o

"I am still the only man in the tribes to have killed two griffins," he said, but he did not laugh. He grunted, softly. She hoped the pain of his wound scalded him.

She hoped he was suffering.” The beghs cannot turn their backs on me. One defeat does not mean the end of the war."

"What do you want? What have you ever wanted?" He was silent for so long that she sat up, brushing moldy straw from her lips with the backs of her hands.

Thirst chafed her throat. Still, he said nothing. A shroud of silence fell, broken only by the sound of the river. This river didn't have the deep strength of the Veser. It flowed more lightly, singing over rocks and shallows, the bass melody of its main current almost lost beneath these higher notes and the constant roaring rush of wind through the trees. It reminded her of the rushing river after the battle at the tumulus, when Bayan's mother had called down a flood that had swept away the vanguard of the Quman pursuit, that had blocked the river, delaying Bulkezu's army long enough that Bayan and Sapientia had been able to lead their battered troops on an orderly retreat.

Was Bayan truly dead? What had happened to his mother? Was it her magic that had struck down Cherbu?

She could stand it no longer.” If the luck of a Kerayit shaman dies, what happens to that shaman?" "She dies."

"Why did you risk killing Prince Bayan's mother, yet won't risk killing me? Don't you all fear the Kerayit weather witches?"

"Any wise man does. But it was our only chance. The other prince was protected from Cherbu's magic, so I had to strike Bayan." Small at first, then growing, he giggled, that nasty, gleeful, mad laughter.” I've been wanting to get rid of him for a long time, anyway. But I do regret losing Cherbu." Nothing in his tone gave credence to this statement.

"Surely Cherbu understood that if he struck against Bayan, then Bayan's mother would avenge her son."

"Cherbu didn't like me anyway. He was jealous that I was the elder born and that he had to obey me."

"Did you care about him at all?"

He made no answer, as if she'd spoken to him in a language he did not understand.

"Then why not have me killed, if the wrath of my Kerayit shaman will not strike you but only the person whose hand strikes the killing blow?"

"Nay, it's not your young shaman I fear. It's the owl who watches over you, who is the messenger of the Fearsome One."

Hanna thought that she actually heard fear in his voice, quickly surfacing, as quickly gone. He rose and went outside so fast that he kicked dirt up into her face. She spat, wiped her mouth. Two guards crouched in the doorway, watching her. One held the rope that bound her at the neck. With a sigh, she lay back down No Lions' voices serenaded her as she dozed, waking at intervals with questions chasing themselves through her thoughts. Ai, God, what other prince was Bulkezu referring to? Who flew the gold banner she had seen emerging from the woods? Was it Sanglant who had saved the day? Was it possible that Liath was with him, hidden by magic?

The darkness lightened at last. When they came for her, she was able to walk without too much discomfort while one of the guards led her horse. They moved downriver a short way before attempting a crossing, but the first man to dare the water got caught in the swift current, not deep but strong. He slid off his saddle and his wings dragged him down. The horse fought the water before being lost to sight in the predawn twilight.

The soldiers made certain signs, as though to avert the evil eye. Even Bulkezu seemed unwilling to test the waters, although Hanna would gladly have swum, given the chance. She had never feared the water, but she was fiercely glad to see that they did. If they stayed here, trapped by the river, eventually their enemies would catch them.

A twig snapped behind them. A warning whistle shrilled, cut off abruptly. The Quman soldiers spun around, raising their weapons those who had them.

She saw her chance. She yanked hard on the rope, jerked it right out of Bulkezu's hand in that instant when his attention jumped away from her, and leaped into the river. Flinging herself forward, she hit the water with a mighty splash, head going under. When she surfaced, she floundered toward deeper water, thrust forward as Bulkezu cursed behind her and shouts rang out. A host of men broke out of the trees to surround the band of Quman and their horses.

The current caught her. With bound hands, it was hard to keep io

her head above the water. The trailing rope caught in a snag and dragged tight.

"Hanna!"

Just as the noose pulled taut, choking her, just as her vision hazed and the water closed over her face, a hand gripped her. The rope came free, cut through, and she went limp, letting herself be hauled to the bank through the streaming water and thrown up on shore like a fish gasping for air.

"Hanna! We thought you were dead!"

Coughing and spluttering, she rolled onto her stomach and heaved a few times onto rocky shoreline. At last, she looked up to see the concerned and horrified faces of four very familiar men: Ingo, Leo, Folquin, and Stephen, her good friends from the Lions.

"Bulkezu!" she cried, heaving again as she struggled to her feet, but Ingo caught her easily as she staggered.

"Nay, we've captured a group of them, the ones that had you prisoner. Are you saying that lord with the broken wings is Prince Bulkezu himself?" He laughed aloud and punched Folquin merrily on the shoulder.” Won't we have a great prize to deliver to Prince Sanglant!"

"Ai, God," whispered Hanna.” I'm free."

Her legs gave out completely and, while Ingo held her, she broke down and sobbed uncontrollably, a storm of tears she could no longer restrain.

ROSVTTA rose at dawn and, after prayers, studied the first of the books Heriburg and Ruoda had found in the palace library the day before. This copy of the prose Life of Taillefer, by his faithful cleric and counselor Albinus, said in his time to be the most learned man in the world, confirmed what she already knew.

Taillefer had had four daughters who lived to adulthood. Three had entered the church, including the famous Biscop Tallia. The fourth girl, Gundara, had after certain unnamed embarrassments been married to the Due de Rossalia, the most powerful noble in the kingdom outside of Taillefer's own family. Albinus said nothing more about Gundara's life, only mentioned that a set of rich bed curtains, three Belguise tapestries, a square table engraved with a depiction of the universe set out as seven spheres, and four chests of treasure including vessels of gold and silver were allotted to her in Taillefer's will.

"Here is the Chronicle of Vitalia." Ruoda opened the next book to the appropriate chapter. The cleric and deacon Vitalia, at the Salian convent of St.

Ceneri on the Hides, had written an extensive history of her cloister, and it was owing to her superior understanding as a woman that they could therefore discover more of the details they desired to know. In the civil wars following Taillefer's death, the great emperor's nephew's cousin Lothair had emerged triumphant in the end and been crowned king of Salia in . Yet he had never been strong enough to claim the imperial title.

Eika raids that same year had devastated Rossalia, and the due had died defending his lands, leaving Gundara a rich widow overseeing the upbringing of three children. Lothair had himself claimed Gundara, sending his first wife to the convent in order to marry Taillefer's daughter. In the opinion of Vitalia, he had been cursed by God for this sin of arrogance and greed by having his old age disrupted by various rebellions hatched against him by his sons, all of whom quarreled incessantly.

"It still says nothing of the fate of Gundara's other children by the due de Rossalia," observed Ruoda.” The eldest boy, Charles, inherited the dukedom when he came of age, married Margaret of Derisa, and had a son to inherit after him. What are you looking for, Sister Rosvita?"

The crisp writing on the yellowed page gave no hints. It spoke only of words copied by a scribe, events recorded by a hand long dead.” At times I feel as though a mouse is nibbling at the edges of some secret knowledge hidden in my heart. If I only give the mouse a while longer to feast, then it will uncover what I wish to know. If I can only be patient."

She glanced, frowning, at Heriburg's bandaged hand. The girl had burned herself yesterday trying to scratch magical sigils into a tin medallion. The incident had frightened and disturbed them all, and for now Rosvita contented herself with hanging sprigs of fennel and alder branches over the doors and windows to ward off evil spying.

"My lady." Aurea appeared in the door.” Brother Petrus has come."

It was time to attend the king, although Rosvita thought it strange that a presbyter came to fetch her rather than one of Henry's own stewards. She took Fortunatus with her and sent the young women to the schola. They joined Henry and the court for midday prayers in the king's chapel while, as was customary in Aosta, Queen Adelheid and her entourage prayed in the queen's chapel. A colonnade connected the two buildings, and here Henry brought his retinue after the service of Sext concluded, to the royal garden.

"Walk with me, Sister Rosvita," the king said as he strolled out into the garden.

Statues of every beast known to the huntsman stood alongside gravel paths bordered by dwarf shrubs or hidden beyond the taller ranks of cypress hedges.

Stags and wolves, boars and lions and aurochs, guivres and griffins and bears glowered and threatened. Yet their threats weren't nearly as great, Rosvita thought, as the busy courtiers of Aosta with their bland smiles and charming manners.

Beyond a square fence lay a captivating floral labyrinth whose twisting paths were delimited by beds of hyssop and chamomile, bee-flowers, a purple cloud of lavender, and the last pale flowers of thyme. Summer had leached away the strong fragrance, but there was still enough lingering that, when Henry opened the gate and beckoned to her to follow him onto the .narrow paths, it was like walking into a perfumed sachet.

She knew the path better than he did and had to guide him past two wrong turns until they reached the bench placed at the center, surrounded by a circle of neatly trimmed rosebushes. From here, they looked back out over the low box shrubs as Adelheid emerged from the queen's chapel, attended by Hugh and her ladies. Seeing Henry, Adelheid disengaged herself from her courtiers and struck out across the garden toward them.

"Let me speak quickly, Sister." The summer's campaign had tired Henry out.

New lines nested at the corners of his eyes and he favored one leg.” It has become known to me that there is serious trouble in Wendar, more serious than anything here in Aosta. Duke

Conrad has married against my will. There are rumors he seeks to raise himself up as a prince equal to me, in the west. A Quman army has invaded in the east.

Merchants bring stories of an Eika attack on Alba, more like an invasion than a raid, that might disrupt trading for many years. Plague, famine, and drought all trouble my loyal nobles. How can I reign in Aosta if Wendar falls into ruin? In truth, Aosta has suffered for years these manifold trials. Another year of campaigning and I surely can be crowned as emperor without any powerful noble family raising arms against me. But in my heart I know it is the wiser course to return to Wendar now. Yet I would hear your words, Sister, before I make any public pronouncement."

"This is a grave charge you set on me, Your Majesty." He nodded.” So it is.

Villam has already made his opinion clear. He counsels that we ride north as soon as we can, given the rumors we've heard of early snow in the mountains. If we do not make haste, we'll not be able to cross the passes until next year. I cannot tell what might happen in Wendar over the winter and spring if I am not there to set things right. What do you advise, Sister Rosvita?" His gaze was keen, almost merciless. He wore an ivy-green tunic today, trimmed with pale silk, and the hose and leggings that any nobleman might wear, but no person, seeing him, would mistake him for anyone but the king.” I pray you, give me a few moments to think." Adelheid reached the gate, had it opened for her by one of her servingwomen and, with a sweet smile on her pretty face, threaded inward along the intricate paths. She knew this labyrinth well.

"There are those who advise against returning to Wendar." He watched his young queen with an odd expression in his eyes, like a man who is pleased and exasperated in equal measure. His gaze flicked outward to where Hugh stood in conversation with Helmut Villam, Duchess Liutgard, and other notables.” I have heard rumors." "So have I, Your Majesty, and I see no reason to believe what gossips will whisper. Speaking evil of others is a sin that hurts not one but three people, the one who is spoken of, the one who speaks the falsehood, and the one who listens to such slander. Queen Adelheid is an honorable woman, and a clever one. I do not believe you have any reason to fear that she has dishonored your marriage."

In truth, how could any woman even think to look at another man if she was married to Henry? It beggared the imagination.

He plucked a beautiful blood-red rose from the nearest bush.” Yet even the freshest bloom has thorns." He twisted a petal off the stalk and touched it to his lips.” What do you advise, Sister?"

"If you return to Wendar, you must not let it be said that Aosta defeated you.

Yet if you remain here, and your kingdom is weakened because you are not there to steady it, then your position here is lost. Wendar and Varre is the kingdom your father gave into your hands, Your Majesty. Do not forget that you are, first of all, a Wendishman, born out of a long and illustrious lineage to a bold and warlike people."

"My queen," he said, with a genuine smile, as Adelheid came up to them.

Henry's return had lightened the young woman; she laughed delightedly when he offered her the rose, although she was careful to check for thorns before she took it from his hand.

"Greetings to you this fine day, Sister Rosvita," she said most cheerfully as she inhaled the fine fragrance of the rose.” I fear that you and the king are plotting, and that all my intrigue is for naught. You have seen the troupe practicing in the arena, have you not? I meant it to be a surprise."

In this way, chatting amiably, Adelheid drew them back into the embrace of the court. Feasting followed that day and the next, food and drink like the flow of a river, never ending. Petitioners came and went. A troupe of acrobats entertained with rope tricks and hoops and balls, and poets sang the praises of king and queen.

Rosvita enjoyed a feast as much as anyone, but nevertheless she was relieved to escape late in the evening on the second day. She had no opportunity to speak privately with the king, or even with Villam, who seemed quite overtaken by admiring women, all of them young and most of them attractive. Even the king's Eagle, Hathui, remained busy pouring wine, delivering messages, and serving at the king's side. Tomorrow the feast would continue, but the royal court would cross the courtyard that separated the earthly from the spiritual palace and join the skopos in her great hall for a meal worthy, so it was whispered, of an emperor.

Fortunatus made small talk as they walked back to her chambers.” Do you suppose the acrobats will perform for the Holy Mother as well? Those girls might as well have been monkeys.

I've never seen such tricks on a rope. And that juggling! Did you know that when I was a child, I saw a trained monkey perform? The harvest failed that year—you can imagine I recall that!—and we heard later that the traveling players had been forced to sell everything they owned to get out of Mainni, to escape the famine. The monkey was made into mincemeat, and every person who ate of the sausage made of its flesh sickened and died."

"An edifying story, Brother. I do not know whether to feel more sorry for the hungry souls who suffered, or for the poor creature abandoned by its master and then slaughtered."

"It bit me," he added, lips quirking up mischievously.” I only tried to pet it. I couldn't have been more than six or eight years of age. So I think maybe the players sold it because it was a nuisance. Or perhaps it was just a story my sisters told me to make me cry, thinking I would be next to die because of the mark it left on my thumb." He held up a hand and, indeed, a fine white scar cut raggedly across his thumb.

She laughed.” So it's true you've always been the one getting into trouble, Brother. I thought as much."

He had the sweetest grin; it was one of the things she loved him for.” Nay, Sister, I am innocent. It is only that I strive to follow your example in curiosity."

Aurea saw them coming and opened the door but did not follow them inside, where Ruoda, Heriburg, and Gerwita waited, standing at the table with a large book open before them. They started guiltily as Rosvita entered, but Heriburg, at least, had the presence of mind to turn one vel um page slowly, as though she were only browsing. Once the door was shut, Heriburg turned the page back.

"We found it!" cried Ruoda triumphantly.” Or at least," she added, with a blush,

"Gerwita did."

"What have you found?"

Gerwita, too shy to talk, indicated that Heriburg should explain.” These are the Annals ofAutun from the years when Biscop Tallia held the biscop's crosier. They end with the Council of Narvone, when Biscop Tallia lost the biscop's crosier and the see of Autun by command of the Holy Mother Leah, third of that name. It seems the Holy Mother and her advisers were determined to break the power Taillefer's daughters held over the Salian church."

"A matter of great historical interest," agreed Rosvita, "but what i has that to do with the question we were speaking about two days ago?"

Ruoda sprang forward and pressed a forefinger onto the page.” We found Lady Gundara's other children. See, here! A girl, called Thiota, was given to the church but died before she could take her vows. A younger son, called Hugo, betrothed at the age of four to the infant daughter and only child of the Count of Lavas, called Lavastina. So," she finished triumphantly, "thus the hounds."

"Nay," said Gerwita faintly, "for the Lavas hounds didn't come into the possession of the Counts of Lavas until Count Lavastina's son Charles Lavastine inherited after the death of his mother. Most said it was a curse set on him by the Enemy, that Charles Lavastine killed his own father and mother because he feared they would have a daughter to supplant him." When everyone looked at her, she clasped her hands tightly before her and seemed eager to shrink into the bedcovers.” The story is well known in northern Varre, Sister. My family comes from that region, near Firsebarg Abbey."

"Was it never spoken of that the Counts of Varre were therefore related to the Emperor Taillefer?" asked Rosvita.

Gerwita shrugged, looking horrified to be the center of attention of fully four persons. She wrung her hands nervously.” No."

"That seems unlikely, given that Taillefer had no other known legitimate descendants," said Fortunatus.

"In Salia, daughters cannot inherit a title, only sons," said Ruoda, "and in Varre, sons inherit only if there are no daughters."

"Gundara would have been wise to settle her younger son in a place where he could be easily lost, and easily retrieved should his older brother die without an heir." Rosvita drew the lamp closer to the old pages of the Annals. Her eyes weren't as keen as those of her young assistants. She admired the refined minuscule common to annals written during the reign of Taillefer, but the words themselves told her nothing that her clerics had not already mentioned: the boy, Hugo, betrothed at the age of four. No indication of his upbringing or later career graced these pages, intended as they were to vindicate the actions of Skopos Leah as she brought down the power of Taillefer's most powerful daughter, Biscop Tallia. Perhaps the child was sent to Varre to be raised with his intended bride, hidden in plain sight, the Emperor's grandson who by reason of his birth to one of the emperor's daughters could never con tend for the Salian throne. But his children, should he survive, might still marry back into the royal lineage.

"Was Charles Lavastine the only child of Lavastina and Hugo?" Rosvita asked of Gerwita.

"Nay, Sister. Count Lavastina died in childbed almost twenty years after the birth of Charles Lavastine, giving birth to her second child, another boy, called Geoffrey."

"Ah, yes." Rosvita remembered the story now.” He would be the grandfather of the Geoffrey whose daughter became count after Lavastine's untimely death.

There was a trial—

Ruoda, it transpired, had a cousin who had witnessed the trial for the inheritance of Lavas county. She would have spent all night telling the particulars of the strange behavior of Lord Alain and the Lavas hounds and the victory of Geoffrey and his kinsfolk, but it was late, and there was much to do in the morning when, Rosvita supposed, Henry would at long last announce his intention to return to Wendar before snow closed off the mountain passes.

They made ready for bed, Fortunatus retiring to the adjoining chamber while Aurea laid down pallets for the girls and a straw mattress for herself by the door.

It seemed to Rosvita that she had scarcely fallen asleep when she was rudely awakened.

"Sister Rosvita! Wake up!" A single lamp lit the dark chamber, hovering and cutting the air as the person holding it shook her.

"I pray you!" Rosvita swung her legs out from under the linen sheet, all she needed on a warm night like tonight. Her shift tangled in her legs as she squinted into the darkness. Amazingly, none of the girls had woken. Perhaps that thumping wasn't a fist pounding on her door but only the hammer of her heart.”

What is it?"

"Come quickly, Sister. A most terrible act—"

Abruptly, Rosvita recognized the voice, shaken now, warped by horror and tears.” Is that you, Hathui? What trouble has brought you to my chambers this late in the night?"

"Come quickly, Sister." It seemed the pragmatic Eagle was so overset that she could only repeat these words.

Frightened now, Rosvita groped in the chest at the foot of her bed for a long tunic and threw it on over her head. She had only just gotten it on, and it was still twisted awkwardly sideways, when Hathui boldly grabbed her wrist and tugged her urgently.

Rosvita got hold of a belt and stumbled after her, banging a thigh against the table, stubbing her toe on the open door, and at last hearing the door snick closed behind her. Hathui lifted the lamp as Rosvita hastily straightened her tunic and looped the belt twice around her waist.

"Do you trust me, Sister?" the Eagle whispered hoarsely. In Hathui's gaze, Rosvita saw terror and a passionate rage, reined tight.” You must trust me, or you will not credit what I have seen this night. I pray you, Sister, it may already be too late."

"The king is not—" She could not say that grim word because once spoken it could not be taken back.

"Nay, not dead." Her voice broke.” Not dead."

"Sister Rosvita." Fortunatus appeared at the door.” I heard noises—"

"Stay here, Brother. Do not sleep until I have returned, but by no means follow me nor let the young ones do anything rash." He nodded obediently, pale, round face staring after them anxiously as the two women hurried away down the corridor.

With an effort, Hathui spoke again. It seemed that only the movement of her legs kept the Eagle from dissolving into hysterical tears.” Not dead," she repeated, like a woman checking her larder yet again in a time of famine to be sure that she still has the jars of grain and oil she had set aside for hard times.

They came to a cross corridor, turned left, and descended stairs and by a route unknown to Rosvita made their way along servants' paths to the great courtyard that lay between the regnant's palace and the palace of the skopos.

"Where are we going?" murmured Rosvita, risking speech.

"Not dead," repeated Hathui a final time as she paused behind a pillar that might shield her lamp from prying eyes. Her face, made gray by shadow, loomed unnaturally large in the lamplight as she leaned closer to Rosvita.” Spelled.

Bewitched. I saw it happen."

She shifted, drawing a leather thong over her head.” I almost forgot this. You must wear it to protect you against the sight." She pressed an amulet into Rosvita's hands. The silver medallion stung Rosvita's palm.

Did the king protect himself against the sight of his own Eagles, or was he already suspicious of Anne? As Hathui moved out into the courtyard, Rosvita caught her arm and drew her back.

"Nay, Eagle. You must tell me what you saw before I take one step farther.

Here." She retreated backward into the shelter of an alcove, where travelers could refresh themselves and wash their faces before they entered the regnant's hall. A fountain trickled softly, but when Hathui held out her lamp, a leering medusa face .glared out at them, water dribbling from the mouths of its snake-hair into the basin below. The Eagle gasped out loud and turned her back on the hideous sculpture.

"What I saw ... nay, first put on the amulet, Sister." Rosvita obeyed, and Hathui went on.” I sleep in an alcove of the king's chamber. I woke, for I swear to you that an angel woke me, Sister. I woke to see the bed curtains drawn back and Hugh of Austra holding a ribbon above the king's sleeping form. The ribbon twisted and writhed like a living thing, and in truth, for I can scarcely believe it myself, I saw a creature as pale as glass and as light as mist pour out of that ribbon and into the king's body. King Henry jerked, once, and opened his eyes, and the voice he spoke with then was not his own."

Rosvita caught herself on the lip of the basin. Water splashed her hand and cheek, spitting from the mouths of snakes.” Hugh," she whispered, remembering the passage he had read from The Book of Secrets that day when she and Theophanu and young Paloma had overheard him in the guest chapel at the convent of St. Ekatarina's. Remembering the daimone he had bound into a silk ribbon that night when he had helped Adelheid, Theophanu, and the remnants of their entourages escape from Ironhead's siege of the convent.” A daimone can be chained to the will of a sorcerer, and if he be strong enough, he can cause it to dwell in the body of another person, there to work its will. 'Until one mouth utters what another mind whispers.' " "Can it be true, Sister?"

"If you saw what you describe, it cannot be otherwise. But I tremble to think it might be true." Her heart was cold, not hot. Her hands seemed frozen, and her mind clouded and useless. The amulet burned at her breast.” Yet where was the queen?"

"Ai, worst of all! She stood to one side and watched him do it! Cool as you please she told her servingwoman to tell the skopos that the deed was done and that from now on matters would proceed as they knew was best." Calm, practical, levelheaded Hathui, a common woman with so much good sense and simple courage that she had been granted the king's signal regard, broke down and wept, tears flowing down her cheeks in echo of the monstrous fountain behind them. But she was able to do it silently, so that her sobs would not alert the night guards.

Rosvita took the lamp from her hand.” Do you know where Villam is?"

"I went to him first, but when we got back to the king's chambers, the king was gone and his steward said he had gone to hold an audience with the skopos.

Villam sent me to rouse you. He said we must meet him in the skopos' palace.

He thought if we got hold of King Henry before the spell bit too deep—

Shock gave way to a curious, almost luminous clarity. Even in the darkness, with a waning quarter moon and the lamp's faint glow their only light, she could see the medusa's face, carved out of a marble so white that it seemed to gleam, leprous and pallid, an evil spirit sent to overhear the complaints of travelers come to burden the regnant with their petty cares and quarrels.

"Villam is in danger." The words tolled in her heart like the knell of death, singing the departed up through the spheres toward the Chamber of Light.” We cannot act hastily, for they have power against which our good faith avails us nothing. We must catch Villam before he does something rash. Come."

Hathui knew the servants' corridors in the skopos' palace well, since she often carried messages from regnant to skopos. A pair of guards at the entrance to the kitchens chatted amiably with her for a few moments about the current favorites for the horse races to be held in three days, then let her through without questions. Quickly, Hathui led them into the main portion of the palace. Even in the middle of the night a few servants walked the back corridors, carrying out trash or chamber pots, hauling water for the many presbyters and noble servitors of the skopos who would need to wash in the morning. None seemed suspicious when Hathui asked if they had seen the king; the Eagle had a natural gift with words and an easy confidence, although it clearly cost her to put a careless face on things. But in the end, servants saw everything: the king, escorted by Presbyter Hugh, had gone up to the parapet walk. They had not seen Queen Adelheid.

A spiral staircase of stone led from the guards' barracks all the way up to the parapet walk. By the time they reached the top, Rosvita was puffing hard. The night air, pooling along the walk, had at last a hint of autumn in it. A breeze cooled the sweat on her forehead and neck. Hathui started forward along the walkway, which angled sharply along the cliff's edge overlooking the river below, now hidden in darkness.

"Wait." Rosvita took the lamp from the Eagle and, wetting thumb and forefinger, snuffed the wick.” Better that we approach without being seen."

They waited for their eyes to adjust, but fanciful lamps molded in the shapes of roosters, geese, and frogs rode the walls at intervals, splashes of light to guide their path along the narrow walkway. Wisps of cloud obscured the stars in trails of darkness. Was that Jedu, Angel of War, gleaming malevolently in the constellation known as the loyal Hound? Hathui, walking ahead, put out a hand to stop her in a pool of shadow between two broadly spaced lamps. A faint stench of decay rose off the river, the dregs of summer.

According to the locals, only the winter rains would drive it away.

The wind shifted, and Rosvita pulled her sleeve across her nose to muffle the smell.

She heard voices, two men, one angry and one as sweetly calm as a saint.

With Hathui beside her, she moved forward cautiously, hugging the interior wall, until they came to a sharply angled corner of a main tower and could see onto a wider section of the walkway, set between the square tower at their back and its twin, opposite. Three men stood there, one silent beside a landing that led to a second set of stairs, one leaning gracefully on the waist-high railing that overlooked the abyss, and the third halfway between the two, as though to make a shield of his body. Even without the light of two lamps set on tripods, Rosvita would have known two of them anywhere. The bell rang for Vigils.

"But Margrave Villam," said Hugh most reasonably as he rested against the railing while the wind played in his hair and lifted the corners of his presbyter's cloak, "you do not understand fully the gravity of the dangers facing all of us, which remain hidden from mortal eyes. Like my mother, I act only to serve the king."

Villam seemed ready to spit with fury. She could see it in the way he held himself as he took a single threatening step toward

Hugh, the way his hand brushed his sword's hilt. Hugh was unarmed.” You!

Sorcerer! I never knew what you did at Zeitsenburg, but the whole court knows what your blessed mother thought a fitting punishment for you, her golden child!

To humble you by making you walk into the north like a common frater. What would she say to this night's treachery?"

"What treachery is that? King Henry walks beside me to meet with the Holy Mother. Who has been speaking to you, friend VII-lam?"

Villam glanced at the man standing rigidly beside the stairs. In that moment, Rosvita realized that she had not recognized him; his posture and stance were utterly wrong, not her beloved king's at all.” Your Majesty," Villam entreated, "do we not ride out in two days' time to return to Wendar, where the people cry out in hope that you will soon come to aid them?"

"We will not return to Wendar," replied Henry in a voice that rang hollow, like a bell.

"But the news from Theophanu! The Quman raids that devastate the marchlands! Geoffrey in Lavas, besieged by drought and famine and bandits.

What about Conrad, who may already be plotting? Two Eagles have come, pleading for your return! Your Majesty!"

"We will stay here and unite Aosta, and receive our crown, Adelheid and I, crowned as emperor and empress. We will send emissaries to every kingdom, to each place where a stone crown is crowned by seven stones, and there they will await their duty to save all of humankind from the wicked sorcery of the Lost Ones."

"But, Your Majesty, it is not practicable. The emperor's crown will fall quickly from your head if you lose Wendar to the Quman, or to Conrad, who has married your niece! What of Sapientia, fighting in the marchlands? What of Theophanu, who sends an Eagle to beg for your swift return? Aosta must wait until you have settled affairs in Wendar!"

"And Mathilda anointed as our heir."

"Your Majesty!" The soft chanting of clerics and presbyters, intoning the service of Vigils, floated up to them even as Villam sounded ready to weep.” Your Majesty. Your children by Queen Sophia !"

"Mathilda anointed as my heir," repeated Henry. With his arms clamped tightly against his sides, he moved only his lips, like a statue, like a slave caught in fear for his life.

Villam drew his sword and turned on Hugh. The presbyter had not moved but only watched, one hand stretched out along the railing, his slender fingers stroking the stout wood railing as a woman might pet her cat.” You've bewitched him! That is not the king's voice! That is not the king! You've used foul sorcery to pollute his body and imprison his mind!"

Impossible to say what happened next. Villam lunged. Hugh moved sideways, pantherlike, as graceful as one of the acrobats she'd admired yesterday evening.

He even had a startled look on his face, as though suiprised. But Villam hit the wooden railing with a crash, sword still raised.

The railing splintered and gave way. Villam staggered outward, cried out as the sword slipped from his fingers, but he had only one arm to grasp with as Hugh reached out to him and it was not enough to save him. He fell. Hathui gasped out loud. Her hand closed on Rosvita's and held on there, as tight as a vise, but neither woman moved as Villam's shriek of outrage and fear faded to silence.

Nor did King Henry make any least acknowledgment that his eldest, dearest, and most trusted companion had fallen to his death right in front of his eyes.

After a moment in which Rosvita thought she had actually gone deaf, the distant voices from various chapels in the palaces and down in the city reached heavenward again; she knew the service so well that scraps of melody and words were enough to reveal to her the entire psalm.

" cry aloud to God when distress afflicts me, but God have stayed Their hand.

In the darkness of night, have They forgotten me?

Can the Lord no longer pity?

Has the Lady withdrawn Her mercy?"

"Come out," said Hugh.” I know you're there."

How soft his voice, and how delicate. Not threatening at all. An eddy in the breeze roiled around her as suddenly as an unseen current turns a boat in the water of a swift-flowing river.

"Come forward, I pray you," he said.

She slipped her hand out of Hathui's strong grasp, trying to shove the Eagle away, trying to give her the message to run, to flee while one of them could.

Who would come to their aid? Whom could they trust? Stepping forward into the light, she said the.only thing she could think of to give the Eagle a hint of her thoughts.” A bastard will show his true mettle when temptation is thrown in his path and the worst tales he can imagine are brought to his attention."

"Sister Rosvita!" Hugh looked honestly surprised, as though he had expected to see someone else.” I regret that you are here." He whistled. Four guards clattered up the stairs, pausing only to bow before the king before they knelt in front of Hugh.” Take her into custody. Beware what wild accusations she may speak, for I fear her heart has been touched by the Enemy." Henry stood rigid, watching as though he were a stranger, his expression cold and hard. Certainly his features had not changed, but he looked nothing at all like the king she knew.” Come, Your Majesty, we must attend the Holy Mother."

But as Hugh crossed to the stairs, he paused beside Rosvita, frowning.” I had not hoped for this, Sister Rosvita, nor for what must come now. You know how much I admire you."

"Traitor," she said coolly. The shock of Villam's death burned in her heart, but she would never let Hugh see how much it hurt. No doubt he could crush her in an instant. All she had left her were her wits. She had to spin more time for Hathui to escape.

"Is it possible that all I have ever been taught is wrong? That the outer seeming does not reflect the inner heart? Can it be that you have stolen from some more worthy soul that handsome and modest aspect which you wear as though it was given to you by God? Do so many trust you because of your beauty and your clever words while darkness eats away at your heart? Do you not fear the judgment of God and the terrors of the Abyss? Can it be that you have corrupted the queen and the Holy Mother both, with your bindings and workings? What would your mother say were she to stand before us now, seeing what I saw?"

"Enough!" His anger, sparking suddenly, died swiftly as he got control of himself.” The purified and serene mind has forgotten the passions,' " he said, as if to himself, as if reminding himself of a lesson he had not yet learned and wished devoutly to comprehend.

'"Virtues alone make one blessed,' " retorted Rosvita.

He sighed and moved on.

"What must we do with her, my lord?" asked one of the guards.

"Take her to the dungeon. I'll deal with her later." He and Henry descended the broad steps and soon the lamp he carried was lost to view.

The chief guard made no effort to speak to her, merely gestured with his spear.

She saw no reason to fight them. They led her back the way she had come, along the walkway, to the guards' staircase that spiraled down into the palace and farther yet, into the bowels of the hill where lay the dungeons in which those wicked souls were confined who had come afoul of the church. The dank air caught in her lungs, but even when she was marched down a dark corridor, thrown into a cell scarcely wider than her outstretched arms, and left in blackness to sit on moldy straw, she did not, entirely, despair.

Ai, God, Villam was dead, murdered by some trick of Hugh's.

King Henry had become a puppet dancing to another man's strings, possessed by the very daimone Hugh had freed from the stone circle at St. Ekatarina's Convent.

But in those last moments, caught by Hugh, and on her trip down to this dungeon, there had been no sign of Hathui.

DUCHESS Rotrudis was dying. The cloying smell of her sickness made her bedchamber almost unbearable. Sanglant stood as close as possible to the window although, even so, no freshening breeze stirred the air inside the room.

Even with torches burning to give light and with incense set in three burners around the chamber, it stank.

Her dutiful daughters argued by her bedside, ignoring the half-conscious woman moaning faintly on the bed.

"Nay, I was born first. Deacon Rowena will confirm it!"

"Only because you've offered her the biscopry once Mother is dead! Everyone knows that because I have the birthmark on my chest, it means I'm firstborn."

The two young women looked ready to come to blows, and their respective attendants resembled half-starved dogs preparing to fight over a juicy bone.

Lord Wichman sprawled on the duchess' chair, legs stretched out in front of him and arms crossed on his chest, wearing a smirk on his face as he watched his older sisters shriek and quarrel while their mother suffered unregarded beside them. He hadn't even kissed his mother's hand when he'd come in the room; he hadn't looked at her at all except for a single grimace as he took in the shrunken body of the once robust woman.

"I pray you, Cousins," said Sapientia, attempting to step between them, "this dispute avails you nothing. Surely your mother knows which of you was born first. Surely a midwife attended the birth."

"The midwife is dead, poisoned by Imma!"

"Liar and whore! We weren't more than five years of age when the old woman died. I had nothing to do with it. But you've never answered how the deacon's record came to be burned up six years ago."

"Oh! As if it wasn't you who had the idea to do it, Sophie!" Wichman had paid more attention when his brother Zwentibold was brought in on a litter to be placed by the hearth, where he, too, was now dying, from wounds taken on the field. Zwentibold remained silent except, now and again, when a tormented groan escaped him and the pretty young woman who was evidently his current concubine hastened forward to dab his lips with wine. It was easy to let the gaze linger on the curve of her body under her light gown, hiding little, promising much, and easier still to notice that Wichman never took his gaze off her.

"How can it be you don't know which of you was born first?" demanded Sapientia, looking from one sister to the other. The two looked alike mostly in their broad faces and ruddy complexions, big women with years of good eating behind them. Imma had her mother's nose, while Sophie bore the red-brown hair that had, evidently, distinguished their dead father. The innocent question un leashed a torrent of abuse and accusations, hurled from one to the other.

"She always favored you!"

"Nay! She only pretended to favor me because she wanted to keep me on a leash like a dog. You're the one who got all the freedom. You're the one who gained because everyone thought you must be angling for the title!"

"I pray you, Cousins, this is no way to show respect. Duchess Rotrudis can hear every word—

"As if she hasn't enjoyed every word of it, the old bitch!"

"Hah! You licked sweetly enough the honeycomb when it still had honey on it!"

Looking half their size and having none of their shrill stridency, Sapientia was helpless to stop them while, all around, nobles and attendants crowded in, eager or aghast to see such a show. Sanglant watched as Sapientia tried to calm them down, to no avail. She saw what needed doing, but she hadn't the authorky to do it. They saw no reason to listen to her.

Wichman rose and stretched before padding over to Zwentibold's litter. The pretty attendant shrank away, but there was no way, here at Osterburg, that she could escape the son of the reigning duchess. Zwentibold had taken her, after all, with or without her consent, and Wichman clearly had decided to follow where his brother had first plunged in.

Just as Wichman, smiling with that ugly spark of unrestrained lust that marred his features, slipped a hand up the girl's ramp and tested its roundness, Sanglant strolled forward. He got hold of Wichman's other arm and jerked him forward to stand beside his sisters. Wichman resisted, pulling away.

"I would not if I were you," said Sanglant softly.” I claim her, and I'll cut off your balls if you touch her. You know what my promise is worth, Cousin."

Fuming, Wichman raked his hair back from his head and shot a leer back at Zwentibold's concubine. But he stayed where he was, next to Sophie.

Sanglant placed himself between Imma and Sophie. Even Sapientia moved instinctively back to make room for him. This close, the smell from the bed filled his nostrils, and he had to fight not to gag. Duchess Rotrudis' skin hung on her in folds. Her

once ruddy cheeks were sallow, her eyes sunken and dark. Sanglant wasn't even sure she was aware of what was going on around her.

He remembered her well enough from the days when she had been healthy.

He'd never liked her, but no person could ever have said that Rotrudis did not rule the duchy of Saony effectively and with an iron hand.

"I pray you, Cousins," he said, "answer me truly. Do you hate each other more than you hate your blessed mother? Or the other way around?"

Silence crashed down, broken only by a single gasp of amazement from one of the stewards and a low murmuring whimper from the duchess. Had she heard, or was she merely drowning in the pain of her illness?

"For it seems to me that she must have disliked you mightily if she went to so much trouble to be sure that you would fight to the end of your days, never knowing which was truly the firstborn. She must have known, unless the midwife dropped one of you and picked up the other. If you do not know now who is eldest, then it's your mother who chose not to tell you, for her own reasons."

Wichman laughed.” She played you for fools!" he crowed.” All these years, never letting you know which God meant to be heir. She must have known all along, and just wanted to watch you dance, you stupid cows."

Sophie slapped him. He grunted, grabbed for her, only to be slugged by Imma, coming to her sister's defense. The concubine began to cry, huddled by Zwentibold's unconscious figure. Rotrudis stirred, clawing at the bedclothes, and a choked word escaped her, lost beneath the noise of her shouting children and their agitated attendants.

"Silence!" shouted Sanglant.

"Silence!" repeated Sapientia, when the noise had died down enough that she could be heard.

Everyone turned to look at Sanglant.” There's another child, isn't there?" he asked.

When it became obvious that his sisters did not intend to speak, Wichman replied.” Reginar, the little prig. He's abbot of Firsebarg Abbey now, and good riddance."

"Then he'll not be in a position to contest the inheritance?"

That got their attention.

"He's youngest, and a boy," protested Imma.” He's in no position to expect to inherit the duchy."

"Isn't it the case," continued Sanglant, "that King Arnulf the Younger settled the duchy on Rotrudis when he named Henry as his heir? Surely it must have occurred to you that if your stewardship displeases the king, he can find another worthy child out of Arnulf's many grandchildren who is fit to inherit the duchy."

"How dare you suggest such a thing!" shrieked Sophie.” With what authority do you dare speak to us in this arrogant manner?" demanded Imma.

"With the authority of the army that sits outside your walls and which saved you from being sacked and murdered by the Quman." Was that a faint cackle of amusement, coming from the emaciated figure on the sickbed? Impossible to tell, since the sound was drowned out by the protests hurled at him by her

'outraged children. Sanglant merely smiled, took Sapientia by the arm, and drew her out of the chamber and down the stairs to the lower level.” You've angered them," she said.

"They're no better than a pack of jackals. But that will keep them sober for a few days."

She glanced at him sidelong. Her eyes were still red from crying, but at least she did not attack him for usurping her authority. Marriage to Bayan had restrained her worst impulses; perhaps it had also accustomed her to following a stronger personality's lead.” Would Father disinherit them? Is that what you hope to inherit? The duchy of Saony?"

"Nay, it's not what I want. But it's of no benefit to the kingdom to leave a pack of fools and quarrelers in charge. Don't forget that our great grandfather, the first Henry, was duke of Saony. This is the base of our family power. The regnant would do better to name Theophanu as duke in Rotrudis' place." He paused, waiting for an outburst, knowing how Sapientia envied Theophanu, but his sister said nothing, only listened. They crossed the length of the great hall in silence, their footfalls sounding lightly on wood as Sapientia's attendants followed at a discreet distance, whispering among themselves. Torchlight made fitful shadows dance on the walls.

Many noble folk, those who hadn't the rank or the connections to be admitted to the duchess' private chambers, had crowded in to

wait, and they, too, watched and whispered as prince and princess walked past.” Theophanu has as much right to the duchy as any of them do, and she's more fit to rule."

"She's at Quedlinhame. She could be called here."

"It might make them think twice if she brought her retinue here. But neither you nor I have the authority to name Theo as Rotrudis' heir."

" have the authority. Father named me as his heir!"

He stopped her from speaking by taking hold of her wrist and drawing her out through the double doors to the porch. Lamps hung from eaves, rocking in the breeze. A haze covered the night sky, obscuring the stars.

"Do you, Sapientia?" he asked quietly.” Do you have the authority?"

She burst into tears.

The courtyard of the ducal palace remained busy even this late at night: carts bringing in dead, wounded, or loot from the battlefield; servants attending to business despite the lateness of the hour; soldiers at rest, having nowhere else to bed down. The population of Osterburg had swelled, due to the siege, and even here within the confines of the ducal palace one could smell the press of bodies. The constant buzz of lowered voices ran like an undercurrent at the edge of his hearing, phrases caught and lost, curses, muffled laughter and heartfelt weeping, whispered gossip. In such close quarters, he had learned to shut it out.

"They won't follow me," she said hoarsely through her sobs.” They don't trust me. It was Bayan they followed and trusted all along. I could have reigned with Bayan at my side, because he made me strong. Now what shall I do?"

He guided her across the courtyard to the chapel. Lamps ringed the stone building, and an honor guard of Ungrian soldiers stood with heads bowed on either side of the doors. As one, they went down on one knee when Sapientia approached, but when she took the arm of Lady Brigida to go inside to pray, the captain of the guard beckoned to Sanglant.

"My lord prince, what do you intend for the morning?"

"We must leave at first light to hunt down as many of the Quman as possible. If we break their back now, then they won't be able to raid again, not for a good long time. Perhaps not ever, if God so wills it."

"Without our good lord, Bayan, we cannot remain long in this country," said the captain, with an expressionless glance at the woman interpreting for him.

"Then bide with me as long as it takes to destroy the Quman. That is all I ask."

"For your sake, my lord prince, and for the honor of our good lord, Bayan, we will follow you a while longer."

The Ungrian captain's translator was also his concubine, a wiry spitfire of a marchlander who had become infamous on the march for whipping to death a captured bandit whom she claimed had once raped her sister. A persistent rumor dogged her that the man had been neither bandit nor rapist but rather her innocent husband, come to fetch her back to their farm, and that she'd killed him in order to stay with her Ungrian lover. Sanglant had certainly noticed her around camp, and he certainly noticed her now. She looked like the kind of woman who would draw blood in the midst of dalliance, and you'd never notice until afterward.

"I pray you, Prince Sanglant," she added after she had translated the captain's words, "you know the Ungrians as well as any man, so they say. Are they men of honor? He's offered to take me back to his home, but he already has a wife and I'm only a common woman, not the sort a man like him would marry. He says he'll care for me and any children I have by him, as if they were legitimate. Do you think that's true?"

"Ungria is a long walk from the marchlands. Once you've gone there, you'll likely never see your old home again."

She spat on the ground, anger strong in her eyes. Her captain grinned, quickly hiding his amusement at her fierce demeanor. Or perhaps he was only nervous that Sanglant had somehow insulted her, leaving him caught between avenging the insult and angering a prince, or losing his honor by doing nothing. She was canny enough to observe his discomfort and spoke a few quick words to him before returning her attention to Sanglant.” I've nothing to return to, back in my old home. But I won't doom myself and any children I might have to poverty or slavery."

"No man or woman knows what lies in the future. Anyone who tells you otherwise is lying. But even Prince Bayan had more than one wife before he married my sister, and all of his children are considered legitimate, with a right to share in his wealth. Even if it's true your captain can only have one wife who is recognized by the church, I suppose he still prefers the old ways. If he doesn't beat you now, then he's scarcely likely to beat you once he returns to Ungria. I see no reason why you would suffer for living there, except that it's a foreign land and like any foreign land a hard place to raise Wendish children."

"You're a bastard, too, aren't you?" She toyed with one end of her girdle, wrapped tightly around her waist. Handsomely embroidered and finished with gold thread, it was a rich garment for a woman of her station.” What do I care if my children are half-breeds and more Ungrian than Wendish as long as they have a better station in life? Why shouldn't my sons hope to ride in a lord's war band, and my daughters to guard the keys to a chest of treasure that they can administer and dispense? In the village I grew up in, not one family owned a horse. Now I ride instead of walking!"

Her words struck him powerfully. He had hoped for so little all his life, raised to be captain of the King's Dragons, raised to serve Wendar and the regnant, nothing more. But he didn't want to walk that path any longer. He no longer had the stomach for it. He had a child to consider.

"Go to Ungria," he said softly, "and I pray that God go with you."

Inside the chapel, Bayan's body lay in state before the Lady's Hearth. His mother lay outside the city's walls, hidden in her wagon, guarded by her slaves and by a contingent of Ungrian troops. Rumor had it that her attendants had asked for a barrel of honey in which to preserve her body.

Brother Breschius lay prone before the shrouded corpse, still weeping, heartbroken at the loss of his lord. Sapientia fell to her knees beside him. She had to be held up by two of her attendants, and a third woman threw a light shawl over her head to hide her face from the clerics and mourners assembled in the church.

But Sanglant had cried all his tears at dusk, when he had ridden in through Osterburg's gate beside Bayan's limp body, thrown over a horse. He caught Heribert's eye, and the cleric squeezed through the crowd and hurried over to him.

"What have you heard?" asked Sanglant in a low voice.

"Little enough. They're still too grief-stricken to think beyond Bayan's death. He was a good man."

"True-spoken words." He considered his weeping sister and her dead husband, illuminated by the gleam of lamps. A mural, obscured by the shadow of night and the shifting oil flames, washed the wall behind the Hearth: the martyrdom of St. Justinian, who had chosen death over marriage to a heathen queen.”

Sapientia could become duchess of Saony."

"An odd choice of words, my lord prince. I'm not certain I understood correctly what you just said."

"Nay, you heard well enough, Heribert, but never mind. Stay a while longer, if you please. I've set the fox among the hens up in my aunt's chamber. I'm sure they'll be speaking of it here soon enough, and I'd like to know what they're saying."

Heribert's smile was mocking.” A rough attempt at intrigue, my lord prince, but it will serve as a beginning."

"Darre wasn't built in a day." He laughed, choked it back as the people nearest him turned around to stare, wondering who would be so crass as to disturb mourners in such a manner. Luckily, Sapientia had not heard him.” Where did I hear that line? I'll be turning into a cleric soon."

"Nay, my friend, no one is going to mistake you for a cleric."

A shout of grief from outside broke the even murmur of prayers. Soon other cries and lamentations could be heard. A man burst into the chapel.” Lord Zwentibold is dead!"

Sanglant moved to the Lady's Hearth and knelt there, offering a prayer for Bayan before he got up and went outside. These crowded spaces chafed him. He needed room to move. In the dark courtyard he caught sight of a familiar figure sauntering toward the gates with an unwilling woman in tow.

"Wichman! Cousin!"

Wichman had wasted little time in getting hold of Zwentibold's concubine. No doubt he intended to drag her down to a safe house in the city where Sanglant would never find her among so many refugees.

With a grunt of disgust, Wichman stopped, turning to face him. The concubine twisted her wrist free of his grasp. She looked ready to bolt, but she hesitated as she saw Sanglant walking up to them. She straightened, smoothing her gown down over her stomach. The weave of the cloth was silky enough that it clung to her, revealing the shape of her breasts, suggesting the length of one thigh and the hidden treasure that a man might gain access to, should he win her favor or simply take possession of her. Pretty enough, ripe and willing: no wonder Zwentibold had taken her.

"I thank you," said Sanglant to Wichman, staring him down, "for bringing her to me. I have been at the chapel, praying for the dead."

Sanglant knew men well enough to see Wichman consider fighting him, but the notion, briefly held, ebbed quickly. Wichman didn't dare challenge him. They both knew that. At last, Wichman spun and stalked away.

"My lord." She dipped in an awkward obeisance, half bow, half bend that displayed an arousing expanse of breast. He could actually see the tips of her nipples where her neckline cut low. Her voice shook, as though she suppressed tears.” You have my thanks, my lord prince. I am ever so feared of Lord Wichman, after what he did do to my sister."

Nay, truly, no one was ever going to mistake him for a cleric.” What is your name?"

She had a strong accent.” I am called Marcovefa." "Are you from Salia? How came you here to Osterburg?" Her gaze was more shy than her body, which she shifted ever more closely toward him, close enough that he kept expecting to feel the cloth of her gown slipping over his hands, inviting him to touch what lay beneath it.” My sister and I came as attendants to a noble lady out of Salia. Her parents married her to Lord Zwentibold to get her out of the way of the war."

"Which war is that?"

"Well, truly, my lord prince, the king's brothers and cousins and his eldest son are all fighting over the crown of Salia. Men do fight over what they most desire." Her shy gaze, the way she looked up through her eyelashes at him, provoked him to take a step away. It was a desperately warm night even for early autumn. When had it gotten so hot? "My sister Merofled came to Lord Zwentibold's at tention after our lady was taken ill. But Lord Wichman raped her one day, and she couldn't stand the shame of it. I fear me, she hanged herself."

With the back of a pretty hand unweathered by work, she wiped a tear away.” I have no family left to me. My parents are dead. I suppose I may have a brother left alive in Salia, but I don't know how I'd ever go back there. My sister was my family. Now she's dead, and I'll never meet her again, not even in the Chamber of Light, for she took her own life. I hate that Lord Wichman. I beg you, Your Highness, do not let him take me, for why should I not join my sister in a criminal's death if I'm forced to endure his cruelty?"

Now she did lean against him, clutching for support at his shoulders while pressing all that soft and voluptuous flesh against his body. With an effort, he pushed her gently away.

"Where is Lord Zwentibold's wife now?"

"In St. Ursula's Convent, my lord prince. She's ever so ill, and she prays to God to heal her."

"What will she do now that Lord Zwentibold is dead?"

She wept, with evident sincerity.” I know not, Your Highness. He was a decent man, the best of that sorry lot!" Flushing, she ducked her head.” Begging your pardon, my lord."

"Would your lady take you back, if you went to St. Ursula's?"

"Live a nun's life? That wouldn't suit me, praying all day!" She sidled closer, pushing her hips up against his, letting her hands wander.” But you would. I could please you, my lord."

And why not? Liath had abandoned him and might never return, just as Alia had abandoned Henry. Alia had never cared about Henry at all.

But Henry hadn't let his anger twist him to do what he knew wasn't right.

Perhaps Zwentibold's concubine was a decent woman doing the only thing she knew to make a place of safety for herself. Perhaps she was simply an opportunist, wanting beautiful clothes and rich food where she could get it.

Another man, or woman, might take what he could get when he could get it and carelessly cast it away afterward, without thinking of the consequences. But Sanglant knew now how it felt to be abandoned. He had heard Waltharia mourn the death of the young child they had made together, the child he had never known, had not been permitted to know.

What if Frederun, back in Gent, had gotten with child by him? What would she do with a bastard child and no family to help her? Had he even sent a message to discover what had become of her? He had left her behind with less thought than Liath had left him.

"Nay," he murmured, knowing these thoughts unfair to Liath. Hadn't he heard his wife's voice in Gent? Hadn't she cried out to him: " Wait for me, I beg you.

Help me if you can, for I'm lost here."

His anger at his mother had deafened him. He had wanted, and had chosen, to believe the worst. Maybe, if he ever found Liath again, he should wait to hear what she had to say.

"But if you will not have me, what am I to do?" pleaded Mar-covefa, still pressed against him.

"My lord prince."

"Thank God." He turned away from Marcovefa as his good friend hurried up to him, lamp in hand.” Heribert, you are come at just the right time. See that this woman is given sceattas, enough that she might set herself up in some business if she has any craft, or that she might return to Salia, or dower herself into a convent."

Heribert raised one eyebrow, but his expression remained grave.” As you wish, my lord prince." Marcovefa had flinched back at Sanglant's words, but now she slid closer to Heribert, perhaps thinking to work her wiles on him. Sanglant smiled slightly, then frowned as Heribert went on.” You'd best attend to your brother. There's trouble."

It was a relief to climb the steps in the stone tower, the oldest part of the ducal palace, where noble prisoners were kept in a drafty chamber behind a stout door ribbed with iron bands. He had set his own men to guard Ekkehard's door, knowing they would allow no mischief from folk who might otherwise be eager to harm the four men who had branded themselves as traitors.

"Trouble," said Sergeant Cobbo, acknowledging him. Everwin, beside him, smiled nervously.” Captain's inside with the noble ladies."

"Which noble ladies would that be? Not my sister?" He had visions of Sapientia trying to pulp Ekkehard with her broadsword, but despite his youth Ekkehard was still taller and bigger than his elder sister, having inherited Henry's height if not yet his breadth.

?

"Indeed, your sister. And Margrave Judith's daughter, Your Highness. They're both angry."

He laughed curtly, thinking of Marcovefa's tempting flesh.” And I'm damned thirsty, not having had a drink for far too long. We'll see who's most ill-tempered."

Cobbo opened the door for him. He walked in to find Lady Bertha with four surly looking soldiers at her back and Ekkehard cornered between the hearth and a table by a raging Sapientia.

"It's your fault!" Sapientia was screaming.” Bayan wouldn't be dead if not for your treason!" She flung herself on Ekkehard, who raised his arms to protect himself from her fury.

Ekkehard's three companions were being held back by main force by Sanglant's soldiers as they tried to come to his aid. One wore linen bound around a head wound. Another's arm was in a sling. Their dead comrade lay shrouded under a blanket on the chamber's only bed. Not even Sanglant had dared suggest that the poor boy be given a place in the chapel beside Bayan and the other noble dead.

"My lord prince." It was clear by the expression on Captain Fulk's face that he was relieved to see Sanglant.

"Sapientia." Sanglant crossed the plank floor in a half-dozen strides, grabbed his sister's shoulders, and pulled her off Ekkehard.” Don't let your grief for Bayan drive you to anything rash. God, and our father, will see that he is punished for his crimes."

"I'll see him hanged!" she cried, but she collapsed, weeping, into Sanglant's arms, and he beckoned to her attendants, who hastened to her side, pried her off him, and led her away.

Bertha's soldiers moved aside quickly to let them through, but as soon as Sapientia left the chamber, Bertha herself stepped forward.” What do you suppose King Henry intends to do with a son convicted of treason?"

"I stand as surety for my brother Ekkehard. What he did was wrong, but he's young and may be forgiven once for being misled."

"Brother!" Ekkehard threw himself against Sanglant. He still had a youth's slenderness, no doubt because he was scarcely more than sixteen, but when he wrapped his arms around Sanglant, he held tight enough that Sanglant wheezed before pulling him off.

Bertha smiled. She had the look of her mother, cunning, sharp, and strong, and none of Hugh's fabled beauty.

"You and your legion fought well in the battle," added Sanglant.” And lost a fair number of my good marchlanders," she replied tartly.” I promised my elder sister Gerberga I'd bring her a reward for the sacrifice we Austrans and our cousins from Olsatia have made to rid Wendar of the Quman scourge. She lost her husband to a Quman raid last winter. And surely you know that Bulkezu himself is rumored to have killed our mother."

Even a man as unused to intrigue as Sanglant could see where this was leading.” She wants a royal prince as recompense."

"He's young," observed Bertha, looking Ekkehard over with the same cold regard she might reserve for choosing a new horse.” Not to my taste, but I'm sure that Gerberga will feel her loyalty to King Henry has been amply rewarded if she is given his youngest child as her new husband."

"A rich prize, indeed. Unfortunately, Ekkehard is abbot at St. Perpetua's in Gent."

Bertha laughed.” And my bastard brother Hugh is, so they say, a presbyter in Darre, confidant of the Holy Mother. Vows to God may be conveniently put aside if earthly cares demand it. Your sister Sapientia wants to hang the boy for a traitor because she wants to avenge herself on him for Prince Bayan's death." A hard woman, she softened for one instant, touching her cheek as though a fly had tickled her.” He was a good man. If you're a wise one, Prince Sanglant, you'll convince your sister otherwise. Wendar will suffer if kin kill kin, as this boy should have known. I think my suggestion would serve us all best."

"We shall speak of this later. Ekkehard will be sent to Quedlin-hame meanwhile, to the care of our aunt, Mother Scholastica. I'll be leading the army out at dawn, to pursue what remains of the Quman."

Bertha didn't waste words or energy. She understood the uses of fast action on campaign.” We'll speak of this later," she agreed. With a final glance at Ekkehard, she left with her men.

"I-I don't want to be hanged," whispered Ekkehard, still clinging to Sanglant's arm.

"You should have thought of that before you went over to the Quman."

"But surely you'd not allow them to kill me in such a dishonorable way. I didn't have any choice once Bulkezu had captured me—>: "Spare me your excuses, Ekkehard. You've been a fool, and now you'll suffer the consequences." He glanced over toward the bed where that shrouded figure lay.” Ai, God, what was his name, the one I killed?"

"Welf." Ekkehard had obviously been crying, and he began weeping again.” He threw himself in front of me. He saved my life."

"I think he wanted to get himself killed," muttered one of his companions.

"He managed it well enough," observed Sanglant.” Isn't that the way of war?

I've a piece of news for you, Ekkehard. One of your comrades, Thiemo, still lives—

"Thiemo is alive! Where is he?"

"He serves another prince now. I'll let him know you're alive, but he's no longer yours to command. These other three—" They stammered out their names: Benedict, Frithuric, and Manegold.” You may return to the monastery or choose to suffer whatever fate Prince Ekkehard suffers. Which will it be?"

For all their youth, for all their foolishness, for all their crimes against Henry and Wendar, they knelt most graciously and proclaimed their undying loyalty to Ekkehard. They would walk with him wherever it led, even unto death.

"So be it." Sanglant was glad to see that they had that much honor. He left them to stew, and to worry, and returned to the chamber allotted to him.

The bells rang for Vigils.

Blessing, Anna, and Zacharias slept, while Matto and Chustaffus stood guard and Thiemo played dice with Sibold, waiting up for their prince. The chamber was spacious enough to boast two tables and three beds. Wolfhere had pulled his camp chair over to the cold hearth. There he sat, staring into the ashes as though the dead fire still spoke to him.

He glanced up as Sanglant crossed to stand beside him. A few charred sticks lay in a heap to one side where they'd tumbled as they'd burned.

"You seem troubled," said Sanglant quietly.

When Wolfhere made no answer, he sank down beside him. Grief at Bayan's loss cut hard as Sanglant watched the old Eagle reach out with the poker to disturb the charred sticks, mixing them into the heap of ashes. Dust rose from the hearth, and settled again. Bayan had managed to juggle four wives and not get himself killed; he'd even put one aside when the marriage to Sapientia had been offered to him, and he'd not been poisoned or bespelled with impotence by his cast-off wife. Surely he had the cunning to deal with Wolfhere. Impossible to think of Bayan's corpse decaying and his soul fled.

Thoughts of death choked him.” What is wrong? Have you been using your Eagle's sight? Surely my father isn't—?"

"Worse." Wolfhere's voice actually trembled.” Anne remains skopos. Henry returned to the palace safely after his campaign in the southern provinces. But then, unless my sight betrays me, what came next—" He could not go on for a moment, and when he did finally speak, his voice was a hoarse whisper.” This much have I deduced from what I can see, although truly Anne's sorceries have clouded the truth."

"For God's sake, go on!"

"I never thought Anne would stoop so low."

"Did you not? I never had any doubt."

Wolfhere's sharp glance only made Sanglant smile bitterly.” So be it. You're wiser than I, my lord prince, but I have known her far longer than you have. My whole life in her service—" He could not go on.

"And my father, whom you swore to serve? I pray you, Eagle, tell me about my father!"

Wolfhere shuddered.” Possessed by a daimone. Puppet of Anne and Hugh. What role Queen Adelheid plays in all this I cannot tell. Ai, God! That such a thing should come to pass! He has even declared that he means to anoint the infant, Mathilda, as his heir."

Anne and Hugh. Whatever else Wolfhere said faded as a rush of anger roared like wind, blinding him.” He should never have trusted them. Yet who is worse, the man who trusts the untrustworthy, or the one who turned his back when he knew what dangers lay in wait for the unwary?"

Wolfhere rested head in hands, looking ten years older at that moment, utterly weary.” What can we do? It is hopeless if they have already gained so much."

"Nay, do not say so," said Sanglant as he stared at the hearth. A single spark glinted among white coals.” We are not done yet."

They rode out at dawn. Considering the disrepair of the walls, Sanglant found it amazing that the Quman hadn't broken through in any of a half-dozen gaps.

Perhaps they hadn't managed it only because they hadn't had time. According to Lady Sophie, Bulkezu and his army had arrived a mere three days before Sanglant.

He surveyed the army riding at his back: noble lords and ladies and their eager retinues, the Ungrians bearing the body of Prince Bayan in a barrel of wine, leading them in death as well as life, and Sapientia, subdued and silent. His daughter was laughing at something Lord Thiemo had said. Although the poor boy had wept when told that Prince Ekkehard lived, he had seemed relieved to be told that he could not return to him. Fulk rode at the head of Sanglant's personal escort, the captain's keen gaze missing nothing as they headed down the road leading east.

A rash course, that he meant to take now, but the only one left to him. All along, ever since he had turned his back on his father at Angenheim, he had known this was what he would have to do. He had just never suspected that the stakes would be quite so high.

Drastic measures for drastic times.

He kept Lord Wichman beside him, not trusting him anywhere else.” Your mother?" he asked politely.

Wichman laughed coarsely.” The old bitch. She's stubborn enough to live on for months. I pray she does, if only to torture my sisters. Do you mean to disinherit them?"

"I am not regnant, nor have I been named regent, to pass such a judgment. I believe a messenger has been sent to my sister Theo-phanu at Quedlinhame.

Sapientia must also be consulted."

"So you say, Cousin, but she's nothing without Bayan." Wichman's thoughtful look gave an unfamiliar cast to his usually arrogant and lustful features, as though another man peered out, seeking to be heard.” He was a right prick, but Lord knows we all respected him." He hiked up his chain mail to scratch his crotch.” Did the woman please you? I had to content myself with a couple of warty whores down in the town. Maybe I ought to think of get K'ATE ELLIOTT ting married. I could use a good setup like Druthmar, there, with Villain's daughter.

Lady Brigida is still looking for a husband, so they say."

"I understand that Lady Bertha, Judith's daughter, remains unmarried."

This sent Wichman into howls of laughter, picked up by his cronies once they had heard the joke, and the conversation quickly grew so crude that even Sanglant could not stand to hear more of it. He rode ahead with Fulk and Wolfhere beside him, falling in with the solemn nobles who attended Princess Sapientia at the van.

South of the city they came to the battlefield, swarming now with looters, ravens, crows, scavengers, and the ever-present vultures circling overhead, waiting their chance. Most of the Wendish nobles had been hauled off the field last night, and now the common soldiers were being carted off to mass graves.

The Ungrian priests had their own rites, which he purposefully ignored. The Quman, of course, would be burned. Feathers torn off broken wings rose like chaff on the dawn breeze. A woman wept over the body of a loved one. A cart rumbled past, piled high with corpses.

Farther away, ragged folk wandered the edge of the battlefield like ghosts, stunned and bewildered. Was that young woman with long black hair as lovely as she seemed from this distance? She walked at the head of a pack of about a dozen thin, frightened people, some of them children. They huddled for a while staring over the battlefield while Sanglant watched them. At their backs stood a line of trees set along the length of a fallow field, still green from the recent rains. At last, they turned and trudged toward Osterburg, the towers of the palace stark against the pale rose sky as the sun lifted free of the eastern forest.

The army picked up the pace but hadn't gotten halfway through the open woodland toward the Veserling ford when they met a triumphant band of Lions marching in their direction with the last of the baggage train—that which hadn't been able to get in last night—rolling along in two neat lines behind them. Their ragged banner flew proudly, and Captain Thiadbold called the halt and gestured to a Lion next to him to step forward and greet the prince.

"Prince Sanglant! Your Highness, I am called Ingo, sergeant of the first cohort.

See what a fine prize we have brought you!"

Sanglant saw the Eagle first. She looked exhausted, and when she saw him she wept.

"My lord prince," she cried, pressing forward on the horse they had given her to ride, "is Liath with you?"

She needed no answer, nor had he any to give her, knowing that his expression spoke as loudly as words might. She covered her eyes with a hand, hiding fresh tears.

She wasn't the only prize the Lions had brought in. Beyond all expectation they had captured the greatest prize of all, trussed and tied and forced to walk like a common slave. His face looked horrible, the flap of skin torn away from his cheek still weeping blood although someone had attempted to treat it with a poultice. Impossible to know how much pain he was in. His gaze had a kind of insane glee in it as he laughed, hearing Hanna's question.

"I should have known a Kerayit shaman's luck would not crack so easily. You lied to me, frost woman!"

"Yes!" she cried, turning to him in fury.” I lied to you! I lied to you! She was never at Osterburg!"

"Silence, I pray you!" When he had silence, Sanglant spoke again, a single word: "Bulkezu."

The Quman prince's wings were completely shattered, but a few bright griffin feathers remained to him, dangling by threads from what remained of his harness.

"Hang him," said Hanna hoarsely.

"Nay, let me kill him!" cried Wichman, riding up, and the cry rose throughout the ranks as soldiers clamored for the honor.

Sapientia drew her sword and rode forward, calling to the Lions to haul Bulkezu out in front of the line.” I'll have his head in recompense for the death of my husband!"

Men crowded up from the back to see the spectacle, all of them yelling and taunting the twenty or so Quman prisoners, who stood their ground with expressions of blank indifference. Bulkezu laughed, as though to spur Sapientia's anger further. She shrieked with fury and lifted her sword.

"Quiet!" Sanglant's voice rang out above the outcry. He rode up beside Sapientia and caught her arm before she could strike.” Nay, Sister, we'll have no killing of prisoners. Not when they can serve us in another way."

"Hang him then, as the Eagle says! Then everyone will know with what dishonor we treat heathens!"

"He'll serve us better alive than dead."

The words brought disbelieving silence as men murmured and Sanglant's pronouncement was passed by means of whispers to the rear ranks. Only one person had the courage to speak up.

"He's a monster," cried Hanna.” You must see that justice is done for all the ruin he's caused. I witnessed it, in the name of King Henry!"

"Worse ruin will come if we do not fight the enemy that threatens us most. Lady Bertha. I pray you, come forward."

Bertha rode up with her standard-bearer at her side and, with only a cursory acknowledgment of Sapientia, placed herself before Sanglant. Without question, Judith's daughter had summed up the situation quickly. She had a cut on her face that hadn't been there last night, and one hand bound up in linen—she was not a person he would care to face on the battlefield, strong, cunning, and ruthless.

"I'll give you what you want," he said, "if you'll pledge me your loyalty."

Sapientia gasped.” I was named as Henry's heir! This is my army—

"Nay, Sister. This is my army now." He beckoned Heribert forward.” I'll have it now," he said in a low voice.” It's time."

With a brilliant grin, Heribert fished in the pouch hanging from his belt and brought out the gold torque that Waltharia had offered Sanglant months before.

The prince took it, twisted the ends, and slid it around his neck. The heavy gold braid rested easily there. He had forgotten how natural its weight felt against his skin, the tangible symbol of his rank, his birthright, and his authority. His soldiers raised their voices in a deafening cheer. Sapientia's face washed pale, and she swayed as if dizzied by the noise.

Sanglant rode forward to take the rope bound to Bulkezu's neck out of Ingo's hand.” My army," he repeated, "and Bulkezu is my prisoner." The Quman chieftain said nothing, only watched, but his lips quirked up as if he were about to break out laughing. Sanglant turned to address Judith's daughter.” Lady Bertha, have we an agreement?"

"Ekkehard to marry my sister in return for my troops riding under your command? I'll accept that exchange." She grinned.” I was hoping there might be more fighting."

He stood in his stirrups, half turning to survey the soldiers winding back into the woods, awaiting his command. He pitched his voice to carry toward the rear ranks.” The war is not over yet, although we've won a great victory here. The threat to Wendar from the Quman is ended. But our enemies have not been defeated. Now I'm riding east. Who will ride with me?"

Not one among that host refused him.

THE UNVEILING

CA returned home just after sunset, stepping from southern heat to autumn chill as she crossed through the gate woven of starlight and set foot on familiar ground. She stood shivering and coughing as her lungs made the adjustment, as she struggled to place herself in the wheel of the year. The heavens were unbelievably clear. A full moon rose in the east, washing a silvery light over the sky that obscured all but the brightest stars.

Those bright stars told her what she needed to know. By the position of the Dipping Cup, swinging low in the north, and the trail of the Serpent along the southwestern horizon, she knew that the autumn equinox would have fallen just before the last new moon. That being so, the sun was only a short way from reaching the nadir of the heavens along its cyclical journey, and therefore she had less than a moon's cycle left to her before that night came in which all the alignments of the stars and the heavens were in place for the great working.

She would never see another full moon. She would never again lie with Alain and caress his body with only the moon to watch over them.

Unable to help herself, she wept. Far to the south, Shu-Sha's weaving would tens of days ago have faded into sparks lost in the night, just as Alain and the men left behind to guard him had been lost. She twisted the lapis lazuli ring on her finger and with an effort wiped away her tears. Shu-Sha had scolded her more than once during the five days she had dwelt in her hall down in the southern lands.

"Do not mourn over the happiness you were fortunate enough to jossess, lest you turn that joy into grief. Be glad that you had what others may never in their lives experience. The gods have dealt dndly with you, Daughter."

It was impossible to argue with Shu-Sha, the great queen, who with her vast girth and magnificent beauty was often called the living embodiment of the Fat One, most powerful of the gods because she held both life and death in her hands. The people ruled over by Queen Shuashaana did not call their goddess the Fat One in their own language, of course, but in her heart Adica knew it was the same power who lived in both places no matter what name was used.

As a child, she had learned to stifle her tears and get on with it. She slung her pack over her shoulder and set off for the village. Her people had been busy.

The lower embankment circling the tumulus had a stout palisade of logs set around it as far as she could see under moonlight. Piles of fresh earth alternated with crude shelters built for the workmen on lower ground between the ramparts. A whistling man came walking around the curve of one rampart, saw her, and stopped short. He put a horn to his lips and blew, three times, to alert the village.

"Who is there?" she called, not recognizing him, but he ran away. He had recognized her, and feared her, just as they all had in the days before Alain had come.

The lower ramparts overlapped to make a cleft between them, an easily defended opening. The workers had dug a steep ditch here and lined the bottom with stakes; planks thrown down over the ditch made a bridge. Two adults stood on sentry duty, but they shielded their eyes and murmured polite greetings without looking at her.

When she emerged from the cleft she looked down the siopi at the village and, by aid of the moon's light, surveyed the

change two seasons had wrought. In the time she had been gone, the villagers had finished building the log palisade around the village, with watch posts set up at intervals and a double tower on either side of the gate. Torches burned at each watch post. Sentries stood by the torches, looking out into the night. How strange to see her peaceful village transformed into a camp made ready for war.

How strange to see the serpentlike earthworks bristling with wood posts, like the ridged back of a sinuous dragon at rest.

It ruined the peace of the landscape. Yet they could only live in peace and without constant fear once the Cursed Ones were defeated. Her own sorrow, her own life, meant little compared to the life of the tribe. She hardened her heart as she descended the path.

The plank bridge had been drawn back, exposing a fresh ditch lined with pointed stakes. Lifting her staff, she shook the bells, calling out to the guard at the gate.

"Hallowed One!" By chance, her cousin Urtan stood on gate duty this night.

Soon enough, the gate was opened, the plank bridge thrust across, and she welcomed inside.

"Where is Alain?" Urtan asked. Other villagers, alerted by the horn call, hurried up as torches ringed her.

"We despaired of you, Hallowed One!"

"The Fat One is merciful, Hallowed One. She brought you back to us!"

Beor shouldered through the crowd, pushing forward to see her.” Where is Alain?" he demanded.

Thinking of Alain made her so tired that she thought she might fall down where she stood, only no one here could touch her to lift her up again. Only Alain could do that.

"Let me sleep," she said hoarsely, unable to say more. She had to choke her heart as in a fist; she dared not start crying now.

Mother Weiwara came forward, looking prosperous and. healthy.” Let the Hallowed One go to her bed," she said sternly to the folk crowded around. She escorted Adica to her cottage and crouched outside, just beyond the threshold, as Adica ducked under the door and dropped her pack on the floor, then sank onto her knees on the musty pallet.

"You have been gone a long time," said Weiwara through the door.” More than two seasons, now. The dark of the sun is only half the moon's cycle away—

"I know."

"Oh, Adica." Once, Weiwara had been her dearest friend, two girls growing up together. With the darkness hiding them each from the other, she had the courage to touch that lost friendship again, despite the evil spirits that could smell the threads binding one person to another and use those links to sink their claws into the unsuspecting.” Where have you been?"

"On a long journey. I'm so tired. I lost Alain." His name caught in her throat.

She had to pinch the skin of her neck with a hand to strangle a sob.” But do not fear, Mother Weiwara." Her voice was little more than a whisper.” The working will go forward. Soon you will be freed from fear."

If the weather held. If the Holy One still lived. If Laoina reached her people in time to lead a strong band of warriors to the aid of Two Fingers, in the land of Horn. If they could drive the Cursed Ones away from that stone loom, and so link up with the others. If Hehoyanah did as her uncle asked, and joined the weaving. If no Cursed Ones attacked the tents of Brightness-Hears-Me. If Falling-down did not die. If she herself did not break of sorrow.

"Tell me what you saw," breathed Weiwara in a low voice.

She began to object but caught the dismissal before it passed her lips. Alain had taught her how to listen to others in a way that allowed her to see past the words to glimpse the heart. Was that curiosity, even wistfulness, in Weiwara's tone? Did her old friend conceal a hankering to see distant lands and strange sights?

Sometimes telling is the only way to make the pain end, or at least lessen.

She told Weiwara the story of their long journey, of the strange creatures they had seen, of the unknown cities they had glimpsed, of the ambushes they had avoided. She even told her of the vision she had seen of the banquet of plenty, burnished by gold and the woman with fire in her heart who had given her a ring to return to Alain. As she told the story, she pressed the ring into her cheek. T

"But I didn't see Alain again. When I woke from my trance, was in Shu-Sha's palace, where Laoina and the others had carried me. Alain had gone with three of the men of Shu-Sha's tribe, back to get the dogs. He never came. I waited there for five days, but he never came."

Wind breathed through the chimes hanging around the outside eaves. A cow lowed from a nearby byre. If she stopped now, she would fall into pieces and never be able to go on.

"Tell me about Shu-Sha," said Weiwara, as though she had seen into Adica's heart.” What is her palace like? Do the people of her land look the same as we do? What do they eat?"

"Queen Shuashaana is powerfully fat. You've never seen a woman with so much power in her body, thighs as big as my hips and arms as big as my thighs. Her belly is as large as a cauldron and her breasts are like melons."

"She must be very powerful," whispered Weiwara in awe.” I wasn't even nearly that fat when I was pregnant with the twins."

So drowned had Adica been in her own fears and sorrows that she hadn't thought once to ask of doings in the village. So much might have happened since she was gone, and yet she had to be careful how she asked, never to mention any person by name who might thereby become vulnerable to the darts of the evil spirits listening around her.

"I hope the Fat One's favor still smiles on the village." "Spring and summer passed swiftly, Hallowed One. There were two raids by the Cursed Ones north of here, at Seven Springs and Four Houses, and some people were killed but the Cursed Ones were driven off. Dorren came from Falling-down to tell us that we must fortify Queens' Grave. We had work parties from the other villages all summer to build the palisade on the lower embankment, to protect the stone loom. One time just at the autumn equinox a scouting party shot arrows at us, but both palisades were finished by then, so they left when they saw they could do no damage with such small numbers. Still, we've sent for war parties from the other White Deer villages, in case they come back. The Fat One has blessed us with three births and no deaths in the moons since you departed. Her favor has been strong over us."

"May it continue so," prayed Adica softly.” Forgive me, Weiwara, to speak of fate when the spirits swarm so near to me, but one thing troubles me. Since you are Mother to our people, it falls to me to ask you."

"I remember our friendship. I wil not turn my back on you now."

Adica sighed, shuddering.” Promise me that you will lay me beside the ancient queens, if you can."

Adica smelled Weiwara's tears.” You will be honored among us as if you were one of the queens of the ancient days. I promise you that. No one in this tribe will ever forget you, as long as we have children." "Thank you."

"Is there anything else you would ask of me?" To think of lying down alone on her old pallet made her think of the queens, asleep under the hill, but she knew she had to sleep, to keep up her strength just as she had to eat. So Shu-Sha had told her. Nothing mattered more now than that the great weaving be completed successfully.

"I will sleep. You must look to the village now, and I will prepare for what is coming."

Amazingly, once Weiwara had left and she lay down undressed on her pallet, covering herself in furs, she dozed off easily. Weariness ruled her. She slept, and she did not dream.

But the morning dawned cold and ruthless, nor had sleep softened her heart.

She rose at dawn and did what she could to air out her bedding. She examined the dried herbs hanging from the rafters, weeding out lavender that had gotten eaten away by a fungus, burning a tuft of thistle too withered to be of use.

Already, at dawn, villagers gathered before her house.” Hallowed One, the birthing house hasn't been purified properly."

"Hallowed One, my daughter got sick after drinking cider, but Agda says it was the berries she had, not the cider. There are still five jars left. Maybe evil spirits got in them, or maybe they're still good."

"Hallowed One, is it true that Alain didn't come back with you? My dog got a thorn in his paw and one of the geese has a torn foot—"

It was a relief to be busy. She dressed, broke her fast with porridge and goat's milk, and went first to the birthing house. After

three new births, it desperately needed purifying; she smelled spirits lingering in the eaves, making it dangerous for the next woman who would enter to give birth here. As she examined the outside of the house, testing how the thatch had weathered the summer, looking for birds' nests, spiderwebs, and other woven places where spirits might roost, she glanced occasionally back at the village.

Manure from the byres was being carted out to the most distant fields in preparation for the winter. Beor and his cousins were slaughtering a dozen swine to feed the war parties, camped up beyond the embankment, and his sister had just brought up a big pot of hot boiled barley to catch blood for a black pudding.

Young Deyilo tended a flock of geese out on the stubble of a harvested field.

Getsi appeared with a covered basket. She had grown a hand in height since Adica had last seen her, and the shape of her face had begun to change. In another year she would approach womanhood. But Adica would not be the woman guiding her across that threshold.

"What do you have there?" she asked the girl, more sharply than she intended.

"My mother has been collecting herbs and flowers for you. Where shall I set them?"

"Here, Daughter," she replied, a little shamefaced, pointing to the ground just in front of the door.” Your mother will have my thanks. This thatch needs beating.

You've had a frost that loosened it."

"It's been cold early this year," agreed Getsi.” I'll get my sister to come do it. My mother says I'm not strong enough to do it right yet."

"You'll soon be."

Getsi smiled, careful not to look her in the eyes, and loped off back to the village, lithe and eager.

Best to keep busy, and not to think on what she had lost. She completed her circuit of the birthing house before kneeling down before the basket, uncovering it. A rush of scent billowed up, dust dancing as wind caught and worried at dried summer milfoil, placed at the top. Beneath them she found small woven pouches containing flower petals or juniper berries, and beneath these but terwort, betony, and mint leaves, the bundled stalks of tansy and five-leafed silverweed, as well as lavender so fragile that it crumbled at a touch. She laid the contents of one of the pouches on her knees to sort it, sheltering the light petals from the breeze: eglantine and wild rose, made pale by age.

A horn call blared: the alarm from the village, a triple blast to call every person in to the safety of the walls. Shocked, she simply froze, lifting her head to stare as children shrieked and men and women dropped what they were doing and went running.

The horn sounded again, a single blast followed by silence, followed by another short blast. She heard shouts and cries turn from alarm to amazement as people streamed out of the gates, running to meet what a moment ago they had been running from. Still she did not move.

A dozen horsemen appeared around the southern flank of the great tumulus, the Queens' Grave. In the next instant she saw they were not horsemen but the Horse people. One of them carried a rider, a human like herself. Running among the centaurs came two huge black hounds.

Petals slid unheeded down her thighs, catching in the cords of her skirt. Never could she mistake him for anyone but himself, nor would she ever mistake another man for him. She leaped up, rose petals falling in clouds around her, trailing after her, as she ran to meet him.

He pushed through the crowd gathered to stare at the centaur women. They gave way, seeing his purpose. Breaking free, he hurried forward and caught her in his arms, holding her as tightly as if he never meant to let her go, his face pressed against her hair.

He said nothing. She wept helpless tears of joy and relief, and after a while he pulled back to kiss them away, although even he could not catch every one.

"Hush, Adica. I am come safely home. The Holy One is rescued. We couldn't return south to get you because of the war, but when we learned that Queen Shuashaana had already sent you home, my friends agreed to bring me here. All is well, my love. All is as it should be."

"I love you," she said through her tears as the hounds bounded up, great bodies wriggling like those of pups in their eagerness to get a greeting from her.” I was so afraid I had lost you."

"Never," he promised her as he embraced her again.” Never." Held within that warm embrace, she knew she would not falter now, not even when it came time to walk forward to the death that awaited her. She would not go gladly, never that, but she could go with unhesitating steps because she had been granted strength and joy by the gift of love.

CHILD or FLAME PALACES floated on a river of fire, each linked to the last by means of bridges as bright as polished gold. At intervals brilliant sparks flew up from the river of fire in the same way sparks scatter and die when a blacksmith strikes molten iron with a hammer. These sparks lit on her body as she met the embrace of a host of creatures, daimones whose substance was made entirely of fire.

Where they touched her, crowding around, she burned. Her hands burned, her skin burned, and fire from within broke the bonds of the binding Da had wrapped around her so many years before. He had tried to seal her away from herself. He had crippled her for so many years, but in this place his magic held no power. Sparks pierced the locked door behind which Da had hidden her soul, melting the lock until the door swung wide and vanished in a cloud of steam, and she burned until her flesh was consumed and fire within met fire without.

She was like them. She had a soul of fire no different than their own.

Joy struck at her heart like lightning. The universe changed into purity around her, and in her heart and in her soul she knew she had entered a place existing beyond the mortal limits of humankind. Even her bow, Seeker of Hearts, had vanished. She had nothing of Earth left to her, nothing binding her to Earth any longer.

In the embrace of fire she burned for an eternity, or perhaps only for one instant.

Then she found her voice.” Who am I?"

Here in the realm of fire their voices thrummed as though they were themselves taut strings on which the music of the spheres played out its measure.” Step into the river of fire, child. Here nothing can be hidden that you call past, which binds you, and future, which blinds mortal eyes."

She let herself fall, and the river swept her into the past.

She knows this handsome villa, its proud architecture and well-built structures, an entire little cosmos sufficient unto itself. She recognizes the vista of craggy hills and of forest so dense and green that the midday summer sunlight seems to drown in leaves. Fields surround the villa, a neatly tended estate. Not one weed grows out of place. Even the bees never sting. This'is the place where she was born and spent her early childhood.

She knows this pleasant garden, once languid with butterflies and now made gold by a profusion of luminous marigolds. But the prize bed of saffron is quite simply missing, scorched and trammeled. A man stands with his back to the rest, surveying the ruined saffron. The other five weary, somber figures gather around the seventh of their number, which is in fact a corpse. It is one of these who kneels, face hidden, to gingerly examine the prone body.

One of the Seven Sleepers has died in the struggle, and Anne for the first time loses her majestic calm. She shrieks anger, an expression that on her face looks so startlingly wrong that it takes a moment for Liath to realize how much younger Anne is, here in the past. She has her grandfather Taillefer 's look about her, well built and excellently proportioned, with fine eyes and a dignified manner. She cannot be much more than thirty years of age, strong and extraordinarily beautiful in her prime.

" We were to bind a male daimone! " she cries, outraged at their failure.” It was to be the father! I was to be the one who would sacrifice my blood and my purity to bear a child."

"This is the second death we've suffered," says Severus, "although in truth I haven't missed Theoderada 's incessant praying these last six years.” Taking years away from his face has not improved his sour aspect.” Can we risk a third death?"

"We must," insists Anne as she glowers at the dead woman, crumpled on the ground, robes burned to nothing and her skin ash-white, still hot to the touch.”

We must have a child born to fire who

can defeat this half-breed bastard being raised by King Henry. Do you doubt that all is lost if we do not counter the influence of the Aoi? Do you wish to set their yoke over your neck? "

"No," says Severus irritably, having been asked this question one too many times.

Meriam sighs as she regards the dead woman.” Where will we find another to join our number? Poor Hiltrudis was too young to think of dying."

"Aren't we all?" snapped Severus. His arms are burned, his cheeks flaming as though with fever. Blisters are already forming along his lower lip, and his eyes weep tears.

The youngest among them, a slight woman with wispy pale hair, stands back with a hand over her mouth to stifle the horrible stench. They are all marked by bums.” I'm afraid,” she whispers. She glances toward the seventh of their number, the man standing a stone's toss away from the rest with his back to them. Light shines in a nimbus around his body, which by its position conceals something standing in the middle of the charred saffron. She begins to weep silently in fear.” I'm afraid to try again. You didn 't tell me it would be like this."

She gestures toward the corpse.” Hiltrudis didn't know either. How could you not have warned us?"

"Hush, Rothaide," murmurs Meriam, taking the young woman's arm.” Surely you understood all along that sorcery is dangerous."

The man kneeling beside the corpse looks up. At first, Liath does not recognize him. He looks so much younger than when she knew him, with only a trace of silver in his hair. He is even a little homely, the kind of man whose looks improve as he ages.” If we try again," says Wolfhere, "it will surely be worse. Can we not make do with what we have? We succeeded beyond our expectations.”

Anne makes a noise of disgust, turning away.” Then I am forced to act alone, if I must. This day's work is no success.”

But the man standing in the ashes with his back to the others sighs softly.”

She's so beautiful.”

"Go!" says Anne suddenly, caught by that voice.” Leave the body. I must think."

They are not unwilling to retreat to salve their wounds. Meriam leads away the weeping Rothaide, Severus limps after her and, after a moment, but hesitantly, Wolfhere goes as well, not without two or three backward glances at Anne. The butterflies have begun to return, fluttering around her like winged jewels.

Then Anne is alone with the corpse and the man standing with his back to her, who has not, apparently, heard her command to the others.

"Bernard,” she says softly.

Surprised to hear his name, he turns.

Ai, God, it is Da, but so much younger, about thirty years of age and, by all appearances, a few years younger than Anne. Liath never knew he was handsome. She never really understood how much she looks like him, even with her golden-brown skin and her salamander eyes. The years of running took their toll. The magic he expended to hide her scarred and diminished him. This is the fearless man, face shaven and hair trimmed in the manner of a frater, who walked ardently into the heathen lands of the east without once looking over his shoulder. But that was all before her birth, before their flight, before that day when, by crippling her, he crippled himself.

Liath never understood until this instant, seeing Anne's expression, how much Anne hated him because he is beautiful to her eyes. She never understood until this instant how much power Da had, and how he shone, as luminous as the sun and with a glint of sarcasm in his eyes. She only remembered him, only had memories of him, from after the fear had sucked him dry.

"Bernard,” Anne repeats, "you have been the thorn in my side for long enough.

I know you have never cared about our work to save humankind from the threat of the Lost Ones. I know you joined us only to satisfy your intellect and your curiosity. We 've suffered you all these years because of the strength of your gift, not for your loyalty to our goals. But the time has come for you to be of use to me. Can it be possible that you have at last seen a creature you desire more than you desire knowledge?"

Anger chases laughter chases longing across his expressive features. He steps aside, and Liath sees what they have caught in a cage made not of iron bars but of threads like spider's silk, billowing as the breeze moves through them.

She is fire, incandescent, a living creature bound by magic beneath the moon, where she does not belong. She wears a womanly shape, scintillant and as bright as a blue-white sun, and her wings beat against the unbreakable white threads, but she is hopelessly trapped. Heat boils off her, but the cage neutralizes these streamers of flame, and when she opens her mouth to scream, no sound comes out.

"You can have her, Bernard, because I can see that you desire her. But only if what transpires now remains a secret between you and me."

He is torn. He suspects that to agree will compromise him in some unintended way, but even as he struggles, Liath knows he will lose because he has fallen in love with the fire daimone, a creature so beyond mortal ken that even to call it down to Earth brings death.

"How can this be?" he asks hoarsely.” If it caused poor Hiltrudis' death just to cast the binding spell, how can any flesh dare touch pure fire? " He raises an arm, then blushes, hot and red.” First we must send the others away, to give Hiltrudis' body a proper burial and to seek a seventh to make whole our number.

There are certain spells known to me that can soften fire into light so that her substance will not burn you. But it will be up to you to win her acquiescence.”

She eyes him as the daimone writhes, trying to get free.” None of this comes without a price.”

"What must I do?" He is already caught. He will agree to everything, because desire has trapped him in a cage of surpassing beauty, in the guise of a woman with wings of flame, daughter of the highest sphere, the soul of a star. He will agree to anything, if only he can have her.

Anne brushes a cinder, all that is left of a thread of saffron, off her sleeve.”

First, this sorcery will weaken me. I will be an invalid, and you must care for me until I recover. Second, the others must believe that the child was made of my seed, not yours, that between us we freed this creature and captured another, a male, who could thereby impregnate me. The child must be thought to come of Taillefer's lineage. Yet not just from Taillefer's lineage, but legitimately born. To that end, you must marry me in a ceremony sanctioned by the church."

"Yes," he says absently, obviously too distracted as he stares at the daimone even to point out the gaping holes of illogic in this proposal. The woman-creature has calmed enough, now, to furl her wings and with apprehension and anger survey her prison.” Last, the child will be mine to raise.”

"Whatever you say," he whispers, because the daimone has caught sight of him.

She has no true distinguishable features, no human mask of a face, yet those are eyes that see him, that mark his presence, and she does not recoil as he returns her gaze boldly. She watches him, blazing and effulgent, the most magnificent thing he has seen in a life that brought him face-to-face with many wondrous creatures. He does not fear her. He is too much in thrall to desire, the man who until now had remained faithful to his vow of chastity despite the many temptations thrown in his path. Whatever you say. The words haunt Liath.

The corpse is carried away and buried fittingly. The next day, Anne and Bernard are joined in holy matrimony in the chapel, with the others looking on as witnesses. Wolfhere paces restlessly throughout the ceremony, looking ready to spit. Rothaide, Meriam, and Severus leave for distant parts, although Wolfhere lingers for a handful of days like a man in the throes of suspicion, believing that his wife is contemplating adultery. Only when his Eagle's sight shows him the old king, Arnulf, bed-ridden with a terrible fever, does he leave, hastening away to the side of the king he has pretended for all these years to serve faithfully.

When Wolfhere is finally gone, Anne can at last work her spell, but hers is a devious mind and she has the means to punish the only man for whom she ever actually felt unbearable physical desire. The fire of the daimone's soul is tamed, her aetherical body is given a semblance of mortal substance, but in this process her features are molded so that they resemble Anne herself.

Trapped and diminished, the daimone turns to the one who shows her kindness and affection. Fire seeks heat when it is dying. Bernard is not unaware of the way Anne has turned his wish back onto him, so that when at last the daimone surrenders to his patient courtship of her, it's as if he is making love to Anne herself, her face, her body, but lit by aetherical fire from within, like Anne in the guise of an angel. With that wicked, sardonic humor that made him able to withstand much suffering in his eastern travels, he even calls her "Anne "

although Anne lies as helpless as a newo ELLIOTT born in the villa, tended by Bernard hand and foot because he remains as good as his word. His entire universe has shrunk to this vil a, to the care he gives faithfully to the invalid who has made his wish become truth, to the sphere of the fiery woman-creature he worships and makes love to.

Maybe what he feels for the daimone is love and maybe it is only lust, a craving brought on by a glimpse of the high reaches of the universe, too remote for the human mind to comprehend. But if what he feels is not love, then it is hard to say what counts for love in a cold world.

Because the world is cold, and the universe disinterested in one insignificant man's feelings, however strong they might be. Certain laws govern the cosmos, and not even love can alter them, or perhaps love is the unmoving mover that impels them forward.

Seed touches seed, by means unknown to humankind and perhaps influenced by the tides of magic. A seed ripens and grows, and the child that waxes within the creature bom not of Earth must build a mortal body in which to live.

It happens so slowly that in the end it seems to happen all at once.

The child consumes the substance of the mother to make itself. All her glorious fire is subsumed into the child she births, and the birth itself becomes her death.

All that she was she has given; even her soul is now part of the child. She herself, the brilliant creature bound and trapped months ago, is utterly gone.

That she existed at all can only be seen in the newborn's remarkable blue eyes, as bright as sparks.

He weeps for a long time, broken, pathetic, until Anne appears suddenly at his side, hale and hearty now that the spell which drained her strength has been dissipated by the death of the daimone.

"So,” she says, examining the baby as if for flaws, "this is how lust ends, in death and despair.” She seems pleased to have found a way to escape this fate, since lust's cruel hand brushed her as well. She surveys Bernard's bent form with disdain.” Give me the baby now, as you promised."

"No," he says, clinging to the naked little thing, still slick from the birth. Where he made for his love a childbed for her labor lies only a soft blanket, nothing else, no trace of her.

"She killed her mother, the one you loved." "I know." He weeps, because Anne has tr, pnnt f™ "JJ ~'

, — ^.n, jut* iuvea. '

J weeps, because Anne has trapped him, as she meant to all along. She knew, or guessed, what would happen. He fell as did the angels long ago, tempted by carnal desire, and now all he sees at his feet is the yawning Abyss. His heart's strength is broken at that moment. In the years to come, his body's strength will be broken as well, bit by bit. But he loves his daughter anyway.

After all, the child is innocent. If anyone is guilty, it is Anne for the ruthlessness of her ambition. If anyone is guilty, it is the other five sorcerers, for aiding her with willing hands. If anyone is guilty, it is he.

He will never stop punishing himself. And because he is weak and imperfect, like all human souls, in the end he will punish his daughter as well, even if he never intended to harm her.

Anne wins. She has the child she wanted, the husband she lusted after, but she has kept her body pure, a matter of great importance to her, who thinks of all other human beings as tainted and unworthy. Bernard stays, because he is completely compromised now, because he is guilty, because he has learned the meaning of fear.

He stays. He names the infant after an ancient sorceress he read of in a book years ago while sojourning in Arethousa: Li'at'dano, the centaur shaman, mentioned in the old chronicles many times over many generations. Some called her undying. Al called her powerful beyond human ken. In the western tongue the consonants soften to make the baby Liathano.

He calls her Liath.

He stays with the Seven Sleepers, toiling under Anne's unwavering and unforgiving gaze, caring for his beloved child, until the day eight years later when the fire daimones come looking for their missing sister. Time passes differently in the upper spheres; an eye-blink may encompass months and the unfurling of a wing years.

That is when he flees with his daughter. That is when he expends the untapped potential of his own magical powers to lock away her soul and her power, which shine like a beacon, so that no one can follow them. Especially not Anne.

Especially not the fire daimones, kin to the woman-creature he loved and murdered.

Did he run to save himself? To save Liath? Or to save the only thing he has left of the woman-creature he loved? Did he lock away Liath's true self to hide her from Anne's machinations, or to conceal her from her mother's kin, so that they could never find her and take her away from him?

Anger was a river of fire, molten and destructive but also cleansing and powerful. She never understood until now how much she despised Da for being weak. At moments she even hated him because she loved him, because she wanted him to be strong when maybe he never could be, because maybe all along without knowing it consciously she guessed that he loved someone else more than he loved her. Because she hated herself for being weak, hated that part of herself, broken and crippled, that had chained her for so long.

The river of the past, that which binds us because it has already woven its chains around us, flowed easily and without any obvious transition into the future, the unreachable destination where we are blinded by possibility, by hope, by unexamined anger, and by fear. She walked into the future with the river of fire streaming around her and she saw King Henry strangled by a daimone as a pretty child resembling Queen Adelheid mounts the imperial throne, her mother standing protectively beside her.

Sister Rosvita, aged and leprous, lies dying in a dungeon. A discarded shoe, its leather eaten away by rats or maybe by her, rests just beyond her outstretched hand.

The Lion, Thiadbold, who more than once showed her kindness, drinks himself into a stupor in a filthy tavern by sipping ale out of a bowl. He has lost both his hands but somehow survived. Isn 't it a worse fate to live as a cripple, helpless except for what leavings others throw to you as to the dogs ?

Ivar on trial for heresy before the skopos. The Holy Mother Anne condemns him and his companions to death, but he smiles, wearily, as if death is the outcome he has been seeking all along. Hanna dead, by her own hand. The wounds that killed her cannot be seen on her skin.

Sanglant, still fighting and always fighting because he will never give up until his last breath, as the she-griffin strikes for his exposed chest.

Blessing stands by a window. Liath scarcely recognizes this magnificent creature, newly come to womanhood, tall like her father and with a creamy brown complexion, eyes green, or blue, depending on how the light strikes them or on the color of gown she is wearing. She is as beautiful as all the promises ever made to a beloved child. Then the door opens, and the girl turns. She shrinks back. Pride and youthful confidence turn to terror as the man who has come to claim her for his bride steps through the door.

"Hugh!"

Liath screamed her outrage as anger bloomed into wings at her back. Her kinsfolk, wings hissing in the aether and voices booming and muttering like thunder, stepped back to give her room as she leaped up and out of the river of fire.

Despite everything, Da had not abandoned her. Nor would she abandon her own child. Never would she abandon her own child.

Yet was it already too late?

Because Da did nothing but run the last years of his life, he had taught Liath to run, to turn away, to hide herself. She couldn't even truly love the ones she wanted to love, because she could not reach out to them, not with her heart entire. She had taken the key and thrown it away long ago, escaping from Hugh, but she hadn't understood then that she had also walled herself away, that the city of memory Da had taught her to build in her mind's eye was another barrier against those who sought to embrace her with friendship and love.

Ivar had never threatened her. But she had seen his infatuation as a threat. She had disdained him because she did not know how to be his friend.

Hanna had given her friendship without asking anything in return, but Liath had walked away from her to go with Sanglant.

Yet she had not even been able to love Sanglant with a whole heart. She had loved him for his body and his charisma but she had never truly known him. He remained a mystery; despite his protestation that he was no onion with layers of complexity and meaning to be uncovered, he was not as simple as all that. No one ever is. She had never looked to see what lay beneath the surface, because the surface was easy enough to polish and keep bright.

Ai, God, even Blessing. She had watched Sanglant love the baby unreservedly.

But she had always held a part of herself back, the crippled part, the part that had never learned to trust.

The part that was afraid of being vulnerable, killed by love, and by hope, and by trust again, and again. And again.

"No," she said, from this height looking down over the glorious palaces and the river of fire, looking down at her kinsfolk gathered in a flock beneath, hovering halfway between the heavy silver sheet of the sky and the river's flashing, molten surface.” I'm not ready to leave them behind because I don't even know them yet."

She opened herself to the measure of their wings and let them see into her heart, into the burning bright soul that was the gift her mother had given her.”

Maybe this will be my home one day," she added, "but it can't be now."

"Child," they said, in love and as a farewell.

What need had they to mourn her leaving? The span of one mortal's years on Earth might pass in the same span it took to cross one of those shimmering bridges that linked the golden palaces: a thousand steps, or a song. Her soul was immortal, after all, and half her substance was fire.

She could return.

"So be it," she said. Eldest Uncle had taught her that in the secret heart of the universe the elements can be illuminated, touched, and molded. She reached, found fire, and drew out of the invisible architecture of the aether the burning stone that marks the crossroads between the worlds.

Blue fire flared all along its length. She stepped through to find herself landing with a surprisingly hard thump in the midst of flowers, heavenly blues, blood-soaked reds, and so many strong golds and piercing whites that her eyes hurt.

Her buttocks and hips ached from the impact, and even her shoulders were jarred. She was stark naked, hair falling loose past her breasts and down her back. In a heap beside her lay her cloak and boots, her clothes, her sword, belt, and knife, and her quiver, although it was empty. All her arrows were missing.

Her bow and Sanglant's gold torque lay tumbled on top, as though all this had fallen here in company with her descent.

She was back in the meadow of flowers, in Aoi country.

Still shaking, she reached out to touch the cold, braided surface of the gold torque, frowning as she picked it up, no longer hers to claim. No longer hers to fear and retreat from.

Anne is not my mother.

She laughed out loud, awash in an exhilarating sense of freedom.

"So," said a man's harsh voice not ten paces away, "more than one day and one night have passed, Bright One. Feather Cloak's protection no longer shields you.

Now I will have your blood to make my people strong."

Startled, she looked up to see fully fifty Ashioi surrounding her, fearsome animal masks pulled down to conceal their faces. Every one held a weapon, and the one in front had lowered his spear to point at her heart.

Cat Mask and his warriors had come to kill her.

HOME.

He had come home, and Adica was here, whole and alive, waiting for him, just as he had hoped and prayed and dreamed. For the longest time he simply held on to her, wanting never to let her go, breathing in the lavender scent of her hair, but at last he became aware of the hounds butting into them and the villagers, around them, waiting to greet him.

That, too, took a while. Even Beor laughed to see him, and he was surprised how happy he was himself to see all these familiar, cheerful faces. His people, now. His home.

He had to make Sos'ka and her comrades known to Adica and Mother Weiwara.

In fact, he had to interpret for them all since the Horse people did not speak a tongue known to the tribes of the White Deer folk. The centaurs made a pretty obeisance to Adica, honoring her as a Hallowed One, and it was agreed that they would stay until after the dark of the sun to help protect her and only then return to their own tribe. All the children wanted a ride, and the haughty centaurs relented enough to let the youngsters be helped up onto their backs.

Meanwhile, Urtan, Beor, and the other men insisted on showing Alain the hard work the villagers and other work parties had done over the spring, summer, and early autumn.

"See what a fine palisade we've built!" boasted Beor, as though he had achieved a personal victory against the Cursed Ones by hoisting logs into place.” Although I notice that you came back only after all the hard work was done."

"Queens' Grave is ringed by a wall!" exclaimed Alain, amazed by how the wood posts changed the aspect of the great tumulus, making it look rather like a slumbering porcupine.” How could you have done that in only two seasons?"

"We had work parties from all the other vil ages, Two Streams, Pine Top, Muddy Walk, Old Fort, Four Houses. Even Spring Water. It took us all summer to build it, and I think we must have felled the forest all the way from here to Four Houses!" All the men laughed, but no one disagreed.

"Who cares about the work we did?" cried Kel.” You must tell us all the things you saw!"

"I hope you will," agreed Urtan, chuckling, "if only to keep this fly from buzzing all day. We haven't had a moment's peace from him since you left."

"You should have taken me with you!" protested Kel when all the men laughed.”

I wouldn't have faltered! When will you tell us the tale of your journey?"

"Patience," replied Alain, laughing with the others, although in truth he was looking around to see where Adica had gone. She had retreated from the village quietly, with all the attention shifting to the centaurs and to him, and he finally spotted her in the distance by the birthing house, finishing some hallowing task.

Urtan chased the other men away, even Kel.” Go on," he said.

Alain hurried along the river to the birthing house, the hounds loping alongside, but he was careful not to cross the fence onto ground where only women were granted leave to walk. On the other side, Adica picked flower petals off the ground, expression pensive as she searched among the low grass for each precious one, those that hadn't blown away. Had she changed so much since the first time he had seen her, or had he?

She had certainly seemed attractive, that day almost a year ago, especially wearing that provocative corded skirt whose every shift along her thighs revealed skin and glimpses of greater mysteries, but he would not have called her pretty, not with a slightly crooked nose, the livid burn scar on her cheek, an overly-generous mouth, and a narrow chin.

Now he knew that she was beautiful.

"Adica."

She looked up. Her smile made her beautiful, the light in her face, the ragged lilt of her voice, the graceful confidence of her movements as she came to embrace him by the fence, the shadow of sadness in her expression that he struggled every moment to wipe away, so that she would know nothing but joy.

"What's this?" asked Alain when he could finally bear to let go of her. He lifted her right hand and studied the lapis lazuli ring adorning her middle finger.” This looks very like a ring I once gave to a woman who needed my help."

"So you did. I met her in a vision trance, and she gave it to me. She thought you needed it."

He shuddered, but maybe that was only the cold breeze on his neck.” What magic can make a ring travel through visions? Where did you see her? You were in a trance when I saw you last. Ai, God, I have so many questions. I know now you came safely to Queen Shuashaana's palace, and that she returned you here.

Did Laoina return to her tribe? I feared I had lost you, beloved."

"Nay," she said, almost in tears as she buried her face against his chest and just held him. Sorrow and Rage settled down nearby, willing to wait her out. After a while, she was able to go on: she had woken out of her vision trance in the care of Shu-Sha and, after a few days waiting for Alain and recovering, Shu-Sha had sent her home alone through the stone looms.” I only got back yesterday. I thought I'd lost you."

"But you did not. I told you I would never leave you. How many times do I have to tell you?" He smiled and kissed her.” Tell me about the ring."

She described the trance, but her words did not really make sense to him. Was it truly Liath she had seen? Was Liath dead? Or was Adica simply unable to describe the place he had once known, the hal s where nobles walked and feasted and where the church reigned in splendor? Had Adica's vision shown her the future, or the past?

"I thought I heard the prince speak of Liathano," he said, re-'

membering his conversation with the two brothers, "but he was talking of the Holy One, who is called in her own tongue Li'at'-dano."

Adica clapped hands over her ears.” I must not hear the holy name, lest it burn me!"

"Nay, beloved, do not be frightened. It was given to me freely. Why can't I share it with you?" He sighed, shaking his head.” Maybe I am afraid to say it myself. She told me there was one who would be given her name in the time yet to come. But if that's so—" He shook his head. The only explanation that occurred to him seemed so outrageous, so disorienting, so impossible, that he fled to the refuge of the answer the centaur shaman had given him in the end.” I am alive now. Nothing else matters. I will not question the good fortune that brought me to your side, Adica."

She tugged on the ring, to pull it off.

"Nay, you must wear it. The stone will protect you from evil."

"Alain," she began, hesitant, almost choked, "there's something I must tell you."

She stopped, looking past him with a sudden expression of relief.” Mother Weiwara!"

"I thought you might like help, Hallowed One. I can gather up the herbs and petals you spilled. I know you would like to finish the purification, so you can be alone with your husband sooner." With a smile for Alain, Weiwara crossed the fence and the two women walked away, Adica leaning toward her friend, whispering urgently.

Surely it was not his fault that the wind lifted their murmuring voices and brought them to his ears.

"What must I do? He doesn't know."

"Haven't you told him?"

"I can't bear to. What if it frightens him away from me?"

"Nay, Hallowed One, do not say so. You know that isn't true. The Holy One sent him. He won't desert you."

Adica's answer was lost as the two women ducked inside the birthing house. A moment later Weiwara emerged and, with a dismissive wave at Alain, started picking up the pouches and petals scattered on the ground.

Alain knew a command when he saw one. He retreated to the less complicated companionship of the men, who were engaged at this time of year in various projects preparing the village for win ter. Urtan set him to work with Kel and Tosti binding thatch for the roof of the men's house, which had developed several leaks during the heavy spring rains. From the roof he could look out over the village and up to the tumulus. Most of the older children had been set to making torches, stuffing and binding wood chips with tow flax or hemp and soaking these flambeaux in beeswax or resin. Women sat in the doors of their houses, weaving baskets. Crab apples had been piled up in heaps to sweat. Now and again he saw men walking along the embankment or hauling water or firewood up through the cleft where two ramparts met and overlapped.

But the best part of being up on the roof, besides listening to his companions as they discussed the girls they wanted to marry or just to kiss, was that he could keep an eye on the distant birthing house and then, later, on Adica as her tasks took her around the village. Everyone could tell his mind wasn't on his work. His friends had a good time joking with Alain about just what exactly it was he might do in the evening: guard duty in the tower, wash the geese, scrape skins, sleep.

Their good-natured conversation and cheerful company made the time pass swiftly, because in truth he was waiting for the afternoon's feast. Because in truth, even the feast, feting the centaurs, welcoming him and Adica home, passed with agonizing slowness. Night came quickly at this time of year, and Mother Weiwara made sure to chase them off to bed at dusk even if she could not restrain his friends from singing lewd songs as he tried to slip away, leading Adica by the hand.

Laughing, they ran through the dark village to their house. They needed no lamp to light their way. They needed nothing more than each other as they fumbled with clothing and fell backward onto the bed, the feather mattress giving way beneath them as they pressed together under furs.

What things he said then to her he could not remember nor was even really aware of. Just to touch her was like a delirium, a drowning. Maybe they had drowned twice or even three times before they exhausted themselves enough simply to lie side by side in the darkness, her shoulder fitted under the curve of his arm and her head resting on his shoulder. She had thrown a leg over his hips, and they rested this way for a time as she nuzzled his neck, planting butterfly kisses along his throat and occasionally on his lips. Outside, he heard one of the dogs get up and pad restlessly all the way around the house before settling back in at the threshold. He found the ring on her finger and twisted it around, teasing it off over her knuckle and sliding it back on.

"What didn't you tell me?" he asked.” There's something you're keeping from me."

Her kisses ceased, and she sucked in a breath as if she had been slugged in the gut.

"I overheard you and Weiwara speaking today. I know other people have said...

things. Whispers. Comments. What is it that you fear to tell me?" His voice cracked a little. Now that he had found a home, he hoped for all those things any person wishes for: a mate, shelter and food, a community to live in, and children to follow after him. But perhaps it wasn't to be.” I know maybe you tried to tell me before, but I didn't want to hear it. If it's about a child, Adica. You know that no matter what, I will never leave you."

She let all her breath out in a rash.” It's true," she said in a low voice, face pressed against his hair as he shifted to try to hear her.” I'll never have a child.

It's—it's part of the fate laid on me as Hallowed One."

No need to pretend it didn't hurt to have it spoken plainly. He had begged God to soften Tallia's heart so that they might make a child together. He had prayed for hours, hoping against hope to give Lavastine the grandchild the dying count longed for. But in the end, God were wiser than the human heart.

He knew now that Adica's soul was as bright as treasure, and that he'd been deceived in Tallia all along, small and crabbed as her soul had been, frightened and selfish and hollow. He pitied Tallia now, seeing how trapped she had become in her own lies. Yet it seemed cruel for God to deny Adica what she deserved.

He could not argue with fate. Nor would he deepen Adica's sorrow by trying to protest what he had no control over.

"It's true we'll be sad that we can't make a child between us. But surely, beloved, we need not turn away from raising children. God know that there are orphans enough needing shelter. Wasn't I one of them? Didn't a kind man take me in?"

He wept then, a little. It had been so long since he had thought of Aunt Bel and his foster father, Henri. Had they ever shown him anything but the same kindness they'd given to their own kin? Whatever the truth of his birth, they had raised him with their own. They had opened their hearts. Maybe it was up to him to do the same for another child, now that he had found his true home.

"Did he?" She held him as if she meant to crash his ribs. She was so tense.” Did kind folk take you in?"

"So they did. I told you the story. We'll find a child, Adica. Or two children. Or five. Whatever you want. That's how we can serve God, by giving a home to a child who needs one. That's good enough. But just in case—"

"Just in case?"

He rolled over on top of her, pinning her beneath him.” God help those who help themselves. Urtan says something like, but I can't recall how he says it."

" 'Prayers can't make a field grow unless seeds are thrown in with them.' Oof !

You're crushing me. What does that have to do with—" She gasped as his fingers tweaked a nipple.

"Just so," he agreed.” Maybe a child won't come from your womb, but there's a certain ritual a man and woman must go through to get a child for themselves, and I don't think we ought to neglect it."

"Again?" She laughed.

Again.

Morning came. The day passed uneventfully. Adica had so many duties that he barely got to see her. At dawn she rose to welcome the sun; after this she meditated up at the stone loom, in practice for the great weaving that she and the other Hallowed Ones would weave in only seventeen days. At midday they ate, and all afternoon she tended to the villagers or to the visiting warriors camped up on the hill, ministering to the sick, chasing away the evil spirits that thronged around the village, checking the newly slaughtered swine for disease, reading entrails for signs of good and bad fortune, watching the flights of birds for clues about the course and severity of the upcoming winter.

So the next day passed as well, and the one after. There were acorns to be gathered, swine and geese to be fattened up before the winter slaughter forced them to choose which would be killed and which kept through the cold season.

More adults, mostly young

men. walked in to Queens' Grave every day from the other villages, sent to guard the Hallowed One. Alain helped build shelters for them behind the safety of the embankments. He took his turn at watch, and in the afternoons tried with Urtan's and Agda's help to build a catapult while nearby Beor trained his growing war band how to fight with staves, halberds, and clubs. Bark or skins sewn together over a lattice of tightly interwoven sticks made crude shields.

The trickle became a flood as more warriors and, increasingly, whole families with their flocks walked from the nearby villages to crowd in to Queens' Grave, setting up an entire village of crude shelters within the safety of the ramparts.

Everyone expected the Cursed Ones to attack as the days grew shorter and the nights colder. Alain discussed with Sos'ka and her companions the various ways the Cursed Ones often attacked: at dawn, on the wings of fog, just before sunset, now and again at night. Beor and the other respected war leaders listened, interjecting comments occasionally that Alain translated. The big man's hands were always busy, binding spear points to hafts, fletching arrows, grinding the tips of antlers into sharp points. Pur the stone knapper now had two other stone knappers working with him as well as five apprentices. The first catapult had a hitch in it, so they started building a second. Torches burned all night along the palisade wall and up on the ramparts, and they had to make numerous expeditions into the forest to haul in cartloads of wood or armfuls of cow parsley and hemlock whose hollow stems, stuffed with fuel, made efficient little torches easy to hold in a hand. They hauled and stored so much water that he thought they might drain the river dry.

On the eighth day after he had returned, the centaurs proved their worth as sentries by driving off a small party of Cursed Ones who had come to lurk at the edge of the woods. After that, the entire community stayed on alert. Folk rarely left the safety of the palisade and then only in groups of ten or more, even if they only walked the short path leading from the village gates to the outer ring of ramparts.

"We'd better rebuild your old shelter up by the loom," he told Adica that night, when they were in bed. She listened silently. She seemed so intent these past days, like an arrow already in flight.

"I didn't like it up there," she said at last.” I was in exile, a stranger to my own people."

"But now I'm with you. You'll be safer there. We'll ask the centaurs to bed down up on the ramparts as well, since their hearing is so keen. The old shelter is still there, most of it. It hasn't fallen in so badly that I can't fix if. We'll bring our furs.

Maybe the ground will seem a little hard at first—

"Hush." She sighed sharply, then kissed him until he had no choice but to be silent as she worked on him the magic he most desired.

But she made no objection when he took Kel and Tosti up to rebuild her shelter.

She even let him carry her holy regalia and her chest of belongings there, together with the furs and bedding, although he left her herbs and various small magical items in her house so she could fetch them during the day as she went about her duties.

She seemed to care little where she slept, as long as he lay beside her. Yet only at night did her warmth get turned on him like fire. In the day, even sometimes at night when they lay together, she grew more distracted, more distant, with each passing day, as though the arrow receded farther and farther away, leaving him and all of them behind.

The moon waned. Frost laid a coat of ice on the ground. The stars pulsed in the clear sky. For days there had been no clouds at all, although occasionally he heard thunder rumbling in the distance. At the new moon Adica woke before dawn and with only the adult women made the ceremony for the new month, hidden to men's eyes. Anxiety gnawed at Alain. Envy ate at him. He hated every moment she spent away from him, although he could not have said why. Had happiness made him jealous? Yet what had he to be jealous of, who had her all to himself in the nighttime? Urtan had released him from the duty of nighttime watch, and not one adult sent up to do extra duty in Alain's place complained.

Strange, too, how after so many months of easiness, all the villagers and especially their White Deer cousins had stopped looking at Adica. He recalled now how nervous they had seemed around her when he'd first come to Queens'

Grave, but their uneasiness had waned and he'd forgotten about it as the months had passed and they'd made a place for themselves in the village. Now they feared her

again, unspoken, apologetic as they talked to her less and ignored her more but continued to ask for her help when a fungus got into their stores of emmer or a sore afflicted their baby. Even Weiwara turned her children's faces away when Adica walked by.

"She's gathering power for the great working," she said, looking shamefaced, when Alain confronted her one day.” It's dangerous for any of us to look upon a Hallowed One in the fullness of her power."

"What about me? I don't fear her. I've taken no ill effects." "Oh." Her smile was taut, not really a smile.” You're her mate.

You're different, Alain. You have the spirit guides to guard you against evil."

"It's true that the Hallowed One's power can bring evil spirits into the village,"

Urtan said, when Alain asked him. But he fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable.” She doesn't mean to. She'd do nothing to harm us. Not she, who is giving everything—but that's her duty, isn't it?"

"I can't talk about it," said Kel, flushing bright red.” I'm not married yet. I have to go help my uncle split logs."

Alain went to Beor finally, hoping the man who had once been his enemy might prove more frank. But Beor only said, "She's a brave woman," and would not meet his gaze.

So it went, until the day came that she walked to each house in the village and made a complicated blessing over it, to insure good health and fortune over the coming winter. As if she wouldn't be there to watch over them. He followed along with her with Rage and Sorrow at his side, staying out of her way. It took half the day, but he finally understood the depth of her fears. He understood the solemn feast laid out that night: haunches of pork basted in fat and served with a sauce of cream and crushed juniper berries, roast goose garnished with watercress, fish soup, hazelnut porridge, a stew of morels, and mead flavored with cranberries and bog myrtle.

He was woozy with mead by the time they walked the path up into the ramparts and ducked into their shelter. The cold night air stung. They snuggled into their furs, kissing and cuddling. Adica was silent and even more than usually passionate.

"Is the great weaving tomorrow evening?" he asked softly.

per "Yes." Even holding her so close, he could barely hear her whis-r.

"You'll be free after the weaving? No more demands made on you, beloved?

You'll be free to live your life in the village?" He heard his own voice rise, insistent, angry at the way Shu-Sha and the others had used her. She was so young, younger even than he was, and he thought by now he'd probably passed his twentieth year. It wasn't right the other Hallowed Ones had made her duty such a burden.

A few tears trickled from her eyes to wet his cheeks.” Yes, beloved. Then I will be free." She drew in a shuddering breath, traced the line of his beard, touched the hollow of his throat, drew a line with her finger down to his navel and across the taut muscles of his belly.” I don't regret the price I must pay, I only regret leaving you. I've been so happy. So happy." She kissed him, hard, and rolled on top of him. She was as sweet as the meadow flowers and twice as beautiful.

"I don't want to sleep," she whispered afterward.” I don't want ever to leave you."

The notion dawned hazily in his mead-fuddled mind.” You're afraid of the weaving."

"Yes." She broke off, then continued haltingly.” I fear it."

"You're afraid you're going to die. I don't like the sound of that."

"Every person fears death. You're the only one I know who isn't afraid of dying."

"I'll come with you tomorrow." Obviously he should have thought of this before.

The Cursed Ones might still attack. She and the other Hallowed Ones had to thread a weaving through the stones, a great working of magic. That much everyone knew, but the workings of sorcerers of course remained hidden from all but the Hallowed Ones themselves, just as only clerics could read the secret names of God. Knowledge was dangerous, and magic more dangerous still. But he would risk anything for her.” I'll stand beside you at the. working. You know I'll never let any harm come to you. I swore it. I swear it."

"As long as we both live, I know you will never let any harm J come to me."

"I'll never let you leave me." After a long while, after he made plain to her the depth of his feeling, she slept.

But he could not sleep. He dared not move for fear of waking her, who was so tired. He dared not move, but as he lay there his heart traveled to troubled lands. He kept seeing over and over again the dying child held in the arms of its starving mother, to whom he'd given his cloak that day he'd ridden out hunting with Lavastine. He kept seeing the coarse old whore who had taken in Hathumod on the march east, to whom he'd given a kind word. He kept seeing the hungry and the miserable, the ones crippled by disease and the ones crippled by anger or despair. He kept seeing Lackling, the way he threw back his crooked head and honked out a laugh. He kept seeing the guivre, maggots crawling out of its ruined eye.

So much suffering.

Why did God let the Enemy sow affliction and grief throughout the world? Ai, God, didn't the natural world bring trouble enough in its wake, floods and droughts, windstorms and lightning? Why must humankind stir the pot to roil the waters further?

Could magic ease war and bring peace? He had to hope so. He had to believe that Adica and the other Hallowed Ones knew a way to coax peace out of conflict and hostility. That was the purpose of the great weaving, wasn't it? To end the war between the Cursed Ones and humankind?

In the morning, Adica carried her cedar chest out of the shelter, threw Alain's few belongings out over the threshold and, before he realized what she was about, set the shelter on fire.

"Adica!" He grabbed her, pulling her back as flames leaped to catch in the crude thatched roof She was shaking, but her voice was steady, almost flat.” It must be cleansed."

Sorrow and Rage whined, keeping their distance from the blaze. Up here on the highest point of the hill, with the stone circle a spear's throw away, they stood alone as the flames licked up to catch in bundled reeds. The refugees from the other villages had built their shelters down among the ramparts, well away from the tumulus' height and the power of the stones. A few children scouted out the billow of rising smoke, but older children snatched them away and vanished down the slope of the hill. No one dis turbed them. The shelter burned fiercely. A huge owl glided through the smoke, but when he blinked, it vanished.

Rage raised her head and loped away toward the lower ramparts. Many folk were climbing onto the walkway set inside the palisade, squinting toward the village below, pointing and murmuring.

Smoke rose from the village like an echo of the smoke beside them. It took him a moment to identify the house in the village that had caught on fire.

"That's our house!" He tugged her forward to see.

She said nothing. She did not seem surprised.

"The only time people burn houses is when—" The knowledge caught as tinder did, burning as hot as the fire.” You do think you're going to die!"

"Nay, I don't think it, love. I know it." She didn't weep as she held his hands.

She had gone long beyond weeping. She held his gaze, willing him not to speak.”

I could not bear to tell you before, my love. That I have been happy is only because of you. Everything that is good you've brought to me. I would never have it otherwise. But my duty was laid out long before. I will not survive the great weaving."

Panic and disbelief flooded him. Heat from the flames beat his face. It could not be true. He would not let it be true.

"I'll never leave you, beloved." His voice broke over the familiar words, spoken so often. Had they been meaningless all along? He hated the fixed, almost remote expression that now molded her features into the mask of a queen far removed from her subjects.” I'll walk with you into death if I have to. I won't let it happen. I won't. I won't lose you!"

"Hush," she said, comforting him, embracing him.” No need to talk about what is already ordained."

But he would not give it up. He had stood by while Lavastine had died. He hated the grip of helplessness, a claw digging ever deeper into his throat.” No," he said.” No." But he remembered the words of Li'at'dano, that dawn when he had fallen, bloody, dying, and lost, at the foot of the cauldron. That morning when the shaman had healed his injuries and given him a new life in a place he did not know. He remembered what Adica had said, the first words he ever heard her speak.

"Will he stay with me until my death, Holy One?" Li'at'dano had answered: "Yes, Mica, he will stay with you until your death."

"Hush," she whispered.” I love you, Alain. How could I wish for anything more than the time we were given together?" "I won't let it happen!" he cried, anger bursting like a storm. Was that thunder in the distance, rolling and booming?

There wasn't a cloud in the sky. The shelter roared as flames ate it away. Smoke from the village, from their house, billowed up into the clear sky. The shrill cry of a horn cut the phantom calm lying over the scene. The adults stationed up on the palisade walkway, along the rampart, al began crying out, pointing and hollering. Rage, down at the cleft, began barking, and first Sorrow and then all the other dogs joined in until cacophony reigned.

"The Cursed Ones!" cried the people, clamoring and frightened.” They have come to kill our Hallowed One!"

Alain ran down through the upper ramparts and clambered up onto the walkway to see for himself. The Cursed Ones had come on horseback, more than he could count. He recognized their feather headdresses, short cloaks, and beaded arm and shinguards flashing where the sun's rays glinted off them. Many wore hammered bronze breastplates. Each warrior wore a war mask, so that animal faces hid their true features. He saw only lizards and guiv-res, snarling panthers and proud hawks. With shouts and signals, they spread out to make a loose ring first around the village and also around the tumulus; he quickly lost sight of two dozen outriders who swung around to the east. The largest group, perhaps ten score, formed up on the stretch of land lying between the village and the hill.

The sun's light crept down the western slope of the tumulus as the sun rose over the stones.

Adica, puffing slightly, clambered up beside him. Her expression had altered completely from only a few moments before. She no longer had any comfort left to give him. She no longer had any thought except for the task she had to complete when evening came.” They'll have to attack. Their only hope is to stop me from weaving my part of the working. They'll be trying to strike at all seven of us, each in our own place." She glanced up at the sky.” With the gods'

blessing you and the others released the Holy One from the Cursed Ones'

bondage so she could work her weather magic. The skies are clear. We have only to survive the day, and then we will be free of their curse forever."

He stared, trying to measure the force gathering in the village, where Beor, Urtan, Kel, and the others sheltered. Here, along the ramparts, even children armed themselves with clubs and staves. Hooves sounded below him as Sos'ka and her companions came up underneath the walkway. They had no way to get up the ladder to see over the palisade.

"What is the Hallowed One's wish?" Sos'ka cried.” We are here to protect her."

They had prepared for many things, but not for an army of hundreds. He faltered. How easy it was to be reckless with other people's lives! But centaurs and human fighters watched him intently. They would not falter, no matter the cost. They had walked a harder road than he had, and for many more years.

Determination would carry them forward.

Yet he had seen the Cursed Ones close up as well, and surely the Cursed Ones held determination close to their hearts, too. No wonder war was a curse.

One of the Cursed Ones rode within a bow's shot of the village and loosed a burning arrow. It sailed over the palisade to land, sputtering, in the dirt. Another arrow flew, and a third and a fourth, then a shower. Children ran toward the safety of the houses, only to be driven back when the thatched roof of the men's house caught and began to burn, twin to the fire that consumed Adica's house, another funeral pyre.

Sorrow and Rage panted below, gazing loyally up at him. It was easy to think now that his heart had died of sorrow yet again. It was easy to act because he knew he, too, would die. It was simply not possible to go on living without her.

"Advca, you must go up to the stone loom. Their arrows can't reach you there. I want ten adults to attend her. Make sure she's covered and safe. You'll have to lie low all day, beloved. Can you do that?" She nodded.

"What shall we do?" asked the woman called Ulfrega, war leader of the Four Houses warriors.

"We'll need fighters all along the palisade. That's our weakness."

o

"Not the cleft and the ditch?"

"The planks are pulled back, so the Cursed Ones can't charge through. Set a force with spears there, behind shields, and the best archers up along the palisade. That's the first place they'll try to break through. If somehow riders break through, you must brace the hafts of your spears in the dirt and hold them steady. Then they'll drive their horses into the points."

She nodded. An arrow sailed lazily overhead and skittered along the opposite embankment, rolling downslope to end up at one of the centaur's hooves.” What of the villagers?" she asked.

"Beor can lead them well enough. He'll let their archers use up their arrows as long as he can. It will help us that the Cursed Ones are caught between two pincers. They have to protect themselves from both sides. And we have a few tricks planned, things they can't expect. Just pass the word along the palisade that none of you are to shoot arrows unless you come under direct attack. Have children pick up any arrow that falls in to us. We can shoot it back at them."

In the village, a third house had caught on fire.

"Sos'ka, you and your comrades must keep a perimeter watch all around the hill. If any place on the embankment is weakened, send one to alert me, and we'll send reinforcements. If they break in behind us, we are lost. Ulfrega, you must remain here to command if I'm called away. Adica!"

She still watched the movements of the Cursed Ones and, farther, the smoke pouring up from the burning houses. A fourth house in the village caught fire, but people hurried to soak the thatch of the adjoining council house roof with water.

A line of Cursed Ones rode closer to examine the tumulus. One rash soldier with a fox mask rode in and, whooping, twirled a sling around his head. Stones peppered the palisade. A dozen archers rode close enough to shoot.

Alain took hold of her arm roughly and tugged her down, while folk around them gasped to see him handle her so.” You must get back to safety."

"Where will you be?" A single tear snaked down her cheek.

"I will always be with you. I'll fol ow when I can."

She climbed down the ladder. A dozen adults formed around her and hurried away up through the higher embankments, toward the stone circle.

"Shall we shoot at them?" cried one of the archers near Alain.

"Nay, they're no threat to us yet. Let them waste their arrows."

Beor's archers had begun to return arrow fire, and the archers of the Cursed Ones retreated to their main force, content evidently with the mischief their arrows caused in the village: five houses burned merrily now. Smoke boiled up into the sky, and ash fell everywhere. Yet the Cursed Ones waited as an unseen drum counted the passing with a steady rhythm that seemed to reverberate up from the earth. Leaning against the palisade logs, Alain felt that throbbing rhythm, oddly soothing, drawing his mind away, causing memories to flower as his attention drifted, Up among the ruins near Lavas Holding, he sees the shadows of what had been, not the shadows of the ruins lying there now. The lantern's pale light and the gleam of stone illuminate the shadows of the buildings as if they stand whole and unfallen. This filigree of arches and columns and proud walls stretching out as impossible shadows along the ground is the shade of the old fort, come alive as memories twist forward...

Liath stands in front of a heap of wood. Everything is damp. Even the air sweats moisture; in a moment it will start to rain. All at once, fire shoots up out of branches, licking and crackling. Falling to one knee, Liath stares at the fire as a gout of flame boils up toward the sky. Are those shadows dancing within the flame? She stares, intent, as distant then as Adica has become now, and draws from her tunic a brilliant gold feather.

Ai, God! He knows that feather, or knew one like it: a phoenix feather like the one he plucked from the cavern floor. In her hands, it glints fire. The veil concealing the shadows in the fire draws aside, burned away by its pure light, and he can see: An old man, t\visting flax into rope against his thigh.

Why does he look so familiar?

Rage barked, startling him. He rubbed his eyes as the folk around him murmured uneasily. Below, grass and stubbled fields bled a gauzy mist into the air. The enemy faded beneath the sun as if they had only been illusion all along, first darkening to shadow and then lost in a shrouding fog that seemed to drift up out of the earth itself. Mist boiled forward over the ground, spreading out in a broad front that would engulf both village and tumulus. Not a single rider could be seen beneath that veil of fog. The Cursed Ones had hidden themselves with magic.

The wind shifted sharply, blowing in from the east, and as it gained strength, the magical shroud shuddered and gave ground, catching out a handful of riders, the vanguard, who scrambled to return to the cover of the fog. A thud rang out from the village.

"The catapult!" cried Alain A large pot came sailing over the wall and vanished into the mist. Beor had unleashed the first surprise. Shrieks and panicked whinnying floated out of the drowning fog as bees, now free and agitated, took their vengeance upon the Cursed Ones. The mist rolled back to unveil one force advanced almost to the village gate and the other closing in on the tumulus. The enemy soldiers, their magic exposed and disrupted by the bees, fell back to regroup as the White Deer people showered the foremost riders with arrows. A third force of Cursed Ones could be seen circling around toward the east side of the crown.

"Sos'ka!" he called. She had sent eight of her comrades away along the tumulus already.” Follow that group to see where they're going!" She cantered away.

The vanguard nearest him, retreating, reversed itself suddenly and charged for the ramparts. Arrows rained down and, after them, a hail of stones from slings.

Children screamed. The man standing next to Alain jerked backward, spun, and fel to hit the ground below with a smack. Blood pooled under his body. The Cursed Ones leaped off their horses and hit the embankment running, scrambling up toward the parapet.

"Don't waste your spears!" Alain cried, but even so some threw away their spears by trying to strike at the enemy below them, in vain.

Yet what point did it serve the Cursed Ones to come up against the palisade, which they could not climb without ladders? The soldiers held their shields high, protecting one among their number, a woman dressed more lightly than the others, as she raced forward to throw herself against the wood. Where she touched the posts, wood flowered to life as fire.

"Water! Water!" The cry came down the line. Buckets of water were handed up to those on the walkway, who spilled them over even as the Cursed Ones continued to shoot arrows at the defenders. The villagers dropped rocks on top of the shields, battering them down, and a ragged cheer rose out of the ranks when the sorcerer was struck directly on the head with a big rock and went tumbling back down the slope.

"They're bringing ladders and planks!" Ulfrega's powerful voice rang out from the cleft, where she had taken charge of the defense.” Spears, stand your ground. Archers, hold until they're closer!"

The sorcerous mist rose as a cloud near the village. A second thump sounded; the second pot of bees arched up from the catapult and fell precipitously, but this time the Cursed Ones were ready for them as they charged out of the mist to escape the bees behind them. Fire bloomed in two more of the village houses.

Cries and shouting and screams echoed everywhere. Tendrils of smoke obscured the fields. Thunder cracked, and clouds pushed in from the west, ominously dark.

"Alain!"

Sos'ka galloped up, sweat running al along her flanks, her expression grim.”

There was another force waiting in ambush apart from the one you saw. They've almost broken through on the eastern slope, by the sacred threshold to the queens' grave. Come quickly!"

He scrambled down the ladder, leaping off the fourth rung to the ground, almost landing on the corpse. He grabbed a pair of girls, not much younger than Adica, who were cowering under the walkway.” You! Go to Ulfrega. Tell her she must hold the entrance now. You! Run up to the Hallowed One. She must find a way to counter their magic, if she can."

He jumped-up, got his belly over Sos'ka's flank, and swung a leg over.

"Stay down," said the centaur.

He clutched her mane, head ducked low as she trotted along at a jarring rate, negotiating barrels of water and cider, stores of grain, shelters, and four wounded men who had crawled away from the palisade. At last she broke free of chaos and opened up to a gallop. The sounds of battle roared around them, shouts echoing behind and before. She knew her way well through the maze of the ramparts, blind alleys, and earthen mounds that made up the hill's defenses.

Fighters manned the palisade walkway, thrusting with spears or heaving rocks over the side. Now and again they passed

a zone of unexpected calm, where nervous guards waited, craning their necks to get a look down the palisade to knots of fighting.

He had heard these sounds before. Memory dizzied him.

The Lions hold the hill as Bayan 's army retreats across the river. The first cohort stands the rear guard, and Alain keeps step with his comrades as they retreat up the hill with their fellows. The ramparts lie in a maze around them, ancient embankments curling around the hill's slopes.

He remembered these embankments, but when he had seen them last they had been so old that they had fallen in ruin and were half washed away under the brunt of time and wind and rain. He had fought in this place before. Yet the earthworks around him now were newly raised; any fool could see that.

He had fought here before in the time yet to come. This is where the Lady of Battles had killed him.

The curve of the ramparts brought them into sight of a ferocious fight. Cursed Ones had gotten over the palisade, and now Sos'ka's centaurs and a score of White Deer warriors grappled hand to hand, pounding with clubs, thrusting with knives. A roan centaur parried a spear thrust with her staff, flipped her opponent to the ground, and stove in his head with a well placed kick. Fire licked up the palisade. A shout rose from the enemy, unseen on the other side as they pushed forward.

A woman with her animal mask torn free slid over the posts, dropping to the walkway. She braced herself, met the charge of a man with the cut of her bronze sword, then dropped to one knee as she lifted her other arm high and spun a sling briskly around her head. Let fly.

"Down!" cried Sos'ka.

He ducked. A kiss of air brushed an ear as the stone shot past his hair. The second bounced off his skrolin armband with a snap. But the third slammed into his temple without warning.

Pain stabbed through his head as he tumbled off Sos'ka's back. The ground hit harder even than the stone.

"But I swore to serve you,” he whispers, astonished, because he really never thought that this of all things would happen to him. He never thought that he would be the one to die on the battlefield.

"So you have served me.” The voice of the Lady of Battles, as low and deep as a church bell, rings in his head.” Many serve me by dealing death. The rest serve me by suffering death. This is the heart of war."

"Adica!" He bolted up, struggling to sit, gaze blurring as the sun glared in his face. Familiar hands pressed him back.

"Hush, my love. Lie down." Her tears fell on his face.” I feared for you." She kissed him. For a moment, he saw two of her, his dear Adica sitting next to the Hallowed One in her antlered garb, haughty and aloof as she knelt before him.

Why wasn't the sun rising beyond the stones? He saw it, swollen and hazy, riding low over the indistinct palisade in a blaze of vivid red-gold. Smoke drifted in streamers among the distant trees.

Nauseated, he lay back, and after a moment, beyond the agonized throbbing in his head, he heard the clash of battle.” What happened?"

"You were hit in the head by a stone."

It was a struggle to-recall what had happened.” They've broken through on the east slope, by the sacred threshold!" He got up to his feet before she could stop him and staggered, catching himself on one of the hounds before he could fall. It was hard to tell which one; he couldn't quite focus.

"Adica?" He turned, and saw her.

She had bound on her gold antlers and bronze waistband, the regalia of a Holy One, a woman of power. He could still hear the battle, but the sun now set in the west.

"How long?" he demanded hoarsely. Where once had lain the birch shelter where they had slept, and made love, now lay smoldering coals and white ashes lifting on the dusk breeze.

"All day," she said.” We've held them off all day."

At what cost?

He saw, then, that what he had first thought was the setting sun was in truth the village in flames, all of it burning or fallen in. The palisade had been breached in a dozen spots; in some places fire had eaten it away. Bodies filled the ditches, pinned on stakes or simply broken. He could not see what had happened to the villagers, but what remained of the Cursed Ones still fought desperately along the tumulus, trying to break through. Yet as desperately as they fought, the White Deer people fought more desperately still. He caught a glimpse of Sos'ka down by the cleft.-Streaked with blood, she vanished in a hail of spears. The other hound ghosted in just as he sagged forward, and he caught himself on that strong shoulder.

"Are they all dead? Did I lie here all day, while they died?"

Behind him, she spoke.” Beor and the other fighters broke out of the village in the afternoon to try to reach this place. When the attack came, Weiwara led the children and old people into the forest. I made a prayer for them. I burned pine leaves, to grant them invisibility. I hope some made it. It will be safer for them there."

"Kel? Tosti? Urtan? Beor?"

"I don't know what became of them." Her tone sounded so distant, too calm, as though Adica had gone and the Hallowed One, a detached, unapproachable woman he didn't really know, had kidnapped her form and now walked the Earth in his beloved Adica's body.

The sun's lower rim touched the horizon.

"Alain." Her voice, so sweet to his ears.

He turned. She had come forward. They stood alone on the height, with the stones behind her and the fighting raging all around. Every last soul had gone down to try to stem the Cursed Ones, just for this one final hour. That was all she needed now.

Weeping, he caught her by the arm.” Must you do this, Adica? Ai, God. How can I bear it?"

"Think how many will die if we do not succeed. Think how many have already died, protecting me!" Anger flared at last.” My heart grieves to leave you, Alain.

You know how much I do love you. But don't stand in my way. Don't break the love we share by bowing to selfishness. My life does not belong to me but to my people. And it does not belong to you either."

"You lied to me! You knew all along!"

Blinking back tears, she kissed him.” I couldn't bear to see you unhappy."

She kissed him again. Hugged him for a long time, arms wrapped tightly around him. And left him, walking proud and tall, her antlers towering above her as though they would touch the heavens. She walked to the calling ground. She set her feet in that chalk circle, with her head raised proudly as the light waned and CHILD or FLAME twilight crept up the eastern sky, although the last purple-rose of sun's glow lingered in the west. The bowl of night began to fill up with darkness.

The last glint of the setting sun caught and tangled in her shining antlers, making her seem no longer human.

She had lied to him all along. But had her lie been any different than the one he had spoken to the dying Lavastine? She had only wanted to spare him pain and fear.

He broke forward to come up behind her.” So be it. Then I'll die with you."

Behind him, Sorrow and Rage whined.

Her back stiffened, tensing as she heard his words. She did not answer, but neither did she tell him to leave. The first star winked alive in the dusk sky, brilliant Somorhas setting in the west, almost drowned in the last glimmer of the sun. With a shuddering breath, she raised her mirror to catch its light. Stars bloomed quickly now, as if in haste, and with her staff she wove them, one by one, into the loom. Through the soles of his feet he heard the keening of the ancient queens and the cries of anguish from the battlefield. Threads of starlight caught in the stones and tangled into a complex pattern made strong by the bright light of Mok shining on the cusp between Healer and Penitent.

She had other names for the stars.

"Heed me, that which opens in the east.

Heed me, that which closes in the west.”

Did he hear other voices, an echo of her own, singing along the gleaming spell, tangled in the threads of light woven through the stone loom?

"Let the shaman's beacon rise as our weaving rises.

Answer our call, Fat One.”

As she wove, she wept. He saw it, then, the cluster of seven stars he knew as the Crown of Stars but which she called the Shaman's Headdress. As it rose in the east, she caught its light in her mirror. That light tangled around him, and he grew so dizzy that he would have fallen over if the hounds had not shouldered under him to hold him up. Above, stars wheeled slowly, ascending out of the east, climbing, climbing, until he realized that the spell had woven around him as well, that they were caught inside it as time passed, as the night wheeled forward from dusk to midnight. The Shaman's Headdress crept up the sky. The battle raged on, torches blazing along the walls, the cries of the wounded muffled

by the throbbing ache in his temple where a bruise swelled. A child screamed, sobbing frantically.

"Let what we have woven come loose. •

Let each on our place hold the pattern.”

She sang their names, her voice unbearably beautiful as it echoed along the glittering threads of the spell.” Spits-last. Falling-down. Adica. Hehoyanah.

Brightness-Hears-Me. Two Fingers. Shuashaana!"

It was midnight. The Dragon rose in the east, and in its wings rose Jedu, the Angel of War, near to the pale rose star of the ancient one, the Red Sage, known as Aturna. The Lady of Plenty, brilliant Mok, set in the west as the Penitent laid down his heavy burden, touching the horizon.

The Crown of Stars reached the zenith, high overhead, crowning the heavens.

Below the earth, unseen, the sun reached nadir.

"Let the weaving be complete!" she cried, her voice joined to six others, resounding, triumphant.

Light flashed in her antlers and ripped through her like lightning.

"Adica!" he screamed, leaping forward, but the hounds knocked him flat or maybe it was the ground beneath his feet shaking and shuddering that threw him down before he could reach her. Light exploded before his eyes. A howl of fear rose from the throats of the Cursed Ones. Their attack faltered and they broke, running.

But it was too late.

Magic tore the world asunder.

Earthquakes ripple across the land, but what is seen on the surface is nothing compared to the devastation left in their wake underground. Caverns collapse into rubble. Tunnels slam shut like bellows snapped tight. The magnificent cities of the goblinkin, hidden from human sight and therefore unknown and disregarded, vanish in cave-ins so massive that the land above is irrevocably altered. Rivers of molten fire pour in to burn away what survives.

Fire boils up under the sea, washing a wave of destruction over the vast whorled city beneath the waves, home of the merfolk. Where once they danced and sang to rhythms born out of the tides, corpses bob on the swells and sharks feed. Survivors flee in terror, leaving everything behind, until the earth heaves again like a fish thrashing in its death throes. The sea floor rises. Water pours away into cracks riven in the earth, down and down and down, meeting molten fire and spilling steam hissing and spitting into every crevice until the backwash disgorges steam and sizzling water back into the sea.

The caves in which Horn's people have sheltered flood with steaming water. A storm of earth and debris buries Shu-Sha 's palace. Massive waves obliterate a string of peaceful villages along the shores of Falling-down's island. Children scream helplessly for their parents as they flail in the surging water.

White fire spears up into the dragons which, launching into the sky in alarm, have barely gotten into the air above the fjall where Spits-last and his kinsfolk stand in the midst of their stone loom, one old wisewoman by each stone and the crippled sorcerer in the middle. Screaming rage and pain, the dragons plunge, but before they can reach the safety of the earth their hearts burst.

Blood and viscera rain down on the humans desperately and uselessly taking shelter against the stones. The hail of scalding blood burns flesh into stone, melding them into one being.

A tsunami of sand buries the oasis where the desert people have camped, trees simply flattened under the blast of the wind. The lion women race ahead of the storm wave but, in the end, they, too, are buried beneath a mountain of sand.

Gales scatter the tents of the. Horse people, Winds so strong that what is not flattened outright is flung heavenward and tossed roughly back to earth, so much fragile chaff. All the trees for leagues around Queens' Grave erupt into flame, and White Deer villagers fall, dying, where arrows and war had spared them.

"Adica!" he cried hoarsely, straggling against the jaws of Rage and Sorrow as he fought forward to throw himself down beside her crumpled body.

She was already dead.

White fire exploded from the crest of the hill, slicing open the stone loom, and swallowed him.

SHE moved fast, grabbing the haft of Cat Mask's spear below the point. Just as he jerked back, startled, she found the memory of fire within the wood and called flame. With a shout of pain and surprise, he dropped the spear and jumped backward as she rose, holding the burning spear in her hand, thrust out to challenge them. It hissed and sparked, as bright as though she held lightning.

"I am not your enemy!" The warriors facing her backed away nervously as the haft of the spear burned into nothing yet left her skin unscathed. She caught the obsidian spear point as it fell and pricked her middle finger. Blood welled up.

"Child! Do nothing rash!" Eldest Uncle's shout came from the pine grove behind her.

She dared not turn to see him, not with fifty armed warriors staring her down.

Masks closed their expressions to her; she saw proud hawks, fierce panthers, snarling bears, and biting lizards. Cloaks covered their shoulders, and while most of these short cloaks were woven of linen, a few had the look of skin, cured and cut. Some of the warriors displayed bare torsos but most wore short, heavily-quilted tunics marked by sigils: a feather, a reed, a knife, a skull. All wore tattoos along their arms or on their chins, ranging from simple lines to more complicated hatching, diamonds or dots faded to blue.

Cat Mask drew a flint knife and lunged toward her. She squeezed her finger and let blood fall. Where it struck the ground, ten serpents boiled up out of the earth, hissing and coiling. Cat Mask leaped back. Another drop of blood spattered, and a third and a fourth. Flowers swayed alarmingly as serpents slithered through them. Warriors shouted in fear and backed away. One bright-banded snake slid right over her foot, and she sprang up in dismay. Snakes seethed everywhere, coming to life among the flowers.

She unfurled her wings of flame and rose above the meadow, fire streaming off her.

That was enough for Cat Mask's war band. To a man, they broke and ran for the river.

She stuck her finger in her mouth and sucked away the blood as she settled down at the edge of the pine wood, beside Eldest Uncle and a young-looking woman. The two Ashioi threw up hands to protect their faces from the hot wash of her wings, so she furled them, pulling them down inside, bound tight into her soul where they had, after all, resided all along.

"So," said Eldest Uncle, looking her up and down with a charming grin. He hadn't forgotten the pleasure of admiring a young woman's body.” You walked the spheres. You have found your answers, and your power."

"I have discovered the truth," she admitted, blushing as she remembered modesty. She didn't know where to place her hands. A glance toward the meadow showed the brilliant flowers still dancing drunkenly as the tangle of serpents raised by her blood worked their way outward through the dense growth. All her clothing lay out there, surrounded by snakes.

"So," said the woman standing beside Eldest Uncle as she, too, measured Liath,

"I am not surprised at the attraction."

"Who is this?" asked Liath, looking her over, although truly it was difficult to stand confidently when she wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing. The other woman, however, wore only a pale, skin skirt cut off raggedly at knee length.

She had a powerful torso, with broad shoulders and full breasts. A double stripe of red paint ran from the back of either hand all the way up her arms to her shoulder, covered in one spot by a garment draped over her left forearm. A green feather stuck jauntily out of the topknot she had made of her hair, a match to her jade-green eyes. Her eyes, the cast of her face, seemed familiar.

"This one is my younger daughter, the child of my old age," said Eldest Uncle with a glint of anger in his expression as he glanced at his companion. He did not seem pleased to introduce her.” The-One-Who-Is-Impatient. Who has caused enough trouble!"

Old angers boiled below the surface as father and daughter looked at each other and, as with one thought, away. The woman shifted and the folded garment hanging over her arm spilled open.

"That's my tunic," cried Liath, "the one I left in the saddlebags, on Resuelto. Ai, God! It was you, standing at the river's edge and wearing my tunic, when I first walked the flower trail." She grabbed the cloth, shook it open and, without asking permission, slid into it. Properly clothed, she could speak without embarrassment.” Where did you get it?" "From my son."

The resemblance, once noted, became obvious.” Sanglant!" Was that the ground, shaking, or only emotion flooding her? "You're Sanglant's mother! Ai, God." The one who abandoned him when he was only an infant. She could not say those words; to face a woman who had done nothing different than she had herself left her speechless, and confused. She turned to the old sorcerer.” And you are my daughter's great grandfather, then?" "Ssa!" Eldest Uncle leaped forward and whacked his staff hard against the ground, crushing a serpent's head. Its body writhed, shuddered, and stilled.” I hate those things! Women never think before they take action! Blood! Sex! What do they care about consequences? Their wombs protect them. Their magic gives them power!" With a hiss, he smacked another serpent, hopped to one foot to avoid a third as more churned out of the meadow.” Quick! Climb a tree."

They scrambled up branches, hanging awkwardly as a score of snakes slithered off through the ground litter, vanishing into the pine woods. The old sorcerer's white cloak brushed the ground, but because of his precarious position he dared not pull it up. Each time a snake passed under it the white shell trim clacked softly, and the serpent would hiss and strike at the fluttering cloth before snaking hurriedly on.

Liath finally began to laugh at their ridiculous situation.” Are all the snakes poisonous?"

"Serpents are the creatures of women," the old man muttered, thoroughly cross by now if only because he was hanging by knees and hands from the branches,

"so of course they are poisonous, just as women are poisonous to men. That is why women rule."

"That's not so! Both women and men can rule in the lands I grew up in, although it's true that inheritance is more reliable through the mother's line."

"Tss!" He hissed at a slender brown snake passing under his cloak. It reared up, hissing, then sank down and vanished into the undergrowth.” I will not be having this argument with you as well, Bright One. I have been arguing with my daughter for three days. What use for her to risk the dangerous journey to the land below a second time, only to return here to tell me that the men of the human tribes will not listen even to a woman's counsel!" "You have been to Earth? What of my husband?" "Sanglant is as stubborn as his father!" The Impatient One swung down from her perch and prodded the ground around her with a stick. Satisfied that the last of the serpents had escaped from the meadow, she relaxed, if in truth a woman of her temperament knew how to relax.” Henri—" She said the name as a Salian would.” —refused to believe my tale, nor would he believe his son. He will walk blindly into the trap laid for him by the human sorcerers." She spat on the ground.” I say, let him and his people suffer at the hands of the wicked ones. You claimed all along that there could be accommodation, my father, and I listened to you and acted to build a bridge—"

"Without anyone's permission! Without thinking it through! Rash actions lead to broken bridges!"

The way her lips tightened, pressed hard together, betrayed her anger, but she went on as though he hadn't spoken.” But now I no longer believe we can make peace if they will not listen in their turn. The old stories are true. Instead of wearing the masks of animals to borrow their power, humankind acts like animals in their hearts."

"Nay! Not that argument again! The gold feather of peace was given to me by a stranger. He was no animal. I gave it to this one in my turn, because she came to me for aid. Now she has returned, and even you must admit that she has come back to me in peace." "Perhaps you would rather that she be your daughter, than that I am!"

"Silence!" cried Liath. Softly, she added, "I beg your pardon. You are welcome to argue all you like once I am gone, but I ask you to listen while I am still here.

I came back, Uncle, only to tell you that I must return to Earth." She turned to regard Sanglant's mother.” I beg you, if you bear any love for your son and your granddaughter, tell me now if there is anything I should know before I walk the crossroads and return to the ones waiting for me. I

do not know how long ago you came from there, or how long it has been since I left this place to walk the spheres. I do not know how many months or years have passed on Earth since I left. I do not know how long I have until the Seven Sleepers will bind their power to cast a great working. Nor do I understand how they mean to raise so much power that they can hope to create a spell strong enough to cast an entire land as vast as this one back again into the aether."

Eldest Uncle bpwed his head, burdened by memory.” We only suffered. We never fully understood what magic they wove against us."

"I should have listened to Cat Mask," muttered his daughter.” The humans can never be trusted. Maybe he's the one I should be talking to now." She began to walk away but paused to face Liath.” My son is no better than an exile in his own country. He turned his back on his father when Henri would not listen either to him or to me, and walked away to find some means to fight the sorcerers on his own. That is how I left him and the child. You would know better than I if he can succeed."

"You left him to face the Seven Sleepers? Alone? Your own son?"

"You left him," echoed the other woman, "to face your enemies? Alone? With what weapon do you stab me, Sister? Surely only with the one that impales yourself. I almost died giving birth to him. Did he greet me with any warmth when I saved his life and that of his daughter? Nay, he treated me as a stranger, despite our kinship. I will not shed any more blood or tears on that field."

Hoisting her staff, she walked haughtily away, heading back through the pine woods toward the old watchtower.

"She has no heart," murmured Eldest Uncle sadly when she had vanished down the trail.” She sacrificed it to the gods long ago when she walked the path of the spheres."

"Did she walk the seven spheres as I did, and return?"

"That she ascended the path cannot be doubted. That she returned alive you see by her presence. What she sacrificed on her journey none know except her. I can only guess." He sighed.” My child, you have changed. What did the fire daimones tell you?"

"I am their child," she said softly, humbled by the knowledge. Had her own mother given less than Sanglant's? She had given her life and her substance to bring a child into the world. She had given her very soul.” I am more, and less, than what I thought I was. But at least I am free of the chains that bound me and the veils that hid the truth. Tell me truly, Uncle. Do your people hate mine?

Is there any hope for peace?"

"Mustn't there always be hope for peace? We must believe there is because I know that the other side of peace brings the worst kind of grief. I lost those most dear to me. I am not alone in the tears I have wept many a night remembering those who are gone before their time." He smiled, a wry twist of his mouth. His face was so old, lines and wrinkles everywhere, creases made equally by frowns and by smiles, by laughter and by tears. He extended a hand, hesitated, and touched her gently on the arm.” Hate is a fire fanned easily into a storm that burns everything in its path." Tears welled up in his eyes even as he blinked them away. It was hard to see the resemblance between him and Sanglant except for the color of his skin and the dark splendor of his hair, still glossy and thick despite his great age.” I beg you, my child. Save us. Do not let the descendants of the sorcerers of old destroy us utterly as they attempted to do when I was a youth."

"I will not," she promised him, then she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. He flushed mightily, hard to see on that copper complexion but easy to make out by the spark of emotion, the slight narrowing, in his sharp old eyes.” I will see you again, Uncle. Be looking for me." "Fare you well, Daughter."

The flower meadow waited, silent, barely stirring in the soft breeze. Heat drowned her as she walked forward into sunlight, into the haze of bright color, pale bells of columbine, lush peonies, banks of poppies, and a rich cloud of lavender. She stayed on the path, careful to mark each patch of ground before she set her foot down. The thought of all those serpents made her queasy. She gathered up all her things, dressed properly, and girded on belt, sword, and quiver, pouch, knife, and cloak. The gold torque she stowed in her pouch.

The trail led her through the chestnut woods, and she crossed the river, which ran even more shallow than before. The glade where she had first seen and met the old sorcerer lay empty except for the flat stone on which he often sat to twist flax into rope. A few dried stalks lay scattered on the ground around the rock. A breeze rustled through desiccated leaves. Not even a fly buzzed. Silence drowned her like a heavy veil.

The land was dying. It would die, unless it returned to the place it belonged.

Just as she had to return to the place she belonged.

She had a long way to go to get back to them, and a longer path yet to map out once she reached their side. Reaching into the heart of fire, she called the burning stone. It flared up in the center of the clearing, blue fire racing up and down its length. Grasping her bow more tightly, she stepped through into the crossroads between the worlds, where the river of fire ran as aether through the spheres, its many tributaries linking past and future, present and infinity.

Through the endless twisting halls she searched for the gateway that would take her back to Earth. Infinite doorways offered glimpses into other worlds, other times, other places, present and past, half seen and swiftly vanished.

A boy sleeps with six companions, their beds made of precious treasure, shining baubles and golden armbands, silver vessels and ivory chests, scarlet beads and ropes made of pearls.

A winter storm swirls snow around a monastery where a large encampment of soldiers shelters, some in outbuildings, others in tents. Hanna, in the company of Lions, chops wood. Her face is taut, her body tense, but each time she strikes ax into wood and splits a log she swears, as though she's trying to chop rage and grief out of herself.

A woman clothed in the robes of a nun meets a sandy-haired, slender young man at the edge of a birch forest. Waves of wind ripple light through silver leaves. To him she gives the leashes of a half-dozen huge black hounds in exchange for a tiny swaddled figure, an infant girl sleeping softly as she is handed over from one grim-faced guardian to the other.

An army marches in good order through the grassy plains of the eastern frontier. Poplars line the banks of creeks and shallow rivers, giving way to hawthorn and dogwood and at last to the broad expanse of feather grass and knapweed. Spring flowers carpet the open lands with white-and-yellow blooms, as numerous as the stars. Is that Sanglant marching at the head of the army, a glorious red cape streaming back from his shoulders and a gold torque winking at his neck? Is that Blessing, grown impossibly old, looking like a well-grown girl of five or six? At the confluence of two rivers, a king waits to receive the army in peace. His banner flies the double-headed eagle of the Ungrian kingdom.

Strange that the first gift Sanglant offers to him, as they meet and clasp hands and give each other the kiss of peace, is a wine barrel.

A woman, aged and arthritic, sits in her tower room, writing laboriously. A map lies open on the table beside her, a crude representation ofSalia, held down by stones at each curling corner, but the figures on the wax tablet interest Liath more: a horoscope written for a day yet to come, or a day long past, when cataclysm racked the Earth. The elderly cleric lifts her head to call for an attendant. The woman who comes is the same woman who gave the hounds and took the child, although here she looks much older as she offers her mistress a soothing posset.

"What news, Clothilde?" asks the first woman in the tone of a noblewoman born to command. Is this Biscop Tallia, Taillefer's favorite child? Her voice is already smoky from the growth in her neck that will kill her.

"It is done, Your Grace," says the other woman, "just as we planned. The girl is pregnant. The child she bears will be related to the emperor through both parents."

Shadows ripped a gap through the image. Other sights shuddered into existence only to be torn away, as though at the heart of the crossroads the very worlds, were becoming unstable, echoes of ancient troubles and troubles yet to come.

Hunched and misshapen creatures crawl among tunnels, hauling baskets of ore on their backs. An egg cracks where it is hidden underneath an expanse of silver sand, and a claw pokes through. A lion with the face of a woman and the wings of an eagle paces majestically along the sands; turning, she meets Liath's astonished gaze.

A centaur woman parts the reeds at the shore of a shallow lake. Her coat has the dense shimmer of the night sky, and her black hair falls past her waist. A coarse pale mane, the only contrast to her black coat, runs down her spine; it is braided, like her hair, twined with beads and the bones of mice.” Look!" she cries.” See what we wrought!" She looses an arrow. The burning course of its flight drove Liath backward through

the crossroads of the worlds, far into the past, when the land was riven asunder.

A vast spell has splintered and split the land. Rivers run backward. Coastal towns along the shore of the middle sea are swallowed beneath rising waters, while skin coracles beached on the strands of the northern sea are left high and dry as the sea sucks away to leave long stretches of sea bottom exposed to sunlight and fish drowning in cold air.

Along a spine of hills far to the south, mountains smoke with fire, and liquid red rock slides downslope, burning everything in its path.

In the north, a dragon plunges to earth and in that eyeblink is ossified into a stone ridge.

Liath sees the spell now, seven stone looms woven with light drawn down from the stars. She can barely see the heavens themselves because the light of the spell obscures them, but her sight remains keen: the position of the stars in the sky this night matches the horoscope drawn by Biscop Tallia.

The spell like a coruscating knife cuts a line through the Earth itself. The power of its weaving slices along a chalk path worn into the ground to demarcate the old northern frontier of the land taken generations before by the Ashioi. It cuts right through the middle of a huge city overlooking the sea. It cuts through the waves themselves, like successive bolts of lighting tracing an impossibly vast border around the land where the Ashioi have made their home. The seven sorcerers weaving that spell in each of the seven looms die immediately as the spell's full force rebounds upon them.

The land where Eldest Uncle's people made their home is ripped right up by the roots, like a tree wrenched out of its soil by the hand of a giant, and flung into the sky. Al the Ashioi walking beyond the limits of their land are dragged outward in its wake, drowned in its eddy, but they cannot follow it into the aether. They get yanked into the interstices between Earth and the Other Side, caught forever betwixt and between as shades who can neither walk fully on Earth nor yet leave it behind.

But they are not the only ones who suffer.

The cataclysm strikes innocent and guilty alike, old and young, animals and thinking creatures, guivres and mice, human children and masked warriors, Ashioi children and human soldiers armed with weapons crafted of stone. The Earth itself buckles and strains under the potency of the spell. Did the sorcerers themselves understand what they were doing? Did they know how far the effects of their spell would reach ? Did they mean to decimate their people in order to save their people?

Impossible to know, and she can never ask them: they are long dead, never to be woken.

Blue winked within the lightning radiance of the spell. All at once, she saw Alain on his knees on a low hill, with a hound on either side of him. The hounds tugged desperately at him, trying to drag him back from the edge of a blazing circle of stones. Alain clawed helplessly at the body of the girl who lay crumpled on the ground. Wasn't it the same antlered girl who had met her in the realm of Mok? Who had seen with such keen sight into Liath's own heart before even Liath had been able to fathom those depths? The girl was so unbearably young, younger even than Liath, maybe not more than seventeen, but she was quite dead. In an instant more, when the spell's last storm-surge struck back at the looms in which it had been woven into life, Alain would be dead, too.

Liath unfurled her wings. She reached into the past, caught hold of him and his hounds, and dragged them with her back to the world they had left behind months, or even years, before.

EPILOUGE

THE queen with the knife-edged smile, called Arrow Bright, is long dead yet strong enough still to see with the heart and eyes of the woman who at dawn leads the remnants of her people through what remains of the forest. They emerge at last from the shelter of charred and blistered trees, most of the children crying, a few horribly silent, and every surviving adult injured in some way. Standing here at the edge of the cultivated fields, they numbly survey the ruin of their village.

"Come,” says the one called Weiwara, leaning on her staff. She has a bright heart, made fierce by anger, by wisdom bought too dearly, and by the twin babies, barely more than one year old, who rest against her body, one slung at her chest and the other against her back, and the three-year-old tottering along gamely at her side.” The Cursed Ones are gone. It is safe now.”

They stagger out into an oddly soft morning. Burned houses smolder in the village, although amazingly the council pole thrusts intact out of the collapsed roof of the council house. Mist wreathes the tumbled logs of the palisade. Bodies litter the ground, Cursed Ones who died in the first attacks. She recognizes Bear's form, fallen into the ditch just beyond the gates. He led the charge when they chose at last to break out of the doomed village, and he took the brunt of the Cursed Ones' retaliatory attack. It is due to his courage and boldness that anyone escaped the besieged village at all. The bronze sword he wielded lies half concealed under his hip. A fly crawls over his staring eye. A child sobs out loud to see the horrific sight.

"Come,” she says sternly, herding them on: about forty children of varying ages and not more than a dozen adults, pregnant women, elders, andAgda and Pur, both of whom would have preferred to stay and fight but whose knowledge—of herbs and midwifery and of stoneknapping—is too valuable to lose.

They fol ow the detritus of the fight along the path that leads to the tumulus.

There lies Urtan, abdomen sliced open. A blow crushed Tosti 's head. Bear's sister, Etora, looks as if she were trampled by horses and expired at last after trying to drag herself back to the village. Many Cursed Ones lie dead, too, but of the injured they find no sign.

A shout reaches them. Folk pour out from behind the earthworks that guard the tumulus. Battered, bloody, limping, exhausted, they remain triumphant despite the destruction littering the ground around them and the death on every side.

But Weiwara has no heart for rejoicing. She weeps when she sees her dear husband. He can't walk, but the wound that cut through the flesh of his right thigh to reveal bone looks clean and might heal well enough. Little Useti flings herself on her father, bawling, and after Weiwara has spoken with Ulfrega of Four Houses, she climbs grimly on up through the maze of earthworks.

At the top, she passes the remains of a burned shelter, mostly ash and the bones of branches now, and heads toward the small group huddled outside the stone circle: the five surviving Horse people, already outfitted for travel, and one sobbing young man.

The sight of the blasted, fallen stones stuns her. The bronze cauldron lies in a misshapen lump, actually melted by the force of the spell. She thought nothing could hurt as much as the sight of the devastated village and the bodies of her friends and kinsfolk, but one thing hurts more. Adica sprawls on the ground, arms flung out, antler headdress thrown askew. No mark mars her body, except of course for the old burn scar on her cheek. She looks so young.

The twins stir. Wrinkled-old-man, the younger, makes a fist to pound on his mother's back. Blue-bud, the little girl whose life Alain brought back from the path leading to the Other Side, wails as she wakes. She is often fussy, the kind of baby who flinches at bright light yet sobs if she wakes in the dark of night.

The young

man kneeling a stone's throw from Adica 's body glances up at the sound.

"Mother Weiwara! " Kel has dug something out of the ground and now he leaps up to show her folded garments, a belt, knife, and pouch, and a heap of rusting metal rings.” These must be the garments that Alain brought with him when he came to us from the land of the dead. But he is gone, and so are his spirit guides. Even the staff carved him is missing.” He breaks down again, weeping helplessly. Though streaked with dried blood, he took no wound in the battle.

None, that is, except the wound of grief.

The gray centaur paces fonvard, grave but determined. She limps on three legs, making her walk awkward. Dried blood coats her flanks. After a polite courtesy, she speaks, but the words, such as they are and intermixed with throaty whickering, mean nothing to Weiwara.

The wind changes, blowing suddenly out of the east. An owl skims down and settles on one of the stones, a bad omen in daylight. Mist spins upward from the ground within the broken stone circle. Kel gasps aloud. The hvins quiet. Weiwara drops to her knees as she sees a majestic figure pacing forward, half veiled by the swirling mist. She covers her eyes.'

"Holy One. Forgive me.”

"Do not fear, Niece. You have given no offense. I have come for the infant, the elder twin."

"The baby?" After so much sorrow, can she accept more?

The Holy One's voice is as melodious as that of a stream heard far off, touched with the waters of melancholy.” We will raise her among our people. We will teach her, and her children, and her children's children, the secrets of our magic.

This bond bet\veen your people and my people will live for as long as she has descendants, for it is in this way that I can honor Adica, who was dear to me."

Even as her mother's heart freezes within, knowing that she cannot say "no " to the Holy One, knowing that she cannot bear to say "yes,” a cold whisper teases her ear. One infant will be easier to cope with than two. In such a time of desperation, with winter coming on and their food stores likely burned, feeding twins will be a terrible hardship, and there is Useti to consider as well, weaned early to make room for the younger ones. Blue-bud was never hers anyway, not really. She belonged to the spirits from the beginning.

But her lips refuse to form the words of acceptance. She has loved and succored the child for many months now.” What of my people, Holy One? We have no Hallowed One to watch over us any longer."

"Are not twins favored in the eyes of the power you call the Fat One ? Let the younger twin be marked out to follow the hallowing path. I will see to his training myself, here in your own land, and when he is grown he will stand as Hallowed One to all the Deer people."

Mist twines around the stones. A cold wind rises out of the north, making her shudder. Winter is coming, and they will all struggle to survive among the ruins.

The spell the Hallowed Ones wove rid the world of the Cursed Ones, so it seems, but she has only to look out over the scorched forest to see that it touched every soul here on Earth with its awful power.

The Holy One continues, as if she understands Weiwara's hesitation.” My cousins will bring the infant girl to me. They will suckle her as they would their own child. She will be safe and well cared for with them, as if she has five mothers and not just one. We treasure each of our daughters, here among the Horse people. You need have no fear that yours will suffer any neglect. Have you a name that is meant to be hers when she is older?"

"Kerayi," Weiwara whispers, not even knowing she meant to say those words, almost as if another voice speaks through her lips.

Sos'ka moves forward, holding out her arms. Strange, now that she thinks about it, that all the centaurs she has ever seen are female.

Better to be done with it quickly. Weiwara lifts the tiny girl out of the sling, kisses her gently, and hands her up to Sos'ka. The infant shrieks outrage, but another centaur moves forward and, with a deft swoop, places the screaming infant at a breast. After a moment, the baby gets hold of the nipple and suckles contentedly.

The mist fades as the centaur women make silent gestures of farewell and move away. Better that the parting be swift. The sling sags, empty, against her chest. Her breasts ache as her milk lets

down, and Wrinkled-old-man begins to hiccup little sobs, catching her mood.

Sun streaks the blasted tops of tumbled stones.

"What about Alain?" cries Kel.

Too late. The sun drives the last of the mist from among the stones. The Holy One has gone, and the owl no longer perches in those vanished shadows.

"I saw her! " Kel momentarily forgets his grief as he staggers forward into the stones.” I saw her!" His head bows, and his shoulders shake.” But they'll never know. Tosti, and Uncle, and Alain, they'll never know.”

As soon as she feels strong enough and after she has nursed the baby, Weiwara leads Kel back down to where the ragged band of survivors waits. Most of the other White Deer people make ready to leave, wanting to return to their own villages to see how they have weathered the storm. As Weiwara surveys the destruction, she thinks maybe her people should leave, too. Ghosts and spirits swarm this place now. She can almost see them. Now and again she glimpses out of the corner of her eye the shades of the Cursed Ones, weeping and shouting curses because they are trapped forever on the road to the Other Side, neither dead nor living.

But the ancient queens have not done yet. Arrow Bright, Golden Sow, and Toothless have not forgotten the bonds that link them to their people. As the last echoes of the vast spell tremble in the earth, they grasp the fading threads and on those threads, as with a voice, they whisper.

When Weiwara and Agda carry Adica 's body on a litter into the silence of the ancient tomb, the queens whisper into her ears. Weiwara arranges the corpse as Agda holds the torch. She lovingly braids Adica's beautiful hair a final time. She fixes the golden antlers to her brow and straightens her clothing, places her lax hands on her abdomen. The lapis lazuli ring that Alain gave her winks softly under torchlight. She stows next to Adica the things Alain brought with him but left behind. In this way a part of him will still attend Adica in death. Last, she places at her feet a bark bucket of beer brewed with honey, wheat, and cranberries.

"Let me share this last drink with you, beloved friend." She dips a hand in the mead and drinks that handful down. As the sharp

beer tickles her throat, it seems to her that the ancient queens stir in their silent tombs.

"Do not abandon us, Daughter. Do not abandon the ones who made you strong and gave you life. Do not leave your beloved friend to sleep alone. That was all she asked, that she not be left to die alone."

Weeping—will she always be weeping?—Weiwara says the prayers over the dead as Agda sings the correct responses. Afterward, with some relief, she and Agda retreat into the light. At the threshold of the queens' grave, they purify themselves with lavender rubbed over their skin before they return to the gathered villagers, those who remain.

"What shall we do, Mother Weiwara?" they ask her.” Where shall we go ? "

Kel comes running. She sent him back to the village, and with great excitement he announces that eight of the ten pits where they store grain against winter hardship have survived the conflagration.

"This is our home,” says Weiwara, "nor would I gladly leave the ancient queens, and my beloved friend, who gave us life. Let us stay here and build again."

Arrow Bright, seeing that all transpires as she wished, withdraws her hands from the world.” Come, Sister," she says to Adica's spirit, which is still confused and mourning.” Here is the path leading to the Other Side, where the meadow flowers always bloom. Walk with me.”

Their memories fade.

In time, as the dead sleep and the living pass their lives on to their children and grandchildren down the generations, they, too, are forgotten.

Ivar hit the ground so hard that his knees cracked. His arms gave out, and his face and chest slammed into the dirt.

He lay stunned in darkness while the incomprehensible dream he'd been having faded away into confusion. Dirt had gotten into his mouth, coating his lips. Grit-stung on his tongue. His ear hurt, the lobe bent back, but he couldn't move his head to relieve the pressure.

As he lay there, trying to remember how to move, he heard a man speaking, but he didn't recognize the voice.

"I was walking down a road, and I was weeping, for I knew it was the road that leads to the other world, and do you know, Uncle, more even than my dear mother I really did miss my Fridesuenda for you know we're to be married at midwinter. But I saw a man. He came walking along the road with a black hound on either side. He was dressed exactly like a Lion but with a terrible stain of blood on his tabard. He reached out to me, and then I knew he . couldn't have been any Lion, for he wore a veil of light over his face and a crown of stars. I swear to you he looked exactly like that new Lion, the one what was once a lord, who's in Thiadbold's company."

Gerulf chuckled.” I recall that one well enough, Dedi." It took Ivar a moment to identify the liquid tone in the old Lion's voice: he was crying as he spoke.” He shamed you into returning that tunic to the lad who lost it dicing with you."

"Nay, Uncle, he never shamed me. He just told me the story of Folquin's aunt and how she wove it special for her nephew when he went away to the Lions.

Then he and his comrades offered to work off the winnings by doing my chores for me. It seemed mean-hearted to say 'nay' to them."

"Ach, lad," said Gerulf on a shuddering breath.” Lay you still, now. I promised your mother I'd bring you home safely, and so I will. I've got to get light here and see what happened to the others."

Ivar grunted and got his arms to work, pushed up to his hands and knees just as he heard other voices whispering in alarm, many voices breaking into speech at once.” Quiet, I pray you," he said hoarsely.” Speak, one at a time, so that we know we're all here."

"I'm here," said Gerulf, "and so is my nephew Dedi—

"I can speak for myself, Uncle."

"Is that you, Ivar?" asked Sigfrid.” I can't hear very well. My ears are ringing. I had the strangest vision. I saw an angel—

"It's the nail he took from Tallia," said Hathumod, still weeping.” How did it come to be here?"

"Hush, Hathumod," said Ermanrich.” Best to be quiet so that we don't wake anything else. I had a nightmare! I was being chased by monsters, with human bodies but animal faces..." He trailed off as, abruptly, everyone waited for the seventh voice.

In the silence, Ivar heard water dripping.” Baldwin?" he whispered. Again, in a louder voice: "Baldwin?" His heart pounded furiously with fear. Ghosts always wanted blood and living breath on which to feed, and Baldwin was the one who had disturbed the skeleton.

"Ivar!" The voice echoed eerily down unknown corridors, but even the distortion could not muffle that tone of triumph.” Come see this!"

Ivar swore under his breath.

Ermanrich gave a hiccuping laugh, blended out of relief and fear.” When we've eyes as pretty as yours, maybe we can see in the dark, too. Where are you?"

As out of nowhere they saw a gleam of pale golden light. Baldwin's head appeared, the soft light painting his features to an uncanny perfection. He smiled as his shoulders emerged, then his torso. It took a moment for Ivar, still on hands and knees and with his head twisted to one side, to realize that Baldwin was walking up stairs.

"You must come see!" Baldwin exclaimed as his cupped hands came into view.

A ring adorned with a blue stone winked on one forefinger. He carried a bauble, all filigreed with cunning lacework and studded with pearls. The gold itself shone with a soft light, illuminating the walls of the chamber.

They were no longer in the same place. The stone slab and its ancient burial were gone. The dim alcoves built into the tomb had vanished, replaced by a smooth-walled, empty chamber carved out of rock. Ivar scrambled to his feet, wincing at the pain in his knees. He stared at the walls surrounding them, unmarked by the strange sigils that had decorated the walls of the tomb where they had taken refuge from the Quman army.

"Come see," said Baldwin without stepping fully out of the stairwell.” You can't believe it!" He began to descend.

Because he held the only light, they hastened to follow him. Sigfrid took Hathumod's hand, and Ermanrich walked after them as Gerulf helped his nephew to his feet. Ivar groped around and found the torch Gerulf had been holding before the blue fire had snuffed it out. With the light receding quickly, he scrambled to the

opening and descended. Fear gripped his heart, making him breathe in ragged gasps. Had Baldwin been possessed by the spirits of the dead? Or had he stumbled upon an enchantment? Where were they?

Ai, God, his knees hurt.

Twenty steps took him, blinking, into a chamber no larger than the one he had come from but so utterly different that, like his companions, he could only gaze in wonder.

They had found a treasure cave heaped with gold and jewels and all manner of precious chests and bundles of finest linen and silk cloth. Strangest of all, the chamber's guardians lay asleep, seven young men dressed in the garb of a young lord and his attendants. They slept on heaps of coins with the restful comfort of folk sleeping on the softest of featherbeds. The young lord, marked out from his attendants by the exceptional richness of his clothing, lay half curled on his side, with one cheek resting on a palm. His eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted. His fair hair set off a complexion pink with health. A half smile trembled on his lips, as though he were having sweet dreams.

"Seven sleepers!" exclaimed Sigfrid in a hushed voice.” The church mothers wrote of them. Can it be that we've stumbled across their hiding place?"

"I can count!" retorted Baldwin indignantly.

"Didn't we read about the Seven Sleepers in Eusebe's Church History!"

Ermanrich asked.

"Lord preserve us," swore Gerulf.” That's Margrave Villam's lad, his youngest son, the one called Berthold. I remember the day he disappeared. Lady bless us, but I swear that was two years or more ago." Fearful, but determined, he crossed to the young lord and knelt beside him. But for all his shaking and coaxing, he could not wake him, nor could any of the sleeping attendants be woken despite their best efforts to break the spell of sleep.

"It's sorcery," said Gerulf finally. He gave up last of all, long after the others had fallen back to huddle nervously by the stairs, which led up through rock toward the chamber above.

The glowing bauble made the chamber seem painted with a thin gold gauze, but shadows still lay at disconcerting and troubling angles, swathes of darkness untouched by light.” I think we should get out of here," said Ivar unsteadily.

"What about the Quman?" asked Baldwin.” I can't run from them anymore." He knelt and scooped up a handful of gold coins, letting them trickle through his fingers.

Shadows moved along the floor of the chamber like vines caught in wind, twining and seeking.

"Baldwin!" said Ivar sharply as a thread of shadow snaked out from the treasure and curled up Baldwin's leg.” Move back from there!"

Baldwin yawned.” I'm so tired."

Ivar darted forward, got hold of Baldwin's wrist, and shook him, hard, until all the gold scattered onto the floor.” Don't pick up anything!" The bauble rolled out of Baldwin's hand and spun over the floor, coming to rest with a clink against a chest of jewels. Shadows writhed at its passage.

"Don't take anything from here," said Ivar harshly, turning to stare at the others. The light from the bauble began to wane.” It's all enchanted. It's all sorcery! I've seen sorcery at work." The old hatred and jealousy rose up like a floodtide in his heart. He seemed to see Hugh leering at him from the shadows that massed beyond the treasure, and within the heart of those shadows he sensed a sullen enmity, whispering lies in his heart: Hanna is dead. Liath hates you.” Let's go!" He tugged Baldwin mercilessly backward and pushed him toward the opening made by the stairs.

Gerulf got a spark from his flint, but it died on the blackened torch stub. A second spark spit and caught, and the torch flared to smoky life. They scrambled up the stairs with Gerulf right behind Baldwin and Ivar at the rear. Cold tendrils washed his back, but they let him go. The pure gold light behind him gleamed with greed and ancient anger.

He stumbled over the last step into the cool, empty chamber where the others waited for him.

"There's another tunnel here," said Baldwin, who had gone ahead.

There was nowhere else to go, but quickly they discovered they had fallen into a maze. This was no simple burial tumulus, with a single straight tunnel leading to the central womb where ancient queens and princes had been laid to rest in the long-ago days, but rather a labyrinth of corridors, some low, others so high that Ivar io

couldn't touch the ceiling. All wound back on themselves and crossed in a bewildering pattern made more confusing when Sigfrid thought to leave a mark at each intersection so they'd know when they'd doubled back. They discovered quickly enough that they were walking in a complicated circle.

Finally, exasperated, Baldwin grabbed the torch out of Gerulf's hand.” This way!" he said with the certainty of one whose beauty has always gotten him the best portion of meat and the most flavorful wine.

Taking this turn and that without any obvious pattern, they found themselves smelling air and light and feeling a tickle of breeze on their faces. The torch flame shuddered and licked out, leaving a wisp of smoke. The tunnel sloped upward, but the ceiling lowered until they were forced to crawl, and now Ivar felt dirt under his hands, twining roots and, once, a moist crawling thing.

Baldwin, at the fore, shouted. Ivar heard the others in reply, and then it was his turn to tumble free through thick bushes and roll, blinking, into hard sunlight. He clapped his hands over his eyes, only to remember that he'd lost two of his fingers. Yet the wound no longer hurt. White scar tissue sealed the lowest knuckles where the fingers had been shorn off right at the hand, as though it had been a year or two since the wound was taken. After a while he dared lower his hands from over his eyes to discover that it was a cloudy day, although it seemed as bright as sin to eyes so long drowned in darkness. He laughed weakly into the grass.

Baldwin came and lay down beside him.” Are you all right?" he demanded in a low voice.

"How did you know the way?" Everything still seemed too bright to see, so he kept his eyes under a tent made by his hands.

"I don't know. I just wanted to get out of there."

Lying there in tall grass, swept by breeze and taking in heady lungfuls of air, Ivar had a revelation: Everything Baldwin had done, from running away to the monastery to running away from Margrave Judith, all of which had seemed so purposeful and clever and forcefully planned, had actually bubbled up out of a similar thoughtless impulse. Just to get away. It was only luck that Baldwin had succeeded when he had. Truly, God had granted him beauty and luck, but he had been filled so full of those that evidently there hadn't been room for much else.

"It's all right, Baldwin," said Ivar wearily, sitting up. His whole body ached, and he blinked away tears as he lowered his hands for his first good look at their surroundings.” I don't know how, but I think we escaped the Quman."

The clouds had the soft gleam of pearls, more light than gray. The seven companions sat scattered in an utterly unfamiliar clearing marked by a stone circle and four large overgrown mounds, ringed by tall trees of a kind that did not grow in the eastern borderlands, where grasslands lapped a thinning forest.

The leaves had turned red, or yellow, or orange, a mottling of color across the surrounding forest. The air smelled clean, untouched by the carnage of battle, and it had the sharp clarity of late autumn. It had been late summer when they'd fought the battle at that old tumulus. Yet by the evidence of his eyes, weeks had passed instead of a single night.

There was a long silence in which he heard Baldwin breathing and, behind him, the voices of the others. Sigfrid was singing a hymn, and Lady Hathumod was alternately weeping and praying with frenzied passion while Ermanrich kept interjecting comments, trying to calm her down. Gerulf and Dedi were talking so excitedly to each other that he couldn't make out their words through the haze made by their peculiar way of pronouncing certain words. They moved out into the clearing, exclaiming over the trees and the sky. The two Lions had been so direly wounded, and he'd thought for sure that Dedi was as good as dead. How could they be charging around now as fresh as spring lambs?

"My lord Ivar!" cried Gerulf, hastening back to him. The old Lion was almost beside himself with excitement; his face shone as though light had been poured into it.” Do you know where we are?"

"As long as we're well away from the Quman, I don't care where we are." With a grunt, Ivar got to his feet, rubbing his backside.

"It's a miracle, my lord! God has delivered us from the Quman. This is the hill above Herford Monastery, in western Saony. We can see into the duchy of Fesse from here."

"Herford Monastery?" Ermanrich came forward.” That's impossible. We were in the marchlands—

"It was summer!" cried Hathumod raggedly.” And he still walked among us."

"All of our wounds are healed," added Sigfrid diffidently, sliding up beside Ivar to examine his mutilated hand.” Look at your hand, Ivar. It looks as if you took that wound months or years ago."

"I'm thirsty," said Baldwin.” Haven't we anything to drink?"

"Hush." Ivar surveyed his six companions and then the clearing in which they stood. The low earthen mounds and the stone circle reminded him vaguely of the great tumulus with its embankments. Hadn't there been a ruined stone circle at the top of that ancient hill? Yet obviously they no longer stood there. For one thing, Ivar had never before seen a stone circle in as perfect repair as this one was, each stone upright and all the lintels intact. Somehow, in the space of one night, they had traveled from the marchlands all the way to the center of Wendar. In the space of one night, they had traveled from summer into autumn.

Sorcery.

Shivering, he grabbed hold of Sigfrid's hand and then Baldwin's.” Come, friends," he said, seeing that they had all clasped hands, clinging together in the face of so many things they could not explain.” Truly, I don't understand what has happened to us except that our friend Gerulf must be right. God has saved us from death at the hands of the Quman, so that we can continue to do Her work here on Earth. Don't forget the phoenix. Our task is just beginning."

Hathumod burst into tears again, clutching the rusted nail to her chest as if were a holy relic.

"God be praised," murmured Gerulf, and the others echoed his words, all except Baldwin, who was looking anxiously around the clearing.

"It's going to be night soon," said Baldwin, "and I don't like to think of sleeping out next to these old grave mounds. I don't like to think what might crawl out of them once night falls."

"Nay, I don't fancy sleeping near these old mounds either," said Dedi with a nervous laugh, and they all laughed, swept up with relief and the release of all those hours of fear and struggle.

"Is there a path that will lead us to the monastery, Gerulf?" Ivar asked, because he'd had the same thought. Yet shouldn't he trust in God to protect them from evil spirits and blood-sucking wights, given the miracle that had already happened? Still, it never hurt to help God's design along when you could.

"It's been a few years," said the old Lion, scratching his beard, "but I think ..."

He pointed toward a narrow gap in the dense wall of trees.” I think that's the path over there."

They all stood there, then, waiting, looking at Ivar. Somehow, over the course of the battle and through that long and bitter night trapped underground, he had become their leader.

"We've got a long road ahead of us," he said.” Come on."