head and for a moment she could actually see along either side of the ax blade protruding from her forehead, but all she really saw was the desperate look in her lover's eyes. Red seeped into her vision.

She slid limply from the saddle.

Slipping in the blood and stink of one of her fellows, she scrabbled to gain purchase on the stone floor. The man creature had one hundred small wounds, one hundred rivulets seeping blood. The scent of his blood made her wild with hunger. She thrust aside the others, biting at their flanks so that they gave way, and trod on his chest, pinning him.

A glimmer of sentience sparked in her tiny mind. Was this man creature part of her pack? But hunger ate at her belly and he smelled so sweet. She lunged for the kill.

He was too fast for her. He caught her under the throat and like a dog bit down on her windpipe. Thrashing, fighting, she felt the wind crushed out of her, the air choked, the rich smell of blood and death fading, dulling, until the world was cold iron and for an instant she remembered the waters of her birth softly lapping around her and then even that sensation fled.

And she was fleeing Gent with the other RockChildren, running behind Isa's banner, but a figure that stank of captivity rode her down and with the strength brought about by madness clove her head from her shoulders.

And she had no body, not here where the perfume of flesh and blood made her thirst, an aching, ragged, raw pain. She had not wanted to come here. Torn from the halls of iron, she swayed in the hot blast of wind and sighed the name of the one she sought.” Sanglant." His blood would release her to return to her home.

That alone she knew. But as she advanced with her sister galla, tasting his blood on the wind, he attacked, piercing her with the stinging tip of a griffin's feather.

The sorcery that bound her to the halls of earth burned and snapped, and she was flung into agony.

And she shrank back in terror as the mounted man charged through her motley companions, cutting them down like reeds. She

cried out, begging for mercy, as her last arrow spun uselessly to the ground.

Ai, Lord, why had she left her mother's house? She'd been a fool to argue with her brother, and a bigger fool to let anger drive her away, and the biggest fool yet to allow Drogo to convince her that there was wealth to be made and supper to be had by picking on hapless travelers. But she'd been desperate by then, and too proud to go home. She'd been so hungry, and Drogo had offered her bread if she'd join his miserable pack of bandits.

Sage and fern halted her backward stumble.” Mercy!" she cried. Then he was on her, death in his eyes.

Sanglant.

His sword came down, and pain obliterated everything else.” Nay, Welf!" cried Ekkehard, stopping him with the point of his lance.” You'll not desert me now."

She wept in her young man's body. She had never known fear could hurt so much.” I'll never desert you, my lord prince. You know that. But it isn't right that we fight on the side of the Quman against our own countryfolk. It's treason."

Ekkehard flushed.” We've dirtied our hands too much to ever go back. Better to die in battle than hanging from the gallows."

They waited as the gold banners flown by their foes advanced. Frithuric and Manegold waited with stolid patience, but he could see, she could see, the despair in their eyes. How had they all been so stupid? How had they let Bulkezu seduce them? It was a good thing his mother wasn't here to see him now, the son who had dishonored the family name.

Drums and a horn call signaled the charge. Welf pressed forward as their horses broke from walk to trot to gallop, a roll like thunder filling his ears. He pushed his horse past the prince, so that he took the brunt of the impact. A lance struck him right over the heart. As he fell, he heard a cry of grief and anger, and a man's hoarse voice shouted Ekkehard's name in surprise. Ai, Lord, it was Prince Sanglant!

The ground slammed into him, and the last thing he saw was the hooves of his horse, coming down on his head.

If she remained still, her feathers would blend into the silvery grass and only the keenest eye could observe her. Sanglant was intent on her mate, a silver-hued griffin asleep on the sunning stone.

The prince's spear was poised as he prepared to strike. His eyes calculated his next move, as did hers. She would not let him kill her mate.

She pounced, he spun to meet her, but the advantage was hers. The shaft of his spear shattered under her attack, and her weight bore him to the ground.

Her mate awoke at the noise, hearing her shriek of triumph. Calling shrilly, he shook himself free of sleep and leaped forward to assist with the kill.

Her claws pressed the prince's shoulders to the ground. But he hadn't given up.

His knee jabbed hard into her belly, but she would not free him. She could not let him kill again.

Slewing her great head to one side to get a better look at him, she recognized at his throat a scar taken long ago, half hidden now by a braided gold torque.

She had thought him dead, once before, and had died for her mistake. She screamed fury. The Angel of War danced at the edge of her vision. Razor sharp, her beak would cleave flesh easier than any sword could. She would not die at his hands again. And again. And again.

A growl rose in his throat as he tensed to fight her off. He yanked an arm free and grabbed desperately for her throat, ignoring the blood leaking from a dozen cuts scored along his fingers as he clawed for purchase at her iron feathers. She struck at his vulnerable eyes.

The last thing she heard was his scream as she fell free of the mirrors, spinning and tumbling in the blast furnace that was the wind of war.

Ai, God, she had killed Sanglant. She groped at her throat, thinking to find a bruise where he had tried in that last instant to choke her. Instead, her gold torque was missing. Gone.

With a scream of fury, she lifted heavenward on her wings of flame, beating for a sliver of light, like the moon's crescent, that drifted far above her. The world below had gone white as a blizzard of snow and wrath obliterated the plain, the dead and those who killed them, all vanished beneath a mantle of white. A broken spear rolled over the icy waste, caught by the wind's cold hand.

Mirrors winked like flashes of lightning half hidden by storm clouds. A wild laughter boomed like thunder, fading into the distance.

"Now you are bitten. Who has won, and who has lost?"

"I have escaped you," cried Liath triumphantly as she neared the silvery boundary and saw a gap splitting open in the gleaming shell that marked the sphere of Mok.

But Jedu's laughter had already lodged in her heart. And she could still feel blood, and life, spilling from her unmarked throat.

XV

BULICEZLJ and his army cut a swath of misery and destruction through the southern portion of the dukedom of Avaria before turning north as summer waned, but Hanna never saw Prince Ekkehard weep for his father's ravaged kingdom until the day the vanguard of Bulkezu's marauding army came across the ruins of the palace of Augensburg. As the abandoned palace came into view, populated now only by weeds, insects, and a pair of red-deer that sprang away into the forest, the young prince began to cry silently, tears streaming down his cheeks. Had he been there that day when Liath had sent the palace up in flames, desperate to escape Hugh?

Hanna could not now recall. She only remembered the terrible flames and the blasting heat that had scorched her skin when she had dragged Liath away from the inferno. Where were Folquin, Leo, Stephen, and her good friend Ingo now?

Had they survived the winter in Handelburg? Would she in the end find herself facing them across the field of battle? Would any Wendish army ever confront Bulkezu, or would he simply march across the length and breadth of the land sowing desolation and terror for as long as he wished?

Bulkezu called a halt. His soldiers and slaves busied themselves setting up camp for the night and turning the horses and livestock out to graze on the lush grass.

The site had been entirely abandoned. The forest had encroached upon the open space cleared around the palace grounds. It was a beautiful place, calni and j peaceful if only because this one afternoon, at least, there would be no killing.

Hanna had seen enough killing to last her ten lifetimes. Each death was a scar cut into her heart, untold wounds that never really < healed, only scabbed over with time.

"Sit here, my lord prince." Lord Welf steered Ekkehard to a | camp chair, swiftly set up by one of their concubines, a blonde girl with the look of a cornered rabbit. As Ekkehard let the girl wipe the tears from his face with a scrap of linen, various slaves erected one of the round Quman tents behind him, deploying an awning to spare him from the afternoon sun. It was a hot day. Hanna sat in the shade of a tree, savoring the tickle of grass against her wrists as she leaned back. Her ever-present guards waited as patiently as stone to either side, not so close that they pressed in on her but not so far that they couldn't drag her down within ten steps if she made a run for it. One of them chewed on a stalk of.

grass as he surveyed the birds flitting among the trees. The other two stood there as stupidly as sheep, an easy illusion to cling to until one looked into their eyes.

Bulkezu came whistling cheerfully out of his tent, the first to be erected, leading the prettiest of his concubines, a plump young woman with waist-length black hair almost as luxuriously thick as Bulkezu's own. This was Agnetha, whom Bulkezu had picked out from the crowd of prisoners that awful twilight when plague had flowered in the mob. She was one of the few to survive that terrible night and she had, amazingly, saved a dozen of her kinsfolk from the slaughter.

Bulkezu brought her to Ekkehard and indicated that she should kneel before the young prince. Hanna rose hastily and strode over.

Boso strutted up, as self-important as a rooster.” His Glorious-ness cannot bear to see you snivel and whine like a sick child, Your Highness. Therefore, to raise your spirits, and your cock, he's giving you one of his well-used cunts."

Hanna had long since grown accustomed to Boso's coarse and arrogant way of speaking, but she often wondered what exactly Bulkezu did say to his interpreter and how much the Wendish man was twisting his master's words. As Hanna slid in behind Lord Frithuric, poor Agnetha caught sight of her but could do no more than look at her beseechingly. The young woman was too wise to protest, or even speak or cry, as she was handed from one man's tender mercies over to the other's.

However phrased, the offer dried up Ekkehard's tears. He was well supplied with women, of course, but Agnetha bore about her a certain cachet beyond the perfumes she wore because she was the best-looking woman currently with the army, and Bulkezu's besides. It was a grand gift to Ekkehard's mind, and he almost fell over himself thanking Bulkezu while the young woman knelt silently at his feet, trying hard to show no expression at all.

As Ekkehard nattered on, and Boso translated, Bulkezu began to look bored. A discreet hand signal, and quickly enough horses were brought for the Quman prince, his bodyguard, and Hanna. Even Boso was left behind as the small party mounted and rode up to the hilltop to investigate the ruined palace.

Hanna saw no signs of rebuilding. The fire's destruction had been so complete that there wasn't anything left to salvage. Two years of rain and wind had washed the mantle of ashes off the hill, but blackened spars still stood in tribute to the sprawling palace that had once taken up half the height. The walls of the stone chapel were more or less intact, scored with the marks of fire. The shattered glass windows gaped vacantly and the roof had fallen in. Roof tiles littered the nave. Bulkezu poked through heaps of tiles with a spear but found nothing of interest except a bronze belt buckle, warped from the intense heat, that had once been fashioned in the shape of a springing deer.

He laughed softly.” Would that I had such power." He glanced up, caught by Hanna's silence, and peered at her with an unnerving stare.” Do you know how this came about?" He gestured broadly, encompassing the hilltop ruin.

She pressed her lips tightly together.

He smiled.” A broken lamp, oil spilled, or sorcery?"

At times like this, a fit of reckless fury would overtake her, a wish to slam her fist into that handsome face and gallop onward to freedom. But he had too many guards, more carefully placed since her last attempt to escape, for her to try again.

He enjoyed her anger. He fed on it, and it made him laugh. Although, of course, almost anything could make him laugh.

"Sorcery," he replied with satisfaction, as though she had answered him.

Maybe she had.

He whistled sharply. After a bit his shaman, Cherbu, trotted up on a piebald mare whose blotched coat bore a vague resemblance to the patchwork cloak and trousers worn by its rider. The two men exchanged a few words, after which the shaman dismounted, got down on his hands and knees, and proceeded to sniff like a dog, following an unseen trail through the ruins. Bulkezu followed him on horseback, singing in that irritating nasal tone the Quman used for their favorite songs to entertain himself as he waited. Hanna recognized a song he had once translated for her: "Has anyone suffered so much misfortune as I have?

Who pities the orphan, or the little bird that falls f om i r

ts abandoned nest?

It would be better to be dead than motherless.

But fate has already played this song.

If my mother rose from her sickbed and kissed me now, it still wouldn 't bring me any joy."

He paused. The shaman had vanished. Hanna looked around wildly, but she saw no trace of Cherbu or his patchwork cloak among the fallen beams and barren ground. The noises from camp, below them, seemed suddenly faint, shrouded. A cloud had covered the sun, granting respite from its glare, yet a thin line of light slithered through the wreckage like a snake.

An owl hooted. White flashed off to one side, and Hanna turned in time to see a huge owl settle onto the highest wall of the burned chapel.

"I'm here," she whispered, wondering if will alone, chiseled to a point and flung outward on a thought, would be enough to alert the owl to her presence among the Quman.

It raised its wings once, like a salute.

One of the guards drew, aiming an arrow at the huge bird, but Bulkezu spoke three soft words.

A billowing cloud of ash blew up from the ruins, making Hanna's eyes sting. She blinked rapidly, shielded her eyes with a hand, and when she dared look again, the owl was gone. The shaman, coated with a white layer of ash over his patchwork clothing, stood in the midst of the ruined barracks where five Lions had died.

"There," said Bulkezu.” That's where the fire started. He can taste it, you know."

"Taste what?"

"Magic."

"Why does he follow you, if he's so powerful? What do you give him to make him ride so far?"

Bulkezu laughed. God have mercy, how she had come to hate that laugh.”

Cherbu is my brother. Our mother commanded him to serve me. Are you Wendish so uncivilized that you would disobey your own mother? It's true, isn't it, that you fight among yourselves more than you fight anyone else."

This struck him with such force that his laughter redoubled and he actually had to wipe tears from his eyes.

While she stewed, stoking her anger, she watched Cherbu pick through rotting planks and leaning wooden pillars singed by smoke and flame. Cold cinders crumbled under his hands as he marked a patch of ground with soot, then stamped around in a curious dance, singing in a reedy voice that occasionally slipped low.

Until a word she knew well slipped out of his throat, strangely accented but impossible to ignore.

"Liathano."

She started, betraying herself. Bulkezu whistled. Cherbu shook himself, slapped the ground, and returned, humming under his breath. He had a habit of regarding his listeners out of one eye, tilting his head to the side like a bird.

Bulkezu questioned him at length, but the shaman replied in short phrases and finally shrugged, ending the conversation.

"Where is she gone, this Liathano?" Bulkezu demanded with a frown, turning to Hanna.” My brother says she is a female, but that he can't smell her out. Where is she gone?"

At last Hanna smiled, letting anger bloom.” Why should I tell you?"

Her cool defiance provoked him; easy to see, when his nostrils flared like that and his horse shifted nervously under him, catching his mood. But his wrath only made her more stubborn. She stared him down as his dimple flashed, as he laughed but stroked the hair

of his trophy head instead, almost caressing it. His brother spoke to him, glancing once at Hanna, and Bulkezu jerked as if he'd been struck. Without a word, he reined his horse around and rode down to camp. The set of his shoulders betrayed his rage. Half his guards followed him. The other half remained behind, watching with blank expressions.

But Hanna laughed, flushed with the satisfaction of having finally won a single, tiny victory.

Cherbu clucked his tongue, shaking his head from side to side so that his earrings swayed. When he spoke, although she couldn't understand the words, the tone could just as well have been her mother scolding Hanna and her two brothers if they whispered during Mass: "You know better than that..."

"I know, my friend," she said, and was surprised that she considered him no enemy, not really, despite the gruesome ornaments he wore. After all, she had not seen him lift a weapon or cast a harmful spell, not once. His cloak of magic protected Bulkezu from magic; that was all. He regarded her with a puzzled grin, since he couldn't understand a word she was saying.” I know I shouldn't make him angry. But right now it's the only weapon I have."

Such a frail weapon to fight back with, especially when fighting back made no sense. If she hadn't been Sorgatani's luck well, then she'd be dead.

The light of the setting sun streamed golden across the open space, illuminating each suffering soul slumped in the grass, two or three hundred of them mixed in among the livestock. It was hard to count with the sun's light shining in her eyes. By killing hundreds, Bulkezu had slaughtered the plague in their midst, but that didn't mean he'd stopped taking prisoners.

Her anger was a small thing to lay as an obstacle in his path, but sometimes you had to make the most of what little you had.

By the time she got back to camp, Bulkezu seemed to have forgotten about the incident. A feast was laid, cheese and freshly baked bread salvaged from the small estate they'd overrun that morning, roasted venison, and mare's milk.

Bulkezu never drank much wine or ale, preferring to watch Ekkehard and his companions drink themselves into a stupor. In general, Quman soldiers were a dour and unexciting bunch, not one bit up to the standards of carousing that she had grown accustomed to riding with Wendish or Ungrian nobles.

It was, thank God, possible to step away from the feast and relieve herself in what passed for privacy, given the three soldiers who never strayed more than ten steps from her. The Quman were not in the habit of digging ditches to use as privies, but at least, like well-trained dogs, they tended to choose one area at each place they camped for these necessities. She remained at the outskirts of camp for as long as she could and watched the stars twinkling in the sky above.

Where was Liath now?

She had no way to look for her. She did not dare attempt to use her Eagle's sight for fear that Bulkezu would discover that she possessed a skill, not quite magic but stinking enough of sorcery, that he might try to force her to use it on his behalf.

A woman hurried out from the tent, making choking noises. She dropped to her knees a few paces from Hanna and threw up, mostly wine. The acid smell stung the air, then faded.

Hanna dropped down beside her.” Are you well?"

It was Agnetha. She grasped Hanna's hands.” He's not happy with me," she whispered frantically.” I did what you said. No flattery. No whining. No crying.

But he sulked. Listen to him now."

Ekkehard had gotten hold of a lute and started singing, obviously drunk. He had a clear tenor and a poet's talent for shaping a phrase.

"Once in this bright feasting hall I laid eyes on the most beautiful of women.

Yet now I return and find her gone the walls fallen, the hearth silent, no ring of cup or lilt of song to cheer my heart.

Death has swept away all that I cherished.

"What shall I do?" whispered Agnetha, retching again, nothing but dry heaves now. She clutched her stomach.” Ai, God, he said he would throw me to the wolves, to the common soldiers. Tell me what shall I do, Eagle, I pray you."

"Lady shield you," murmured Hanna. A simple village girl like Agnetha hadn't the least idea how to be a concubine. And why should she have?

Hanna had learned how to negotiate and observe at her mother's inn; those skills had served her well at court.” You can't treat each man the same. What Bulkezu liked isn't what the prince will want. Flattery for Prince Ekkehard. Tell him anything as long as it's praise. If he casts you off, beg to go to one of his companions. Manegold is ,vain and shallow. Welf is short-tempered but feels shame for what they're doing. Benedict is sharp, He'll see through bald flattery, and he likes to hit his girls. Frithuric likes men as well as women and mostly wants to be petted and kept comfortable. He's decent enough."

Agnetha's face was a pale shadow under the trees.” How do you | know al this?

Were you their whore before you went to Bulkezu?"

"I'm no man's whore, and never have been! I've spent time at court. An Eagle must learn to keep her eyes open and know those she serves."

Agnetha wiped her mouth with the back of a hand. She was dressed in a light shift, exposing rather too much creamy white breast only half covered by cloth and the silky fall of her long black hair. Even the normally impassive guards eyed her, such as they could see of her in the shadow of a tree with not more than a quarter moon to light the heavens. Maybe they had been among the dozen who had been fighting over her the evening she had come to Bulkezu's attention.”

Lady save us," she murmured unsteadily.” When will it ever be over?" "I don't know."

She was trying her best not to cry.” I try so hard. My mother and my four siblings, an uncle and three of his children and two cousins. I'm all that stands between them and death." She shuddered.” And I'm still more fortunate than most, all those poor dead souls. But sometimes I just don't know how I can stand another day of it." She sucked in air, coughed at the stench, and rose, squaring her shoulders.” I just have to. I just have to."

As she turned to go back into the tent, she rested a comforting hand on Hanna's arm.” At least I'm out of Bulkezu's tent. It's not that he hits you, but there's just something so cold and unnatural about him. And he's so ugly."

"Ugly?" Hanna almost laughed, but did not.

"With those slanty eyes and that complexion, like mud? That Lord Manegold is like the sun beside a nasty goblin, for that's all the beast is."

Since Hanna thought Lord Manegold even more vapid than the infamous Baldwin, and not nearly as pretty, she didn't reply.

"At least it's not so bad for me now as it has been for you all this time."

"For me?" Shame made her cringe away from the other woman. How had she suffered, compared to all those prisoners she heard screaming as the Quman cut them down?

"He watches you all the time. I know you've been his mistress longer than any other woman. I don't see how you can stand it and keep so calm and dignified.

You're so strong! I guess that's why you don't think of yourself as his whore."

Maybe sometimes people could not hear the truth, and it was useless to explain.

"You're not even pretty, but I know he only rapes you because you're the King's Eagle. It's like raping the king that way, isn't it? I know he's trying to humiliate the king through you. I admire you for never letting him dishonor you."

Or maybe it was impossible for people to grasp the truth when the truth stood outside everything they knew.

Light shone as a lamp bobbed around back, away from the feast. She saw Bulkezu, escorted by one of his night guards. But he was only looking for her.

She had been gone for too long.

"I thank you," she said to Agnetha.” I had forgotten the words to that song."

Agnetha saw Bulkezu. Her mask of stone would have done King Henry proud.

She wasn't a stupid girl, only an innocent one, struggling to survive.” My lord,"

she said, dipping down to show him deference. When he did not reply, she walked with head held high back to the feast: no flattery, no fear, no whining.

"Sing me the song," whispered Bulkezu. He didn't laugh.

It had been a reckless day, and a certain foolhardy courage still gripped her.

She stepped carefully as she came out from under the trees. She had always been quick on her feet, so her mother often said.

"My lord prince," she said softly, "I didn't expect to meet you here." Rude comments and nasty retorts bubbled up on her lips, but she choked them off.”

Just an old song I used to sing as girls do. I'd forgotten the first line. It goes like this."

She had a decent voice, could carry a tune and entertain the inn customers without ever dreaming of running away to become a court poet.” 'Golden is his hair and sweet is his voice; I don't want to love him, but I have no choice.'" She laughed, seeing the flash of dimple that could signal his laughter, or his rage.

Hate burned hot in her.” I've seen him, the man who is handsomer than you.

And he is."

His right hand twitched once, then stilled.” Why do you go to so much trouble to make me angry? I haven't touched you."

"You haven't touched my body. You've just brutalized my heart and my soul."

He regarded her for a while in silence. Behind, Ekkehard had begun, thank God, a more cheerful song, goaded on by Agnetha's giggling praise.

"Where is Liathano?" he said at last.” Lead me to her, and I'll let you go free."

"She already has a husband, Prince Bulkezu."

"I already have four wives. And a Kerayit shaman's luck."

"Or her curse."

That made him laugh, but the laughter did not reach his eyes.” Don't make me angry," he said at last, before indicating that she should follow him back to the feasting.

They continued north along the tributary. Three days and seven villages later, they came to its confluence with the Veser River. The first sign of outriders came about midday when a scout was killed. Several larger scouting bands were sent out, and when they returned with their reports Bulkezu ordered a change in their marching order. As usual when they approached a fortified site, the prisoners were driven to the front as the army pressed forward through the trees.

"Ai, God," said Ekkehard when they halted at last on a ridgeline from which they could overlook the Veser River.” That's the fort of Barenberg. We're in my aunt Rotrudis' duchy now."

His companions regarded the distant fort in silence. The river wound north through ripening fields and orchards. This was rich country, indeed.

"I can't fight her," whispered Ekkehard, glancing toward Bulkezu, who had ridden up to the edge of the ridge. A steep slope cut away beneath the Quman begh. The wind sang sweetly in his griffin wings. Because he wore his helm, Hanna could not see his expression behind the visor, only that mask of iron.

"Whose banner flies from the tower?" asked Benedict.

Ekkehard made a choking noise as his face drained of color. Bulkezu reined his horse around and returned to them.

"Two banners," Hanna said as hope sparked.” The regent's silk, and Wayland's hawk. We seem to have met up with Princess Theo-phanu and Duke Conrad, Your Highness."

£ V EN with an Eagle's sight to aid him, Sanglant and his troops spent three weeks following the meandering trail of Prince Bayan and Princess Sapientia as it wound through the marchlands of Ol-satia, Austra, and Eastfall. He met up at last with their army at a slave auction in the ruins of the fortress of Machteburg.

Easy enough to tell that Bulkezu's army had been here two months before: the mostly rotted bodies of unarmed prisoners lay in heaps along the outer wall where they'd fallen, killed by their own terrified countrymen deceived into believing that the mob of captives was the vanguard of the Quman assault.

Sanglant tracked Bayan down where he prowled the burned-out ruins, poking with a spear through the ashes of the central tower. The Ungrian prince looked no worse for wear, as bluff and fit as ever, with a becoming twinkle in his eye as he looked up to see Sanglant approaching him. He pressed through his retinue and hurried over.

"My friend!" Bayan clapped Sanglant heartily on the shoulder before enveloping him in a crushing hug. He kissed him on either cheek, as a kinsman, and finally let him go.” Alas that we meet in such troubled times."

oo

"Troubled enough, it's true."

"What is this frowning face, my brother? I know this look of a man who is not sporting in the bed enough."

Sanglant laughed.” Is that the trouble you complain of? I thought you meant this war against the Quman."

But Bayan was not to be thrown off the scent.” How can this be? You look whole in all parts. Do the women not find you handsome any longer?"

The question made Sanglant unaccountably irritable.” Nay, I'm troubled more than enough by women. It was easier to travel in the duchies. I felt safe at night in monastic guesthouses, sung to sleep by the chaste music of God. Out here in the marchlands I'm tormented every night by yet another sweet lass asking prettily for my prince's seed to honor her family."

"Not two sweet lasses every night? From me you get no pity if you send them away without a taste. Five pretty Salavii slave girls I bought at the market in Handelburg this past winter. I must send them to work in the kitchens. Nor can I mention ever my beloved snow woman, whom I sent to her death for the sake of peace in my bed." He sighed, eyeing Sanglant with a rueful expression.” Are you not traveling with this wife you married against your father's wishes?"

As with any wound, the pain did dull after a time, even if the ache of mingled grief, hope, and anger would never go away completely. The late summer heat cast a haze over the dead fortress. Luckily, they had arrived weeks after the worst of the stench had faded, although now and again a tickle of putrefaction teased Sanglant's nostrils, some bubble of gas released from deep within the mound of corpses.

"It might be best to bury the dead," he replied curtly. Bayan had a way of quirking up his right eyebrow when he wished to ask an unwanted question, but refrained.” Now we hear report of plague in Avaria. We need none of that here to add to our distress. Already have I men at work digging graves enough to take all these poor innocent corpses. Maybe it is not right to call a corpse innocent, with maggots and flies crawling in its belly." "Your Wendish is much improved." "Your disposition is not. What happened to your wife?" Sanglant took the spear out of Bayan's hand impatiently, stab bing at a gleam caught among the ashes, but all he came up with was yet another skull. He crouched to fish it out of the debris. It had come loose from its body. The lower jaw had been smashed in, probably by falling stone. A few shreds of flesh still adhered to the dome of the skull, trailing patches of reddish hair, but otherwise weather and insects had picked it clean.

"I haven't the stomach to tell the tale one more time. You'll find that my faithful soldiers and clever scholastics know the story by heart."

"Father! Daddy!" Blessing had escaped from Heribert and Zacharias again and with nut-brown Anna in tow came charging through the ruins, whacking at tumbled walls with her wooden sword as she passed.” I want a man, Daddy. I saw a man. I want him." She ran up, wiped soot from her cheek but only succeeded in making her face dirtier than it already was, and placed herself directly in front of Bayan. She set hands on hips and looked him in the eye.” This is a prince," she proclaimed, thought about what that meant, and leaned closer to Bayan and spoke confidingly.” Can you get me the man?"

"Who is this charming child?" exclaimed Bayan, delighted.” Why wears she a gold torque?"

"/ am Blessing, heir to Emperor Taillefer." She was as arrogant as an empress, and he supposed he had only himself to blame. He adored her, utterly, helplessly, and that she had any self-control at all was entirely due no doubt to Anna's stern, no-nonsense attitude. Nothing scared Anna, not even Blessing's tantrums.

"What man does the young empress desire?" asked Bayan, managing not to dissolve into laughter.

"I saw a man in chains. I want him. I'm thirsty."

"We'll share ale, I trust, child. But first we see about the man in chains." He beckoned to his retinue, a dozen Ungrian noblemen and soldiers who watched Blessing with a mixture of amusement and interest that both irritated and pleased Sanglant.” Prince Sanglant? You accompany us? A party of Wendish and Polenie merchants camp here with a crowd of slaves among their goods. Some prisoners must be refugees from the fighting. They will have stories to tell about the Quman army."

Blessing had recently developed an aversion to being carried, so Sanglant slowed his steps as she trotted alongside. They crossed O

the fort's yard. Scorched roof tiles lay shattered on paving stones. A dead horse had been picked down to the bone by vultures. A pale blue tunic, ground into the muck, gave an incongruous splash of color to the grim destruction.

"What are Bulkezu's objectives?" Sanglant asked Bayan.

"Many times I ask myself this question. But how can I think like a filthy Quman?" Bayan spat.” To my shame, I hid all winter behind the walls of Handelburg, licking my wounds. Then I crawled out in the spring, but he rode west long before and left me cowering in my hole. Feh." He spat again, looking really angry now, a man with a grudge. Gesturing broadly, he indicated Machteburg's ruins, the once-proud border fortress reduced to rubble and debris.” What else do the Quman want except slaves, gold, and misery?"

From the height of the citadel, standing among the fallen stones that had once formed the gate, Sanglant watched the Oder River streaming northward below.

Northward, toward Walburg, where he had left Waltharia with a small garrison and a gold torque. Her husband Druthmar stood nearby, chatting quietly with Captain Fulk.” He must want something else. Or be driven by a whip we know nothing of." He grinned, suddenly, and lifted Blessing up onto a block of stone so she could see better. He turned to Bayan.” Where is my sister?"

"Ah." Bayan's answering grin had a wicked edge.” Speaking as we do of a whip.

Come. She is down at the slave market with my mother."

Sanglant's army had halted north of Machteburg on the eastern shore of the river. To reach the slave market, a motley col ection of wagons, suspicious merchants, and nervous hired guards who had set up for the night in an ancient ring fort, he and Bayan rode south along the western shore, through the ranks of the army marching under the command of Bayan and Sapientia.

The Wendishmen had not forgotten Gent. They cheered Bayan happily enough, but the sight of Sanglant made them roar. Soon enough, the path was crowded on either side by Lions and milites and young lords with their retinues, hastening forward to cheer him on. Even Bayan's Ungrians gave the prince his due, shrill whistles that made him think his ears might pop and that forced Blessing to clap hands over her ears to muffle the sound.

Sapientia heard them coming. By the time they found her emerging from the slave market, she had obviously prepared for the meeting, stationing herself just where the old hill-fort gate, now fallen into ruin, pitched downward. Sanglant, dismounting, had to walk up the rise to greet her. From her position above him on the slope, she deigned to kiss him on either cheek in the greeting of a kinswoman.

"Sister," he said cheerfully enough, although he didn't see much answering warmth in her expression.

"Has Father sent help at last?" she demanded.

"Nay, he's ridden south to Aosta—

"Always Aosta!"

Bayan made to speak, but Sanglant gave a quick lift of his chin to interrupt him.” He's ridden south to Aosta where lie other threats—

"What can possibly threaten us more than Bulkezu and his army? Have you heard about the plague in Avaria? We've seen with our own eyes the trail of destruction the Quman army has left in its wake—villages burned and fields trampled. You can see yourself the dead he's left, there at the walls. All the folk hereabouts, those who survived, say the fortress is haunted by the unavenged dead. A child's ghost walks at midnight, crying for its mother."

"Many a child cries for its mother," said Sanglant, smoothly slipping into her rant, "but weeping for what we don't have won't defeat the Quman. Come, Sapientia, here is my daughter Blessing, your niece."

Aunt and niece eyed each other. Sapientia had weathered her first extended campaign well. She had filled out, gained color, and moved with more confidence. But as she examined Blessing, he saw the old dance of envy waning with interest in her gaze.” I thought she looked like you. But this can't be the Eagle's child. She's too old. Did you father her on some concubine before your imprisonment at Gent?"

He had learned to resign himself to the questions. Sometimes, the best answer was the simple truth.” Do not forget that sorcery runs in her blood. I can explain no better than you why she grows so fast. She was bom in the spring, last year."

, "She looks like a well-grown girl of three or four years of age,"

objected Sapientia, "not a toddling child of fifteen or sixteen months."

"So she does." He had learned to hide his fear. He did not understand what was happening to his daughter. At first he'd believed that the unearthly milk she imbibed from Jerna caused her to grow with unnatural speed, and maybe it had.

But Jerna had left them, and Blessing still aged far more quickly than she ought.

He had a bad idea that it would not end until Liath returned, as if a link bound Liath and Blessing so closely that what happened to one rebounded onto the other. If Liath only knew that, would she not return to spare her daughter?

She would, if she cared for them at all.

At moments like this, he wondered where his own mother had gone. Alia had deserted him, too—for the second time.

"You are a princess." Blessing had remained silent long enough. Sapientia did not quite recoil.” I am King Henry's heir." "Oh," said Blessing appreciatively, oblivious to these nuances, "I like him. He's my grandfather." Because she was a child who didn't mind sharing, she went on.” I am the heir of Emperor Taille-fer."

"Does she say that to everyone?" asked Bayan as Sapientia's mouth pursed with disapproval and she looked ready to say something rash.

"Only to those who deserve it. Come, sweet heart, where is the man you saw?"

Blessing grabbed his hand and, after a moment's studious thought, grabbed Bayan's hand as well.” This way!"

Even Sapientia laughed.” She is indeed Henry's granddaughter."

"Since you are a princess," called Blessing as she dragged her escorts forward,

"will you help me get the man?"

Anger sparked as quickly as amusement in Sapientia's face.” Not one to listen to others, no matter whose need is greater. We could use these men in the army, and a few of these women, too, if they're willing and strong enough."

"An excellent idea," cried Bayan.” My lion queen has a keen eye for worth. It is you who must pick out the ones who can fight and serve."

"Think you so?" she asked, a flush making her cheeks bright as she turned to gaze at her husband. Sanglant had seen besotted women before; his sister looked no different, although she managed to keep her noble dignity intact as they walked together into the market.

Sanglant had never thought much one way or the other about merchants who trafficked in slaves. The heathen Jinna empire and the crafty Arethousans had an unending appetite for slaves, preferably boys cut to become eunuchs. Neither did Wendish merchants shy away from selling captured heathen tribespeople out of the east into servitude in the civilized west. These merchants had other wares available as well: linen and wool cloth; furs from the north; casks of salt; spoons of wood or ivory or tin; sickles, scythes, and hatchets of iron; whores, herbs, and spices, some more sweet smelling than others. But after a year confined by Bloodheart's chains, Sanglant could not help but notice the suffering of their human merchandise.

Blessing tugged him and Bayan over to a ragged group of captives bound hand and foot. They had the look of defeated soldiers, the kind of troublemakers who needed to be trussed up so they couldn't escape on the long march.

A Polenie merchant hurried up, bobbing up and down anxiously as he took in Sanglant's Wendish clothing and noble bearing and Bayan's Ungrian flair. He wore the typical Polenie hat, a pointed leather cap with a folded brim.” Your Most Excellencies," he cried in passable Wendish, "here have I strong men who I take south to the slave markets of Arethousa. Have you a care to purchase them now? I can give you good price."

Blessing marched up to the youngest of the captives, a lad of perhaps sixteen years with a blackened eye, bare feet, and the scarring of frostbite on his nose and ears.” I told you I would come back." She turned to the merchant, expression fierce.” Thiemo is mine."

"My lady—" began the merchant, glancing at Sanglant, not wanting to insult a prince's daughter.

The youth began to weep, although it was hard to tell whether his tears were those of joy or thwarted hope.” My lady, is it true? Have you come to ransom me and my comrades?" Then he, too, noticed Sanglant and Bayan.

"Your Highness!" cried the lad, flushing hotly. Five of the men o

with him dropped hard to their knees. Under their dirt, Sanglant recognized the tabards of Lions.

"God save us," murmured Bayan.” The heretics." Sapientia came up beside Bayan. She frowned, and when she narrowed her eyes in that particular way one could almost actually see her thinking.” Can it be? Are these the heretics banished after the trial at Handelburg? How did they get here? Where are the rest of them?"

"Dead," said the eldest of the Lions.” Or better dead, considering what we ran into. Your Highness." He bowed his head respectfully toward Sanglant.” I know you are Prince Sanglant. It's said you're a fair man. I pray you—

"Daddy, I want him."

"I don't know." Sapientia wrung her hands.” Biscop Alberada excommunicated them for heresy. How can we go against the church? We could be excommunicated, too. It's God's judgment upon them that they be sold into slavery as punishment for their sins." But she wasn't sure. Sanglant saw how she looked at Bayan, waiting to see what he would say. She was afraid to pass judgment herself.

Sanglant turned to the merchant.” These men are King Henry's Lions. I will ransom them from you for a fair price."

"One nomia apiece," said the merchant instantly.

"Remember," said Sanglant with a warning smile, "that I have an army and you have twenty guards. I could take them as easily as buy them, and since we stand on Wendish ground, I would be well within my rights to restore their freedom because they are Henry's sworn soldiers."

"Forsworn," objected Sapientia, "because of heresy—

"As long as the Quman army rides on Wendish soil, I do not care if they are heretics, foreigners, two-headed, or painted blue, as long as they will fight loyally for the king." He turned to the old Lion.” What is your name?"

"Gotfrid, my lord prince. We are none of us disloyal to the king. What God chose to reveal to us has nothing to do with how faithfully we'll fight."

Sanglant called to Heribert, who had been trailing behind with the rest of his retinue.” Give the merchant ten sceattas for his trouble."

CHILD or FLAME "May God bless you, Your Highness," said Gotfrid.” We'll serve you well, I swear it. And so do these others swear."

The other four swore oaths hurriedly, with every appearance of gratitude and sincerity. Only the merchant didn't look happy, but he knew better than to protest.