He nodded again, as if to seal a bargain. "For myself, I admit I care little what the priests and deacons sing. I care little whether the blessed Daisan is a man such as myself or mixed with the substance of God."

Before Antonia could speak, Adelheid reached to fasten a hand over the skopos' wrist. Such a tiny, petite hand, to have such an iron grasp. Antonia did not like this man, but she knew that to object now would destroy her tenuous alliance with Adelheid. How bitter it was to rely on earthly power! If only God had given her the means to smite her enemies more comprehensively than with individual galla, she would take to the task with a vengeance.

The general nodded as if to show he understood Antonia's disgust. He indicated her with an open palm, showing respect in a way that won her grudging admiration. "Here are those who will fight for God. Let them battle where they can do good. As for me, I will use my sword where I can and my wits where I must. Are you agreed to the marriage?"

It was a swift thrust, but it did not take Adelheid by surprise. "My daughter Mathilda, to be betrothed to the young Emperor Niko. Yes. She is young yet, not more than five, but she will grow."

His good eye narrowed. Where the scar damaged his face, he had no expression. It appeared that the muscles were somehow paralyzed. "Your daughter is of no use to me. She is a child. You are a woman."

That fast, everything changed. Just as a wind will overset the careful preparations of a farmer who has not yet bundled his hay, so the plans agreed between Antonia and Adelheid flew away to nothing.

The empress laughed. Her nearest courtiers, seeing and hearing the words not spoken, set hands to faces, or hid their eyes, or chortled, or exclaimed, each according to their nature.

Antonia fumed. She must remain silent or lose all. She saw her own power eroding so quickly that she knew she must cling to the shoreline before the entire sandy cliff collapsed beneath her.

It was no good to protest that the queen must not trust Arethousans or that her beloved Aostans would never trust her again should she marry one, because she had already considered and approved the idea of marrying her young daughter to one of them. To a foreigner! A heretic!

Here he sat as if he already ruled by Adelheid's side.

"Betroth your daughter to the young emperor if need be," he went on. "This is also good. But the power of yours and of mine— the power to keep our empires alive—must be joined. Otherwise we will die and our empires will die. Do you want this, Your Majesty?"

Antonia seethed with a rage she could never express.

"No," said the empress. "I do not want my empire to die. Yet if I make an Arethousan king beside me, my people may turn their backs on me."

" 'King' is only a title. I will be your consort, a simple lord. Call me what you will. What you must. But only you and only I, joined together, can save our empires."

She took hold of his callused hand, hers so slight and his so large but surprisingly gentle as he touched her small fingers and smiled. By this simple means, they were betrothed in the sight of humankind.

But not of God.

He rose, and Adelheid rose with him. None spoke. The court was too stunned to speak, seeing what no one had ever expected: the empress of Aosta binding herself to a crafty Arethousan who by guile and wit and no doubt worse means had raised himself to become general and lord among that heretical people.

"Holy Mother," he said, "I pray you, we throw ourselves on your mercy. Without your blessing, we are done. Without your blessing, the empires will fall, these two, who hold the ancient and true ways up as a light for all humankind."

She was silent and stubborn. She could wait him out.

He had not done yet.

"Yours is the most power of all, Holy Mother. Yours, the right to strike first."

Still raging, while displaying a calm face, she succumbed to curiosity. "What do you mean?"

"We are vulnerable to those who live in the north, if they choose to invade us while we are weak.

You can weaken them. You alone have that power."

A clever man, but naturally, he must be, because all Arethousans were clever, lying, unscrupulous creatures who drank bathwater and ate too much garlic and onions and dressed improperly, men like women and women like men, and pretended a false humility that was in truth nothing but pride. Yet she could not help herself. He had piqued her interest.

"What do you mean?"

"You are the Holy Mother. She commands the obedience of all children of God. Is that not so?"

"That is so. I am delighted that you, a heretic, can recognize my authority."

He nodded, not quite bowing his head. He was a dangerous man as he had himself confessed. He did not truly believe; to him, the church was merely a tool.

A weapon.

"Those who are disobedient, what comes of them?"

"They are censured. They must do penance."

'And after this? If they still disobey? I think you have the power to place them under a ban."

'Ah!" breathed Adelheid, cheeks flushed and eyes bright as she understood him.

As Antonia did. "I could place them under anathema, if they deserved such an excommunication, but how does this help Aosta? How does this help Arethousa? How does it help the holy church, which must be my sole concern?"

Because he was a dangerous man, he smiled. He shrugged. "One time, when I am young, I stand on duty at night. I hear a noise in the bush. It might be anything, but I thrust with my spear. I stab a man in the leg. So we discover this one I catch is a spy. He tells us where the enemy camps and what they intend. So we take the enemy by surprise. This is my first victory. It comes sometimes that a man must thrust his spear into the dark where there may be nothing but a rat. In this way, we strike even if we do not know what we will hit. It is better than nothing. It is better to do something than to stand and wait."

"I am tired of being helpless," said Adelheid. "I am tired of standing and waiting while others take action."

"You believe I should place all of Wendar and Varre under anathema. If I do so, none may be blessed at birth or marriage. None may receive last rites. The deacons may not lead mass, and the biscops may not ordain deacons. This is a terrible thing, General."

"They have acclaimed as regnant a man who killed his own father," said Adelheid. "Is that not a terrible thing? Does it not go against God's own Word? If we on Earth do not love, respect, and obey our own mother and father, how can we then love, respect, and obey the Mother and Father of Life?"

"I see," murmured Antonia, and she did see. "There is merit in this plan. If they send word that a more worthy contender has been raised to the throne, then I will consider lifting the ban. If they persist in giving their loyalty to a half-breed bastard who murdered his own father, then I cannot."

"You see," added Adelheid triumphantly. "There might be more than one reason why Lord Hugh murdered Lady Elene. She is Conrad's daughter. She had a claim to the throne, just as her father does. One that would have superseded any claim Lord Hugh might have hoped to put forward for Princess Blessing."

Alexandras listened but said nothing.

"Let us go one step farther," Antonia added. 'All except the Duchy of Wayland will fall under the ban. Conrad may be persuaded to ally with us. He is ambitious. He has other children."

"Sons?" asked Adelheid, then caught herself and glanced at the general. How fickle she was! She had pledged Mathilda on the one hand yet was already plotting a new alliance on the other.

The general seemed not to hear, or to understand, or else he chose to ignore the question.

Antonia could not. Did Conrad have sons? Might young Mathilda marry into the Wendish royal house, or were she and Conrad's children too closely related? There was also Berthold, Villam's child, who might yet serve them. Indeed, now that she thought on it, he and Wolfhere were exactly the right people to serve her in this.

Hugh of Austra was a fool, and a dead fool, just as he deserved, his bones tumbled in the woodland. Never kill the children of noble houses. They were always more use alive than dead.

"So be it," she said, raising her staff so that the assembly would listen and would hear. There is more than one way to fight a war. There is more than one way to win a battle.

4

TO haul stone you must walk to the quarry, hoping it is close by, and load what weight you can carry into a sling woven of tough fiber, whose burden rests on the band that crosses your forehead. Men wearing nothing except a kirtle that barely covers their loins work at the rock face with pickaxes, wedges, and sledgehammers. The air is heavy with the dust of stone. Everyone is sweating even though the sun remains hidden behind a high veil of clouds.

Secha paused to take a sip of cleansing water and then stacked three stones in her sling, hoisted it, balanced it across her forehead and back, and trudged away on the path that snaked down a hillside to the White Road. Here, she turned west along the broad path, returning to the watchtower. She had one baby caught close to her chest; the other was with Rain, who had set up a temporary workshop with the building crew who were shaping stone for the repair and reconstruction of this watchtower.

All along the White Road, folk were building and repairing the fallen watchtowers. She had been at this work for five days now. It gave her something to do as she adjusted to her new life.

She passed an older man who was returning with an empty sling. He acknowledged her without quite looking her in the eye. Like all of those who had walked in the shadows, he was eager to move on, to stay away from her.

They feared her, because she had worn the feathered cloak. They feared standing close beside her, because she had won the enmity of the blood knives.

There came another thin, old man down the path toward her, and she brightened, seeing him and the pair of young mask warriors who walked a few steps behind him.

"Here you are," said Eldest Uncle as he turned and fell in beside her, matching her pace. He carried nothing except a skin bloated with liquid.

She greeted the young ones with a nod, and they fell back to let their elders speak privately.

"That's a new mantle," she observed.

"A fine gift from my daughter, so I am meant to understand." He folded back the corners of his hip-length mantle so she could admire the short kirtle tied around his hips.

"New cloth, and new sandals, as well."

"I am well taken care of," he said with a chuckle. "It's like feeding a dog so it doesn't bark untimely."

She laughed. The baby stirred, and she halted to let him lift the infant out of the sling and fix it to his own scrawny hip. The baby was awake, eager to look at faces and trees, although the wasteland to the north was too jumbled a sight to interest her infant gaze.

They set out again, settling into a swinging pace.

After a time, she said, "You have news."

"So I do."

They walked a while, passing another two returning with empty slings, who greeted Eldest Uncle with open smiles and Secha with guarded ones.

"They fear me," she said.

"It was the custom in the days before that she who challenged for the feathered cloak, and lost, gave herself as an offering to the gods."

"What of she who was challenged, and lost?"

He shrugged. "Challenges were rare. Usually a vote was called only when the Feather Cloak passed into death and a new one must be chosen. Then a pair of candidates would be picked by the warriors and the blood knives, and set before the baskets. Even so, the outcome was usually determined in advance."

She snorted. "Then little has changed."

"You did not fight hard enough, Secha," chided Eldest Uncle. "Where is that look you used as a child when my daughter bullied the other children? You were younger than her, but wiser in your mind!"

"I am not the right leader, Uncle. Not for this day. Not for this war. It is better that I stepped aside in favor of others."

He frowned. "Even if they are wrong?"

'Are they wrong? I do not know."

'Ah!" Such a sound a man might make when he is told that his beloved has left him. "She has persuaded even you with her arguments."

"No, but I am not persuaded by my own. I am a good magistrate, Uncle. I can judge disputes and oversee labor and distribution. I can see who lies to me and who tells the truth, who seeks selfish favor and who wants to do what they think best for their clan. In exile, I could raise my hands and know that my decisions allowed every person in the tribes a chance to live that could not be stolen from them by another's greed or anger. That does not make me the right person to stand at the head of an army. That does not make me the right person to raise my hands to the gods now that we have returned home."

He grunted. The baby babbled and tried to touch his chin, which distracted him for a bit.

She saved her breath for walking, although she had become accustomed to the balance and strain of the load.

After a while, he said, "Feather Cloak wishes me to attend her on a matter of grave importance. I ask you to come with me."

A pair of mask warriors came striding along toward them, on patrol.

"Uncle!" Almost in unison, the young men touched the tips of their left fingers to their right shoulders. 'Any help you need, Uncle? Aunt?"

"We are well," said Eldest Uncle, and the men touched their shoulders again and continued past at a brisk pace, trading jocular salutes with the warriors who attended Eldest Uncle.

"I feel that I am torn in half," said Eldest Uncle, glancing after them. "So it was in my youth that we greeted elders in such a manner. How came it that such simple signs of respect failed us in exile?"

"So many died," she said, "although I do not remember those days myself when corpses filled the streets. Many things were lost that were once treasured."

The baby fussed a little, and Eldest Uncle bounced her on his hip in time to his stride, to soothe her. "We should not have let it happen."

"It is past now. We must let go of what we were in exile, and face what we will become."

His eyes were crinkled with a kind of amusement, but his lips had a set, conservative mood to them. "I fear."

"What do you fear?"

"I fear that you are right. Secha, will you come with me? I rely on your strong eyes to see what I might miss."

"I'll come." She laughed. "Only I will need attendants to bring along the babies."

"You don't ask what matter calls us."

"That you ask is reason enough."

The watchtower and its scaffolding came into view atop the steep slope. Here, for many months, Eldest Uncle had made his home. During their exile, he had spent more of his time in a clearing nearby, where the burning stone that marked a gateway between the aether and the world they had lost burned into existence at intervals. What he was waiting for she could never quite fathom.

Maybe he had just been waiting to go home.

'Anyway," she added, "I find I am already tired of hauling rock. I am ready to see what comes next."

5

FOR many days they were forced to camp at the edge of a wasteland still steaming from vents and pits, a desolation so complete that no life grew there, not even the tiniest spear of grass or fleck of mottled lichen. Farther away to the southwest the sea sighed and sobbed on an unseen shore, heard mostly at night when the sound of the wind died away. In this direction lay open ground patched with grass and low-lying shrubs that had miraculously escaped the burning.

Here, within a ring of head-sized stones rolled and levered into place by their captors, they were allowed to set up their tents. Water arrived during the night, carried in leather buckets by unseen hands. Lord Hugh rationed their stores carefully, but already they had been forced to slaughter two of the horses and soon—in another ten or so days—they would run out of grain.

Along the southeast boundary of the campsite, a chalky road ran more-or-less west to east. South of the road lay land that appeared magnificently lush to Anna's eyes, although compared to the fields and woodland around Gent it looked dusty and parched, with dry pine, prickly juniper shrubs, and waxy myrtle, and the ubiquitous layer of pale grasses. It wasn't lush at all; it only seemed so because they had ridden through a wilderness of rock for so many days that any land untouched by destruction seemed beautiful in comparison. Yet there were tiny yellow flowers blooming on vines growing low to the ground. A spray of cornflowers brightened an open meadow. She hadn't seen flowers for so long. It was hard to believe it was spring.

"If they haven't killed us yet," Hugh was saying to one of the men for the hundredth time, "it is because they are waiting for someone."

"It was well you knew the secret of their parley language," said Captain Frigo, "and that talisman name. Otherwise we'd all be dead."

Hugh nodded thoughtfully. "Never scorn any mine of information, Captain. What seems crude rock may turn out to have gold hidden away in deeper veins. Who would have thought that unfortunate frater would possess such an intimate knowledge of the very noblewoman we are here to negotiate with?"

Their captors remained hidden. Anna wasn't sure they were even human. They emerged only at night to retrieve the empty water buckets and return them full. They had animal faces, not human ones. But Lord Hugh said those animal faces were actually masks and that behind the masks the Lost Ones looked just like Prince Sanglant, with bronze-colored skin, dark eyes, and proud faces.

Maybe so.

Princess Blessing sat in the middle of the clearing with hands and feet bound. She stared into the foliage day and night, when she wasn't sleeping. She hadn't spoken a word for days, but now and again Anna caught her muttering to herself the way clerics and deacons murmured verses as a way to calm their minds.

Late one afternoon, Anna sat beside her and wiped her brow. Grit came off on her fingers. The breeze off the wasteland carried dust, and it had filtered into every crevice of their baggage. No matter how much she combed her hair, or Blessing's hair, the coarse dust never came out.

A twig snapped.

"Hey!" Theodore, standing sentry, raised his bow with an arrow set to the string. In the forest, humanlike figures scattered into the trees.

Anna scrambled to her feet, staring. This was as close as she had seen any of the masked figures during the day, but already they vanished into the landscape as would animals fleeing from the noise and smell of humankind.

"Hold!" said Hugh. "Be calm, Theodore."

In the distance, a cry like that of a horn rose and stretched on, and on, before arcing into silence.

Within the foliage, green and gold spun into view before disappearing behind a denser copse of pine. Anna placed herself between Blessing and the threat, but the girl pushed at her knees.

"I want to see!" she whispered.

"Put your weapons down," said Hugh to the soldiers. "They outnumber us. These rocks are too low to create a defensive perimeter. Let us use our best and only shield."

He crossed to Blessing, took her by the arm, and invited her to stand with a gesture. She looked sideways up at him, glanced back toward the company moving nearer through the forest, then got to her feet with a remarkable show of cooperation. Anna did not trust the stubborn set of the girl's mouth, but she merely took two steps sideways and kept her own mouth shut, ready for anything, hands in fists.

The foreigners appeared at the bend where the chalk-white road curved away out of sight. The shadow of the trees lay across the wide path. These formidable creatures were after all not cursed with animal heads. A few wore painted masks: a fox-faced woman, a man with the spotted face of a leopardlike cat, a green and scaly lizard. There were also a half dozen who possessed no mask. One of them was a man so old and wizened that he might have seen a hundred years pass.

He wore only a short cape, a kirtle, and sandals. A younger woman, scarcely better clothed, stood beside him with a hand cupped unobtrusively under his elbow. Other figures sheltered within the trees, half concealed. Anna thought she heard a baby's belch, but if there was a baby, it remained hidden.

A man strode at the front rank whose proud, arrogant features reminded Anna forcibly of Prince Sanglant, although he had a cold gaze that made her nervous. He surveyed the humans in the same manner that a handsome cat examines a nest of helpless baby mice it has just uncovered.

Yet even he could not match the woman who led them. She was short, sturdy without being either fat or slender: sleek and well fed, a leopard stalking in lush hunting grounds. Her hair was lighter than that of her kinfolk although her complexion was the same: bronzed, almost gleaming. She wore a startling cloak sewn entirely of brilliant feathers. A pair of young people behind her carried a huge golden wheel trimmed with bright green feathers. It was this wheel Anna had seen whirling and flashing in the trees. The richness of its gold stunned Anna. Indeed, every one of the folk facing them wore gold necklaces and gold-beaded armbands and wristlets and anklets and thin gold plates shaped to cover the breastbone, as rich as noble princes arrayed for a court feast.

Yet their dress was that of barbarians, plain linen kirtles cut above the knee, feathered and beaded guards on arms and legs. Some of the men, like the old one, wore little more than a white breechclout, the kind such as farmers and fishermen donned in the heat of the summer while out working in marshland and mud. All wore short capes.

There was silence as the foreigners came to a halt on the other side of the rock corral and the two groups examined each other. Hugh moved first, tugging Blessing forward.

"I seek the one known as Uapeani-kazonkansi-a-lari. This is her granddaughter."

The fox-masked woman barked words Anna could not understand. Half the company laughed.

The old man frowned. The woman in the feathered cloak raised a hand to silence them, but she appeared neither pleased nor offended.

Still, no one replied, so Hugh went on.

"This is the child of Prince Sanglant, your kinsman. I am called Hugh, born of Austra, named lord and presbyter by the right of my noble lineage and God's blessing. I claim right of speech with your leader."

"I speak," said the one wearing the feathered cloak. She spoke in comprehensible Wendish, tinged with a Salian flavor. "Few among humankind know the name of Uapeani-kazonkansi-a-lari. So I told the scouts, who came to me and reported that a group of warriors led by a man with hair the color of sun had come to our border and asked to speak to the woman who chose that name. The priests wish to see you all brought at once for sacrifice. But I said differently. I told them, better to hear what the one with hair the color of sun has to say and kill him after, than to kill him first and never hear his words."

"Indeed," agreed Hugh affably. "It is foolish to throw away perfectly good knowledge out of spite."

She flicked her palm in a dismissive gesture. "Say what you have come to say."

"I speak to the mother of Prince Sanglant." It wasn't a question.

Now Anna saw the resemblance not so much in features as in the way a smile creased that woman's face. The prince's smile bore more honest amusement—her smile was cold—but nevertheless the expression was the same.

Hugh nodded, as if in acknowledgment of that smile. "I am come here to offer you an alliance, Uapeani-kazonkansi-a-lari."

That startled them!

They broke out talking between themselves, commenting and arguing, but when she raised the back of her hand to them they quieted.

"How do you know that name?" she asked, her tone more like a threat than curiosity. "Did my son tell you?"

"No. A man became known to me who had knowledge of you, whom he called Kansi-a-lari. He was called Zacharias."

This smile was softer and more genuine. "The-One-Who-Is-More-Clever-Than-He-Looks. Still, your pronunciation is almost as good as his. Where is he now?"

"He is dead, caught within the spell on the night the Crown of Stars crowned the heavens. On the night your people and this land returned to Earth."

"Perhaps not as clever as I thought, then," she remarked in a careless way.

Dead! This was the first news Anna had heard of Brother Zacharias since he had fled the prince's retinue at Sordaia. So he was a traitor! He had fled directly to Lord Hugh. Her heart burned with anger, and she was glad— glad—that he was dead. He deserved it for betraying them!

"Clever enough," said Hugh with a wry smile.

"Why will you, our enemy, offer us an alliance?"

"In what way am I your enemy?" he asked amiably. "The war you speak of took place so long ago it has passed out of human memory. I know nothing of the exiles. I am not at war with you.

Nor are any of my people."

She shook her head. "My uncle says that your people invaded the woodlands where his people bided for long years."

"How can that be? No Ashioi survived on Earth."

"They survived in the shadows."

"In the shadows?" He considered, eyes almost closing as if he was thinking hard. With a slight nod, he went on. "If the memory is still fresh in your eyes, let me say that nevertheless I offer you an alliance."

"What have you to offer us?"

Hugh still held onto Blessing, who had not moved. Strangely the woman who was Sanglant's mother had glanced at the child only once and by no other sign showed any interest in her. Not the rest, though. Anna was accustomed to observing without being herself observed, because she was not important enough that noble folk took notice of her. Both the handsome man and the old man studied Blessing with alert interest. The woman standing at the side of the old man studied each person in Hugh's party. Indeed, that woman caught Anna's gaze and, for a moment, examined her so closely that Anna felt a fluttering sense of dread in her own stomach. She had a sudden horrible feeling that if their shadows grew long enough to touch those of the human party, they would gobble them up and swallow them alive. She clutched her hands together to stop herself from trembling.

"I can offer a weapon to you, if you are still bent on war."

She laughed. "Your words make no sense, Golden One. First you say there cannot be war between your kind and mine because too many generations have passed. Then you say that you will offer us a sword with which to gain an advantage over our enemies. Which is it?"

"You came to Henry's court in later days, only a few years ago, and warned him of a great cataclysm. Is it not true that you offered him at that time an alliance, while he stood in a position of strength?"

"Now he is dead," she observed. "You know a great deal, Pale Sun. I like you."

Blessing grunted. The sound was so quiet that it went unremarked by everyone except Anna.

"It's true I made that offer to Henry," she continued. "Because that was the will of the council.

But those who wished for an alliance no longer lead the people."

"Who leads?"

"I lead. I am Feather Cloak."

"Is this the same position your son claims among the Wendish? He calls himself king."

"Does he?" she asked, but it was obvious by her expression that she already knew. "Something like, in your eyes, I suppose. What is your offer? What sword do you bring to us?"

He shrugged, a movement that might have been designed to dislodge an annoying fly. "First of all, I have information. The Aostans are weak and divided."

"The Aostans?"

"Those who live in the south. The Arethousans, too, have suffered grievously and are weak."

"The Arethousans?"

"Let me proceed in a different manner. I have with me a map, which I can read, that shows the lay of the land."

"Such a map would save us time and trouble, it is true. If we meant to march to war. But it is a long journey from these southern lands to those in the east, and the west, and the north. There is a great deal of wasteland to cross. It is an even longer road to Wendar."

"So it is. There are shorter paths."

'Ah." She smiled in the manner of a warrior who has humbled his worst enemy. "You speak of the crowns. I know the secret of the crowns."

"So you do, according to Brother Zacharias. Still, you were forced to walk across the breadth of the country through many lands in both winter and summer. I need not do so. I can walk where I will. I can cross between any crown and any other crown in the space of no more than three days.

I can cross great distances in a short time. Who else has this power? Do you, Uapeani-kazonkansi-a-lari?"

Anna thought her legs would collapse, but she held steady. Disbelief choked her, and it was just as well, lest she cry out.

Traitor! Would you sell your own people to the enemy?

"This offer tempts," said the woman coolly. Her tongue flicked between her lips, as though she began to lick her lips for a taste of what she desired, but stopped herself. "So I ask myself: what do you want? In the marketplace, no one trades without asking a thing in return."

He nodded, but he was tense now, eager, held taut. He teased his lower lip with his teeth, caught himself doing so it seemed, and licked his lips instead, in an echo of her, blinking quickly and taking a deep breath. "I want only one thing. One thing, in exchange."

The faces of the Ashioi were masks, their expression impenetrable, even those whose features were not concealed by the painted snarls and open maws of animals.

"I want the half daimone woman called Liathano."

Blessing twisted in his grip and bit him on the hand.

He shouted in pain, shook loose his hand, and slapped her so hard backhanded that the blow sent her tumbling to the dirt.

"Little beast!"

She lay there, breathing hard. Anna hesitated, hating herself for her fear, before sidling forward to kneel beside her. The girl's hair concealed her face, but as Anna smoothed it back she saw the mark of Hugh's ring, which had cut the skin, and the deep purple red welt that would spread and hurt.

Blessing grinned at her through tears of pain. "I've been waiting to do that," she said triumphantly.

All around them, the Ashioi laughed.

6

THE pale ones had little to recommend them by the standards of civilized folk. They were not a beautiful race; they were too hairy, too pallid, too big. Of course they smelled bad. Yet the wealth of metal they bore was staggering. Each of the warriors carried a metal-pointed spear and a strong metal sword. All were armed with such riches. They stank of cold iron. Even the captive girl was shackled in iron chains as she stared fixedly with her eagle's glare at Zuangua, as though she recognized him. She lay with one hand propping herself up and the other gingerly exploring the pattern of cut and bruise on her face. Her expression was a mirror of her emotions, and it took no great cunning to see the thoughts filter by the way she frowned, then smiled one-sidedly to spare the bruised cheek, then winced and cocked a shoulder as though shutting off a nagging voice.

Secha knew that to clad prisoners in iron was to be wealthy beyond imagining. It would be difficult to defeat an enemy whose soldiers fought with such weapons. The Ashioi possessed only stone and bronze, but they had captured a few iron implements in recent months. They knew what power iron held and how difficult it would be to learn to forge in the manner known to humankind. There was a kind of magic to it.

No one willingly gave up such secrets, not unless they wanted something very badly in return.

After the girl bit their leader and the laughter died down, Feather Cloak turned to her people.

"Enough!" she said. "We will talk in council and decide what is best to do now that we understand the bargain that has been offered to us."

Folk scurried away to scrape out a fire pit and rake dry grass back away from the rim, while additional mask warriors took up guard stations around the rock corral that fenced in the prisoners.

Fox Mask strutted up and down along the fence, making jokes to her companions about the leader. "The color of root paste, his skin! Might as well marry a mealworm! Hair as fine as spider's silk! Imagine how nasty that must be to touch!"

Secha could not laugh. Inside that fence, the leader was giving his men directions. They secured their shelters, heated porridge over a small campfire, fed and watered their horses, shared out food and drink, and took themselves off to pits where excrement and piss were immediately covered with a thin layer of dirt. Not entirely uncivilized, then. The servant tidied the girl, blotted blood off her face, and made her comfortable on blankets. As twilight drew over them, the warriors settled down in a defensive ring that would allow some to rest while others kept watch.

Fox Mask could say what she wanted, but their leader carried himself as do men who are accustomed to admiration. He had poise, a trait Secha respected. Despite knowing he faced an overwhelmingly superior force that could kill him and his warriors easily, he showed no sign of fear without, however, blustering in the manner of warriors such as Cat Mask and Lizard Mask who relied on muscle more than brain to win their skirmishes.

Behind her, flames crackled, eating through the latticework of kindling sticks, and bigger branches were stacked on the fire to let it blaze. Feather Cloak took her place within the aura of light as the council gathered in a ring, facing the light.

"Speak," said Feather Cloak. "Let me hear your words."

"Let us take them as an offering and be done with it," said the blood knives.

"No," said Feather Cloak. "It is foolish to throw away such a powerful weapon."

"How can this spell he speaks of be used as a weapon?" asked the blood knives.

"Why fight at all?" asked Eldest Uncle. "If humankind is so weakened, it is best to parley. We can rebuild if we are at peace. We cannot rebuild if we are at war."

Zuangua smirked, regarding his twin. Old rivalry existed between the siblings, twined together with long affection. "You have forgotten, Brother, that most of our people are those who were caught in shadow, betwixt and between. For us the war is yesterday, not three or four generations ago. For us, there can be no peace!"

"War is better." Fox Mask's statement ran like an echo back through those assembled. Only in the trees behind Secha was there silence, where waited her mate and her son and her infant daughters.

"War," said the others.

"War!" they cried.

She looked toward the fence, feeling that they were being watched. Indeed, the man with sun hair had walked without fear up to the rock wall. He stood there, listening and watching and able, most likely, to understand the meat of the debate without understanding the skin that was its surface of words. Secha admired him for his exotic beauty, but also for a self-possession untroubled by any ripple of uncertainty. It meant a lot to hold firm in the face of the unknown.

For this reason, she knew she must speak, as was her right.

"Listen," she said. "I have something to say. Why should we trust this golden one? He means to betray his own kind. Why not betray us in turn? He is brave and bold, it is true. Is he brave and bold enough to pretend to be our ally while leading us into death?"

"It's true that all he claims to want is that woman," said Feather Cloak. She did not bother to hide her disgust. "It doesn't seem like much."

" 'That' woman is a great deal," said Eldest Uncle. "She will be hard to defeat, and difficult to capture and hold."

"But a fine armful to hold, so they say!" said Zuangua with a laugh.

Feather Cloak pulled a mighty grimace. Her indignation made her young uncle laugh again.

"Jealousy is a sharp spear," Zuangua retorted, and Secha supposed it was so. He was cleverer than he acted, that one.

"I am not jealous!"

"You may not be, if you say so, but the Pale Sun Dog is. He is jealous of your son for having what he wants for himself."

Feather Cloak seemed ready to burst with anger, so Secha cut in. "What man can help himself when faced with a creature born half of fire? Moths will die in flames. So might men, unable to resist that brilliance."

"That is true, at least," said Feather Cloak, mollified, "for I traveled for a time with my son in human lands. There was some head butting as men will do, over that woman. Yet even so, as Secha says, why should we trust this Pale Dog? Even my own son has turned against us and cast his loyalty in with his father's people."

"Is it certain your son means to fight us?" asked Secha. "When was this news known? The Bright One did not harm us. She aided our cause."

"If any can convince him, it would be his wife," said Eldest Uncle, taking hold of Secha's line of argument. "She is not against us. She is not our enemy."

Feather Cloak shook her head decisively. "She is too powerful and must be killed. That judgment was passed on her in exile, was it not? By the one who wore the feathered cloak before me?"

"Since your words are true, there is no answer to them," said Eldest Uncle. "But we no longer live in exile. Everything has changed. Our strategy must change as well."

"She walked the spheres!"

'As did you, Daughter! Think of this: the rope that bound us to the aether is severed. No one can ascend that ladder again. She is not our enemy."

"Who is blinded by brilliance now?" demanded Feather Cloak. "I say, capture her, and give her to the blood knives."

The priests nodded eagerly.

"Let us defeat all of humankind and then I'll eat the Pale Sun Dog for supper," said Fox Mask with a coarse laugh that made half of her companions chortle and slap the backs of their hands together to show their appreciation for her wit.

Secha did not find her amusing. "Revenge, like jealousy, makes slaves of those who cling to it."

Zuangua stepped forward to cut off the eruption of commentary. "Then what do we bargain with, since she is the only thing this Pale Dog wants?"

"Is it worth bargaining at all?" asked the blood knives. "How can this spell he speaks of be used as a weapon?"

The warriors laughed. They already knew.

Zuangua shook his head, frowning at the blood knives as if he could not understand their ignorance. "If it is true that he knows how to move where he wills and when he wills, this is a sword as powerful as the mystery of iron."

Cat Mask stepped forward. "Strike quickly and decisively! I said so all along!"

"Strike in small groups!" said Lizard Mask as he stepped up alongside his rival. "I said so all along!

"My question is not answered," said Secha, watching the pale sun man watch his enemies and thereby learn. She thought that he was probably learning far more about them than they had so far learned about him. "How can we trust him? He might send our war bands to the bottom of the sea or into the heart of a mountain to be entombed in stone."

"Is that possible?" asked Zuangua, interested. "A good tactic!"

"I don't think it is possible," said Feather Cloak. "The weaving links the crowns, nothing else."

Secha went on stubbornly. "He might weave us so we are lost in these days and months that pass within the crowns. The tide of days could ebb and flow around our warriors and they would be lost, just as we were lost in exile."

"You can weave the crowns, Feather Cloak," said Cat Mask to Feather Cloak. "Why do we need him?"

Kansi shook her head. Each time, Secha saw her speak in a different way as the angle of her head and the tilt of her neck and the frown on her lips revealed a new emotion. "I could walk between Earth and exile because I could call the burning stone, which was a gateway. Yet I have not seen the burning stone since we returned to Earth. My father is right. That ladder is broken, as far as I know. As for the other, I do not know the secret of weaving between the crowns on Earth."

"Let his skill be tested before we make any bargain," said Zuangua. "I'll go, with the pick of my warriors. You can keep the child and his other servants as hostage against our safe return."

Above, the thin veil of clouds that had shielded the sky parted. Stars shone through in ragged patches. Wind chased chaff into the flames, where it flashed and died.

Eldest Uncle shut his eyes and bowed his head.

"It is risky," said Feather Cloak.

"Yes," agreed Zuangua, showing his teeth.

His warriors, led by Fox Mask, crowded up behind him, all grinning with that same reckless smile. They were restless, shoulders twitching, heels bouncing, elbows shifting as though they were about to burst into a run.

"We have waited long enough. We are ready to go to war."

7

UNDER. guard, Lord Hugh's company marched into the land of the Cursed Ones. Anna stuck close to Blessing in case Lord Hugh meant to hit the child again. She stuck close because she feared the way the girl stared admiringly, hungrily, at the Ashioi.

"Do you hear what they're talking about?" the girl asked her, but all that streamed from those foreign mouths sounded to Anna no different than the chirping of birds and the howling of dogs.

Blessing understood it all. It seemed that her father's blood, or her mother's sorcery, or the aetherical milk she had suckled as a child, or all of these combined, had opened her ears to the Ashioi language.

Anna envied her.

The child had learned from her abduction. She kept silent about her unexpected skill. She let no one except Anna know, because she wasn't sure who was her friend and who her enemy. After several days they were delivered to a prison. It had a high stone wall and raised towers where guards stood watch. Through the gate lay a dusty courtyard and a dozen shelters. They were only stone platforms raised above the level of the earth. Posts set in the ground supported crude roofs.

There were no walls. It was an awful place.

It made her want to cry, but she could not cry, because she had to take care of Blessing.

At the gate, Feather Cloak waited with her entourage. Inside, lord Hugh called them together. "I must leave," he said to them. Their expressions were anxious, but they listened obediently. "I have sworn to these Ashioi that I will not teach them or aid them if any of you are harmed. I stand by that. You will be protected." He smiled gently. "Yet make yourselves useful. If you have marketable skills, let yourselves be coaxed into sharing."

'Any chance we can share with the women?" asked Theodore. "They sure look at us invitingly, if I must say so."

'And them wearing almost nothing but the skin they were born in," said Scarred John appreciatively.

The others chuckled, and then looked downcast.

"Would it be going against God, my lord?" asked Theodore. "They're heathens. It might be wrong."

"Yes, they are heathens. Therefore we are enjoined to bring them into the Circle of Unity. Do not fear to associate with them. But only if they ask first, lest you unwittingly break their laws."

This command the soldiers liked well enough, but Anna clutched Blessing's arm and wished only to be allowed to sit down in the shade. The heat made her dizzy.

Lord Hugh departed, but as the men spread out to explore the courtyard, the handsome man appeared at the gate. Anna had figured out that the man was Blessing's great-great-uncle. Like Prince Sanglant, he was restless, even impatient. His gaze roved, and he spotted Blessing. He called out, "Come!"

Anna knew that word well enough! "What does he want?" she asked Blessing.

The girl considered her uncle with an eagle's brooding gaze. She bit her lip. She grasped Anna's wrist and tugged her closer to the gate. He scared Anna. He was fierce and he looked unkind, but Blessing walked right up to him and spoke in the language of the Ashioi. He laughed, and it was obvious even to Anna that these fluent words did not surprise him; he had guessed all along.

When he spoke, replying, Blessing gasped out loud. She yelped with joy. She released Anna's arm and hopped in a circle.

"He says he'll take me, he'll train me in arms to be a mask warrior, like the others. Right now! So I can kill bad people. He won't make me wait, not like my daddy did."

"You can't go with them, Your Highness!"

"Why not? I can go! I hate it here. He's given me a new name, and I like it better!"

"What name?" she asked, as her voice was throttled by fear. The uncle did not even look at her, because she didn't matter to him. He only looked at Blessing, with a cruel smile.

"He calls me 'Little Beast.' I like that name!" She danced over to his side, and he was so delighted that he tousled her dark hair as if with affection.

"You're too young!" cried Anna.

The girl took her uncle's hand and, without a backward glance, walked through the gate.

"Then let me come with you!"

But Blessing was already gone, and the masked warriors pushed Anna back into her prison and shut the gate.

8

WE have waited long enough," said the blood knives. "We marched out here into the wilderness, Feather Cloak. We are exposed, we might be attacked, we risked contagion through contact with the corpses of the Pale Dogs. Now we have waited six nights and a day. Those who crossed through the loom have not returned."

Feather Cloak was drawing with a stick in the dirt, as she had been for the last six days, trying to understand the threads and angles by which the Pale Sun Dog had woven a gateway through the standing stones. The blood knives drew off to one side and began muttering together.

Secha dropped into a crouch beside Feather Cloak. "The sky counters are displeased with you, Feather Cloak."

"What do you think?" The other woman paused with the stick hovering above the earth. "Is the angle there sharp enough?"

Secha had already drawn the pattern; she had seen its measure at once, watching the sorcerer draw the bright threads down off the stars. It amused her that Feather Cloak struggled even though she had proved herself strong in the deep magic known to those who walked the spheres.

Feather Cloak could reach into a thing and draw its qualities out of it, twist them and turn them.

She could cause fog to rise out of the ground, or earth to crack, or vines to curl around the limbs of her enemy. When they had lived in exile, she had called the burning stone out of the aether and walked through it onto Earth. But angles and numbers defeated her. She looked very annoyed.

"What are you come here for?" she demanded, when Secha made no answer.

"To tell you that the work crew has cleared the bodies out of the village and cleansed them. The pit where the dead flesh is buried is ringed with death stones. Their spirits can't walk, to haunt us."

They had set up camp on level ground outside the ditch that ringed the deserted human village. It was a bare landscape that reminded her of exile, pale grass, brittle shrubs, and the long sweep of hills. On the seven days' march here they had seen no sign of human life, but birds flocked in great numbers out of the south where they had taken refuge in the Ashioi country. Small animals abounded, and they feasted on the little spitted creatures every night.

She rose. The grave site lay almost out of the site to the west, just off the trail that led onward into the enemy's lands. A few mask warriors were still piling stones on the mound, but it was well sealed according to the old custom.

"I think the stones are unnecessary," Secha commented.

Feather Cloak stood. She was not, in fact, wearing the feathered cloak; on the march out here she had set it aside as too cumbersome, despite the sky counters' protest. "Let them have their ceremonies," she said dismissively.

"If you do not show them respect, they will come to hate you."

Feather Cloak looked sidelong at her, and that intense gaze sharpened. She had a way of tightening her jaw that made her look very threatening. "Why this concern, Secha? You've never liked me. Not even when we were children together."

"You do not know me very well."

"That is your answer, then. The blood knives do not know me very well." She ran a dusty foot over the dirt to erase the crooked hatch work she had drawn.

"The priests told me that the soles of the feet must never touch the ground, lest the sacred energy coiled within be released into the earth."

"My power is greater than the priests' ignorance. They know that, so they do not challenge me."

"Not yet."

"If you cannot help, then leave me alone."

'As you command, Feather Cloak."

She walked down the path to the village, crossed the bridge of logs laid across the ditch, and passed through the open gate. A third of the company was resting in camp, a third was on guard, and the rest were roaming through the abandoned houses and sheds, looking for anything valuable. The biggest crowd had gathered around one long stone building set a little ways away from the others, with a monstrous stone hearth at the back. Here she found her daughters, one carried by her son and the other by their father.

Her son saw her immediately, and he ran over to her. He was such a good-looking boy, and although he was short and slender because of the years of deprivation, he was clever, and he was eating a lot these days and putting on weight.

The baby was awake. She reached for her mother as soon as she came close. Secha took her and settled her on her hip as the youth circled, unable to stand still.

"The mask warriors are saying that according to the old custom, I'm old enough to be shield carrier now."

"That's what you want?" she asked him, although she already knew his answer, and he only grinned, knowing she knew. "It's important to choose carefully who you bind yourself to as an appren-tice," she added. "You want the best training, and a chance to prove yourself when you're ready, but not before."

But he was already dashing off, no doubt to spill the good news to that young mask warrior he had been following around. Well. She would make sure that he wasn't put in that unit. He would need a trustworthy mentor, someone steady and experienced.

The warriors parted respectfully to let her through into the stone building. It had a stone floor, and a tile roof that had collapsed in one corner. All the windows had lost their shutters. The stones were blackened along one wall, heavy roof beams scorched. Charcoal and other debris littered the floor. It looked as though the place had burned. On the side opposite the massive hearth, shelves had collapsed, and broken pottery made the footing tricky. A pair of mask warriors were picking through the debris by the shelves, although she had no idea what they hoped to find.

Rain had the other baby slung on his back. He was scavenging through the tools near the stone hearth, which was built rather like a little house, open on one side. In some cases these metal implements were merely rims of metal whose bodies of wood had burned away. But there was a massive hammerhead with a hole for a haft, a pair of black iron spears no longer than his arm, tongs and rings, and a spray of spear points and ax and adze heads scattered on the stone floor beside heaps of slag and crumbling charcoal dust.

Seeing her, he smiled.

"This was a forge," he said, displaying a lump of melted bronze on his palm. He set it back down and picked up three wedges in turn, each one bigger than the one before. "Look at the strength of this metal. This must be iron! My master always said iron was impossible to work, yet here it's been done. There's a quarry a short walk from here, and I think they were mining up in the hills.

We could make an outpost here, start a mining operation of our own. There's trees enough for charcoal. If we only had the smithing magic." He hefted the massive hammerhead in both hands.

"To be able to forge iron like this . . . well, they say the raiding parties in the east are looking for blacksmiths."

She settled down cross-legged and in those ruins nursed the babies as he babbled on, showing her each tool and speculating on its purpose, and in this manner fell into a reminiscence about the man he had apprenticed to when he was very young. He'd learned a few things, enough to appreciate the craft and the sorcery, but the old smith had died too early and the knowledge had been lost. That was when Rain had turned to flint-knapping and gained respect for skills honed over many years of practice.

So many had died.

But the days in exile were over, although the taste of dust was still fresh in her mouth. The suck of life is powerful. The babies were strong and sturdy, dark and fat. They were beautiful, and so was this world with its sere hills and secret winds, its changeable sky and restless sea. Even the breath of ancient burning had brought new life to this small corner, where bugs scurried in the cracks and a dusky green vine had grown in through the open window and announced its presence with a pair of perfect white flowers.

Every window is a gateway onto another place. She thought of the doorway woven by the Pale Sun Dog, and she wept a little, remembering the beauty of those glittering threads.

"It'll be dusk soon," he said, interrupting himself. "You'll want to go back to the stones." He took the sleeping babies from her and let her go.

Dawn and dusk were gateways, a passage between night and day.

So was each footstep, which brought you farther from the place you started but closer to the place you hoped to reach.

The youngest of the blood knives was lurking by the village gate, and she fell in beside Secha, looking around with all the furtive nonsensicalness of a child playing at hide-and-seek. She was not much older than Secha's own son, but she was a sleek and fine young woman who seemed years older, honed to a cutting edge that made young men stare. She was not at all the kind of woman Secha had any wish for a sweet lad like her own dear son to fall into lust with, but otherwise she liked her far better than any of the older blood knives.

"They're sour and bitter," said the girl with a smirk, as if she had tasted Secha's thoughts. "They want to go back to the temples and lick blood off their tongues. But I know you understood the magic of weaving, didn't you?"

"No. But I could. If someone taught me its secrets."

They crossed the ditch in silence except for the creak of planks beneath their feet.

"In the house of youth I was best in my cohort at calculating numbers," the girl confessed without humility. "It was a great honor to my household when the sky counters brought a serpent skirt to the chief of our village. They tied the sash of apprenticeship over my shoulder and sent me out to serve with the army. But now I see something I want more."

Secha nodded, and the girl looked at her and nodded, and that was all that needed to be said.

A pair of brawny mask warriors walked past, going toward the village, and the young woman tilted her chin and canted her shoulders and twitched a hip so that they flushed dark and pulled on their ears and hurried on, too intimidated to look back after her.

"Why do you do that?" Secha asked.

"Because I can." Then she started, like a young hare. "Best they not see me with you," she murmured, and shied off into the camp as swiftly as she could without running and drawing more attention to herself.

The blood knives were preparing to depart the camp in the company of Feather Cloak and a number of mask warriors, so Secha fell in at the end of the procession, unnoticed and undisturbed. Just beyond the encampment a path split off from the main road and curled up over a slope. Within a cradle of shallow hills stood the eleven stones that marked this circle. Ten stood as though newly raised while the eleventh had fallen off to one side where the hillside had caved in under it. The brambles and vines that had covered it had been cleared away in the last few days.

They waited somewhat back from the circle, since no one wanted to get too close. No one knew quite what to expect, even though the dawns and dusks of the last six days had passed uneventfully. The young serpent skirt sidled out of the gathering shadows to join the other sky counters. She did not look once at Secha; her gaze was fixed on the dark stones.

The wind died. Twilight settled. Out here beyond the White Road, they rarely saw the sun, and tonight the entire sky was covered with a mantle of pale cloud. It was chilly. A pair of warriors breathed into their hands. Feather Cloak was tapping her foot, looking irritated and impatient. She had brought Little Beast with her—the rest of the hostages had been left behind in a pen—and her granddaughter stood perfectly still. The contrast was almost amusing. She was waiting. They all were waiting. Each in their own way.

It was entirely quiet. Distant sounds drifted on the wind: a goat's complaint, chiming laughter, a snatch of song.

A faint melody ringing as out of the heavens tingled through her, seeping into flesh and bone. She gasped.

The crown flowered into a blossom of brilliant light, threads weaving and crossing, caught in the warp of the unseen stars and wefted through the stones. Led by Fox Mask, the mask warriors burst out of the gateway. They were laughing and howling and chattering and singing, burdened with tools and sacks and an iron kettle and a pair of cows and four horses and a herd of terrified sheep and one interested dog that everyone seemed to ignore although the animal was busily keeping the sheep in a tight group.

The blood knives cried out a brief poem, a song of praise, because there were six prisoners as well, bound and under close guard, one woman in long robes and five men, all struggling against the ropes that restrained them.

Last came Zuangua. He held an iron sword drawn behind the Pale Sun Dog, whose face was pale with weariness. Threads dissolved into a shower of sparks. These flares died, and suddenly it was dark.

"Silence!" cried Feather Cloak.

"Success!" barked Fox Mask in answer, and in reply they heard the weeping and curses of the prisoners.

Sparks bit, and oil lamps and reed tapers were lit. Light and shadow wove through the assembly.

Zuangua said, "Where is my Little Beast?"

Little Beast sprang forward and barreled into him. He patted her on the head as he might a favored dog. "Can I go with you next time, Uncle?" she demanded. "I'm old enough to be a shield bearer."

Her speech was fluid and fluent, shockingly so, but they had gotten used to it; everyone agreed it was some gift of the blood or the taint of sorcery, inherited from her mother. Maybe she had been bitten by snakes.

"Old enough," he agreed carelessly, and he looked at the blood knives as if daring them to try to wrest her from him.

But the priests stared avidly at the prisoners. The woman in long robes had begun chanting in a singsong voice that reminded Secha of the sky counters' praying. It seemed she had power, because the other prisoners calmed and steadied, although by their flaring eyes and gritted teeth they were still as terrified as the bleating sheep. There was a short man with thick arms and massive shoulders; there was a youth little older than her own son; there was a man with blood on his tunic and another who limped from a wound, and the last was white-faced with shock although he was the tallest and plumpest among them.

"You can't have all of them," said Zuangua to the priests. "Those two—" He indicated the burly man and the youth. "—we took from their forging house. They're blacksmiths."

The priest-woman in her long robes looked toward the stone circle. The Pale Dog was leaning against one of the stones as though exhausted, his eyes closed and his breathing shallow. His mouth was parted, and his chin and jaw and lips moved ever so slightly, as if he were talking to himself in an undertone. Everything was pale in him, fair hair, fair skin, undyed linen tunic pallid against the night, and a gold circle hung on a necklace at his fair throat. The dark stone framed him, highlighting his beauty and his cunning power, his strength and his shine.

The priest-woman cursed him. You didn't need to understand the words to hear the power of her speech.

But if he heard her, he gave no sign. His eyes remained closed. He might have been sleeping, mumbling as dreamers do, except for the twitching of one little finger.

Zuangua had a mask after all, one tipped up on his head: he wore the visage of a dragon, proud and golden, just as he was.

"I have something to say," he began, and Feather Cloak raised a hand to allow him to continue.

"He is a very evil man," observed Zuangua as his warriors waved their hands in agreement. "He has lost even the love and loyalty for kinfolk that every person ought to have! He betrayed them all, without mercy."

"Thus will humankind fall," said Feather Cloak. "They are faithless each to the other."

Secha spoke up. "Not all of them are. Liathano kept faith with your son, Sanglant."

At the mention of those names, the Pale Dog's jaw tightened, but he did not open his eyes. He had very good hearing.

"Your son kept faith with his father," said Zuangua to Feather Cloak, "which I saw with my own eyes." He grinned wickedly. "Even this 'little beast' who stands at my side seems to love me."

The girl glanced at him, surprised at his words, then grinned. "You'll teach me to fight!" she exclaimed.

"Beware the beast does not bite you in your time," said Feather Cloak.

"I'd never bite him! I like him, and I hate you."

Feather Cloak studied the girl. In truth, thought Secha, her disin-terest in her only grandchild was no more unnatural than the pale sun hair's disavowal of his kin. "I thought you hated this one called 'Lord Hugh.' "

"I hate him! He's a very bad man. He'll cheat you if he can. He'll kill you."

Feather Cloak smiled, amused, perhaps, by the piping voice and passionate expression of the girl.

"A fair warning, Little Beast. He may try. He is not as strong or as clever as he thinks he is. What of the raid, Uncle?"

He indicated everything they had captured. "We walked between this crown and one that Sun Hair told us was far in the north. He called the place Thersa. We took the villagers by surprise.

They could not fight us. It may be true that the Pale Dogs are many, that they have multitudes, and that we are few. But I tell you, it will be difficult for them to protect themselves against this manner of warfare."

She raised both hands.

The wind came up just then, as though she had called it, and possibly she had. Or maybe it was just the night wind rising off the cooling ground. There was a hint of salt in that air, a fine hissing spray carried in from the sea. And another scent as well, a witching smell that made her ears itch.

The prisoners fell silent. The blood knives covered their faces and prayed. With a puzzled frown, Feather Cloak lowered her hands.

The Pale Sun Dog opened his eyes and, without letting his gaze rest even for an instant on the other Pale Dogs, he scanned the heavens and then the surrounding slopes, the tender grass in its pale splendor and the thorny shrubs that lay along the slopes as strands of darkness. A nightjar whirred. An owl who-whooed.

The night breeze was cool, teasing her hair, kissing her cheeks. That salt breath of the sea faded, and now after all it was only a common night, cloudy, cool, and filled with the crickling of nocturnal insects.

Feather Cloak spoke. 'Among the Wendish there is a saying: 'the luck of the king.' If the king's fortunes fail him, then no warrior will follow him. A prince without a retinue is no prince,' which means that without followers, he cannot rule. If we are not strong enough to defeat Sanglant and shatter his army, then we need only cause such devastation in his country that his people cry for a new feathered cloak—a new regnant—to save them. There are others who claim the right to lead.

It matters not which one leads, or which one claims. Best if they fight among themselves, because that will weaken them. Destroy Sanglant's support, destroy the trust his people have in him, and you have destroyed him even if you have not killed him."

"He is your son," said Zuangua, looking a little disgusted.

"He turned his back on his mother's kinfolk. He swore allegiance to the Pale Dogs. He can't be trusted."

Zuangua shrugged. "No one distrusts the Pale Dogs more than I do. Yet if your son can't be trusted, then neither can this one. For it seems to me that he has done worse by turning his back on his kin and his kind, all and together. At least your son keeps faith with those he has sworn community with. This one is no kind of trustworthy ally."

"I did not say I trusted him. But what he offers, we can use. We will learn as much as we can from him, and after we are done, we will kill him. We will let the blood knives have him, if they can bind him. We will kill all of the human sorcerers, those who know the secret of the crowns.

Then the sorcery of the looms can never again be used against us. For this reason, I will accept his alliance."

The blood knives nodded eagerly. The mask warriors stamped their feet and barked and howled and shrieked approval. The prisoners huddled close to the priest-woman her long robes, and even she with her words of power looked afraid. The flickering light made a golden mask of Feather Cloak's face.

Zuangua nodded thoughtfully. "Yes. We must kill all the human sorcerers. They are the most dangerous of all."

Feather Cloak raised both hands, palms facing heaven, to allow the gods a glimpse into her soul.

"I accept his offer of alliance. I offer him in turn the woman called Liathano."

"What of a powerful offering for the gods?" demanded the blood knives. "What of your promise to us?"

"You can have her afterward," said Feather Cloak, and she smiled mockingly at them. "If you can bind her."

"This is a bad thing," muttered Secha.

"To protect ourselves is a bad thing?"

"To seal an agreement on a lie is a bad thing."

But Kansi-a-lari, The Impatient One, was Feather Cloak now.

"I have spoken," she said irritably.

She beckoned to Sun Hair. She let him approach her. The prisoners watched in dread and anger, and her company watched with an intense excitement so palpable that it seemed to Secha that the ground trembled beneath the soles of her feet, shaken by their eagerness.

These were the tokens they exchanged: He gave to Feather Cloak an iron feather whose essence was so pure that it gleamed with a light all its own. She gave to him a folded mantle, a humble item, to be sure, but he pressed the cloth to his face as though it were the end of his desire.

Thus was the bargain sealed, and their path chosen.

9

MIDNIGHT—or as close to midnight as they could estimate, since no stars were visible to measure out time. They measured by psalms instead, and when they finished singing "Vindicate me, God, for I have walked without blame," all quieted.

Because the church in Novomo had been built in the waning years of the Dariyan Empire, it boasted an impressive processional frieze worked into both walls of the nave above the twin rows of columns that separated the nave from the aisles on either side. In those shadowed aisles waited courtiers and servants, their faces unseen except as pale washes marked by the dark stones that were their eyes and the occasional flash of a ring or gold necklace catching candlelight. Above the waiting masses, the frieze marked the ascent of saints and martyrs toward the Hearth. Each held a saint's crown to place before God. The colored stones in the mosaic shimmered to mark their holy robes and their holy crowns. Even their eyes shone; in this way the saints differ from the guilty who live and suffer on Earth, whose eyes are only pits in whose depths the righteous can discern the black stain of the Enemy.

Candlelight alone lit the church except for a single oil lamp placed on the Hearth itself and burning with the confidence and constancy of the just. By the smoky flames of threescore slender candles the ancient faces of the holy saints and martyrs watched and judged, their serene expressions caught forever in mosaics so cunningly worked that they almost appeared to be a painting. In the empty nave, threescore clerics lined up in two rows. Each cleric carried a taper in cupped hands. Back by the portico, Empress Adelheid and her consort waited under a mosaic rendering of the old palace that had once stood in Novomo; that structure was now half buried within the new palace, which had been erected about a hundred years ago and restored and remodeled several times since then.

So it was with the world: The skopos stood closest to God, beside the altar, and her clerics faced her with the light of truth in their hands. Secular power must wait at the doors of the church, because it could not enter fully. As for the rest, they must huddle in the shadows and pray.

Antonia raised her hands although she had already commanded silence. To her right Lord Berthold knelt on one knee, an arm braced against his thigh. His companion, Lord Jonas, stared at the ground, cowed and frightened, but Berthold studied the scene with the expression of a man who has seen the loveliest rose on Earth trampled and shredded before his eyes. He had grown up well loved and well protected by his father's affection and by his high rank. No doubt the youth had never before understood how cruel and ugly the world was in truth. He did now. You could see it in the way he stared as if he wasn't seeing, in the way he heard and saw without showing the least color of feeling, as if all emotion had been drained out of him with one sharp, deep cut.

As it had been, because weeks ago he had woken to find Lady Elene dead beside him and her blood coagulating around his fingers and sleeves and in the tips of his hair.

That was the truth of the world. It was long past time he discovered it for himself, although unfortunately it had not seemed to bring him to prayer service more often, as it should have. She had offered him a position in her schola—in time a youth of his lineage could hope to rise to become presbyter—but he had refused her so tonelessly that she had known at once that his soul had already fallen into the Pit and was spinning and tumbling in the darkness.

"It is written in the Holy Verses that we will love God, who are Mother and Father of Life for us all, at rest in the Circle of Unity which binds us. How then can the holy church recognize as regnant a man who murdered his own father? How can the holy church bless those who allow such a man to raise himself to power after such an unjust deed? To bless those who have turned against the church and the skopos?"

The halo of light scarcely brushed Adelheid, but Antonia knew her well enough to see by the cant of her shoulders and the tilt of her pale chin that the empress was smiling. The general shifted restlessly. He could speak Dariyan but not so well that he easily understood the words of clerics and scholars, the words of the church whose tenets his kinfolk rejected.

It still galled her, but she knew that even a crude tool may suffice. Must suffice. General Lord Alexandras was, in fact, correct: if Arethousa and Aosta were to survive, they must protect each other against attacks from all sides.

Therefore.

"Let those who aid this patricide be cursed. May they be cursed in their towns and in their fields.

May they be cursed in their cattle and in their flocks. May they be cursed in their children and in their graveyards, in their granaries and in the work of their hands. Those who do not obey this decree, those who offer aid and comfort, will disappear from the Earth. They will be swallowed by fire and swept away by the sea. In waking and sleeping, in eating and drinking, in both bread and wine will they be cursed. They are bound by the chains of anathema. They are exiled from the Circle of Unity."

She extended a hand. Brother Petrus, standing at her left, handed her the trio of scrolls on each one of which the ban was recorded. These she offered to Lord Berthold, who took them without a word of comment and without any change in his mask of stone.

'As these tapers are extinguished, so shall the light of those who disobey us be extinguished and cast into the darkness."

Each cleric knelt and ground out the flame against the floor. The church drowned in darkness, but for the single lamp burning behind the holy mother who rules over all, skopos and guardian of God's Truth.

The Abyss must be dark like this. Black and empty to the eye but swarming with the pitiful breath of souls who wonder, hopelessly, what will come next. Because, of course, nothing will come next. They are doomed to fall forever. That is the true meaning of the curse.

She savored the silence. Every soul there was cowed, as they should be, wondering what power she had that she might raise. The skopos was most powerful of all, and it was necessary for them to remember that.

"Come, Jonas," said Berthold quietly behind her. "Wolfhere and the others should have come now with the horses from the stable. Let's go."

Something about the tone of his voice bothered her. "You will deliver the decree, Lord Berthold,"

she said in a low voice, not wanting her words to carry. "Others will follow on your trail, in case you do not survive the journey. Lest you think to shirk your duty to the skopos."

Out in the nave and aisles, no one had yet gained enough nerve to act or speak.

"I will survive the journey. The Eagle will guide us."

"So he will. He was spared for that purpose. As were you."

"Think you so?" he asked defiantly, and she would have had him scourged for his disrespect, but then it would be all to do over again. No one else had heard. This one time, she would have to let it go.

He rose and, with Jonas following at his heels like a dog, walked down the center of the nave until he and his companion faded into the gloom between the ranks of clerics. She heard the door open, but not close. As they waited they all of them heard a few distant comments, the cheerful ring of harness, and caught a glimpse of a lantern raised high and moving out of sight as the riders left the courtyard on the first stage of their long journey.

All the foreigners were, at long last, gone. Even the cremated remains and pickled heart of Lady Elene had been packed into a box and sent with Berthold. The skulls of Hugh's party, though, had long since been cast out onto the trash heap.

After a long silence came the snick of flint on metal and the flare of a wick catching a spark as one of Adelheid's servants lit a lamp. Down the nave Antonia faced that other flame, placed behind the empress and her consort. What is holy and what is profane must ever be at odds, and yet they must work together as well, because the world is imperfect, stained by darkness.

"Come, Holy Mother," said the empress. "We have rid ourselves of the Wendish at last. In the morning, we will rise free of the taint of northerners. Let them rot without God's blessing, so I pray."

With so many soldiers accompanying the general, Antonia could not mention that the easterners plagued them still.

And yet.

At least the Arethousans knew civilization of a kind, unlike the raw barbarians out of the north who had learned only a hundred years ago to dress in decent clothing instead of a patchwork of skins. The Arethousans were heretics, of course, but at least they had known the name of the blessed Daisan for as many centuries as had the noble Aostans. The northerners had worshiped hills and stones and graves and trees until a generation ago, and some still did in secret, hoarding their heathen ways despite knowing that such falsehoods would bring disaster down on their heads.

Well. Her knees hurt, and her back had a twinge. The robes weighed on her shoulders, and she would be sore tomorrow from standing for so long. She signaled, and folk hustled out of the church in unseemly haste, as if the ceremony had disturbed them when it should have bolstered their determination. Her attendants rushed to help her, bringing a chair. They carried her under the dome decorated with stars and heavenly creatures: a dragon, a griffin, a serpent with a woman's body and face, and a sphinx. A private door was nestled behind a curtain, concealing a small room to one side of the apse. Here, in private, they helped her out of the mantle and vestments. They offered her a couch and wine to rest on. Here, empress and general settled side by side on a second couch, then sipped wine out of golden cups.

"Is there more we can do?" Adelheid asked. "What of the galla, Holy Mother? Surely they could be sent hunting. A Wendish biscop here, a Varren lord there. That would frighten them, would it not?"

'And might rebound against us, if we are accused of harboring malefici, Your Majesty."

"Sorcery is a weapon, like a sword is a weapon," said Alexandras. "If you can thrust, then thrust."

"The ruling of the Council of Narvone has never been superseded," said Antonia patiently. "In western lands it is specifically forbidden to use black sorcery."

"What is this Council of Narvone?" the general asked. "In the east there is only one council that speaks on sorcery. In the holy year of The Word, the year 327, the Council at Kellai did not prohibit magic. Magic is allowed if it is supervised by the church. This ruling we follow in Arethousa. When is—was—this Council at Narvone?"

Antonia examined him thoughtfully. "I did not know you followed church affairs so closely, Lord Alexandras. The Council of Narvone did not take place until after the death of the Emperor Taillefer. In the kingdom of Salia, women are not allowed to take the throne. Since Taillefer died leaving no sons but only daughters, the lords and church folk feared that one of his daughters would usurp power where she had no right to take any. Specifically, they feared his daughter Tallia, who was biscop of Autun. They confirmed the ruling of Kellai, but they condemned the arts of the mathematici, tempestari, augures, haroli, sortelegi, and the malefici, as well as any sorcery performed outside the auspices of the church."

"You rule the church, Holy Mother." Adelheid set down her cup. She had barely touched her wine, although the general called for a second cup for himself. Brother Petrus poured, then retreated to stand by the other servants. Lady Lavinia directed a servant to light a third lamp.

"God rule the church, Your Majesty. Do not forget this, I pray. If we choose to use sorcery, we must tread carefully. Anne did not, and she is dead. My powers are not as great as hers were."

Adelheid shrugged. "So you say, but I never saw her perform more than illusion. It was Hugh's magic that bound the daimone into Henry. Everyone says she was powerful, but in that case, why is she dead, and why did she fail?"

"I have no skill in the arts of the tempestari," said Antonia. "I cannot read the future out of the movements of birds and the placement of entrails, a power some claim. I am no mathematicus, to weave within the crowns. That skill remains beyond me."

"Then what can you do?" Adelheid demanded.

"I know the art of bindings and workings."

" 'Bindings and workings,' " repeated Alexandras, each syllable precise because he did not, quite, understand what she meant by the phrase. "This 'bindings and workings' is not mentioned at your Council of Taillefer, is it?"

"No, indeed, it is not."

They sat in a simple room at odds with the elaborate decoration in the church beyond. Here were only whitewashed bricks but no mosaic work. A pair of couches, covered with wine-colored fabric and stitched with gold thread, faced each other in the middle of the room. An unexceptional table was pushed up against one wall; it held a burning lamp, a vase filled with dried stalks of lavender and a single red rose, a pair of lectionaries, and a forgotten goose quill caught in that slight groove between the curved edge of the table and the wall. Not one tapestry adorned the walls. These walls were as blameless as an unblemished calf being led to the slaughter. A lamp molded in the shape of a griffin hung from a hook sunk into a dark beam overhead. A brass lamp molded in the shape of a dragon remained unlit. A lamp burned over the door, flame twisting behind glass like the soul of a daimone bound into the body of a mortal man.

Just so had Henry lived and died.

Hugh and Anne had both used her, of course. They had sought to manipulate her to do their dirty work for them without teaching her the sorcery they themselves knew. With knowledge comes power. But she had outlived them both—as long, that is, as Hugh was really dead. Anne's demise she rarely doubted, but she still wondered about Hugh. They had never found the thirteenth skull.

Sanglant had escaped death at the hands of the galla. That meant it was possible to survive where the galla stalked.

"He is dead," she murmured, trying the word on her tongue, savoring it but finding it bitter and unreliable.

Alexandras' good eye studied her, then examined the chamber, the servants, the walls, and the lamps, each in turn, as if marking the position of his enemy before battle is joined. His gaze halted on the empress. The taut line of his mouth softened. Adelheid's crown gleamed under lamp light. The gauzy glamour of the light made her look young again, particularly handsome this night, a gentle, pretty woman in need of a strong arm to hold her upright in stormy weather.

Like Henry, Alexandras was a fool. So were all men.

All but Hugh, now that she thought on it. Hugh had never desired Adelheid. Yet Hugh had been a fool like all the others; he had only fixed on other prey.

As she must.

Alexandras spoke. "Who is most dangerous to us, in the north? It must be Sanglant, the king. If Wendar is strong, then Wendar threatens us. If Wendar is weak, they will not attack us. Already we must guard on our south against the Cursed Ones. On our east, against the Jinna. I say: kill Sanglant, and we are safe a while from Wendar."

"It's said he can't be killed," said Antonia, "although I've never believed it."

"Henry believed it," said Adelheid. "He spoke of it often. He bragged of it. How could he have loved that one more than the others? Well. Maybe it's true, but we must still try. And what of his wife? The sorcerer, Liathano? Isn't she dangerous?"

"Liathano!" Alexandras nodded vigorously. "The prince's concubine. She who is named after the Horse woman who cannot die."

"How comes it you have heard of her?" asked Antonia.

He smiled, taking his time, and answered. "We are allies for a time with King Geza of Ungria. He took Princess Sapientia as his wife."

"She was married to Geza's brother, Prince Bayan," cried Adelheid. "Henry would not have liked that! A naked grab for power!"

Alexandras chuckled. "We are all naked, Your Majesty," he said in a way that made Antonia wonder if she ought to trust him less, or trust him more.

The words made Adelheid laugh. She drank her wine.

"This one, called Liathano," continued Alexandras. 'At her we strike, if the man stands beyond our reach."

"Tempting," mused Antonia. "She is powerful. It isn't likely we can harm her."

"What harm to try?" demanded Adelheid. "Strike there, and you weaken Sanglant. It is only a few galla."

"What harm except to the men whose blood must be spilled to call the creatures out of the Pit,"

said Antonia with a frown, not liking the empress' levity. "If we kill heedlessly, our own people may turn against us."

"There are guilty aplenty who have earned death," said Adelheid.

'And many innocent who deserve life," said Alexandras, "but are dead."

The fool believed in innocence, no doubt because he must believe his wife and children stainless although every Arethousan was stained by their heretical beliefs. It was only remarkable that God had waited so long to castigate them.

"Your Majesty. Lord General. I am willing to act against the one called Liathano. But what does it benefit us to kill her, beyond the satisfaction of revenge?"

Adelheid shook her head. "Revenge is satisfaction enough! Reason enough! If Sanglant cannot be killed, then kill what he loves best. Send galla. Send spies. Send what you will. But if she is dead, then he will suffer as I have suffered. That is good enough for me."

EPILOGUE

FROM Gent, the king and his retinue rode to the northern sea. Just as the young guardsman had reported, the shoreline was substantially altered. The river had lost its path to the sea and now spilled into a vast expanse of marsh where once it had pushed through in a double channel emptying into the wide northern waters. The shoreline, according to a pair of locals who guided them, had actually receded, leaving the seabed exposed and sandy flats scoured by the winter winds, casting sand inland in great stinging storms.

'After the tempest," said the spry crone whose commentary Sanglant found most reliable, "the river ran backward, and eddied, for a fortnight. There was flooding upstream. Yet water will flow north out of the southern hills. Now, you see," she pointed at the expanse of flat ground cut by ribbons of trickling water, "how it is clawing a hundred finger tracks to the sea."

They stood on a bluff overlooking what had once been the deeper, western channel. Its exposed troughs had only a trickle of water pushing through them. The rest of the ground was slick with rocks and water weed, and littered with the skeletons of a half dozen sunken, battered ships. Here and there he glimpsed what might be bones tumbled every which way. A vast, rusted chain snaked across the old channel.

Liath was exploring through the muck below with Sibold and Lewenhardt in attendance. They were laughing at something Sibold had pried up from a muddy hole, but he couldn't see what it was. Liath straightened and looked up toward him, lifted a hand to acknowledge him, and went back to her excavations.

Sanglant wandered along the bluff, marking where unknown folk had built and later abandoned two ballistae.

"I wonder," said Hathui, who remained always at his side, "if these are the catapults used by Count Lavastine to break the Eika fleet as it escaped out to sea."

"Lavastine? This is not his county."

"He was with King Henry, Your Majesty, when the king brought an army to retake Gent."

"Of course. I recall it now. His heir . . ."

He paused, remembering with unexpected clarity that awful moment at the feast held to celebrate King Henry's victory at Gent over the Eika chieftain, Bloodheart. After gorging on food laid out before him, he had had to bolt into the darkness to empty his stomach. He had been, in those days, little better than a prince among dogs, half wild, barely conscious of his human mind.

Lavastine's son had come to him at the edge of camp, and Lord Alain had treated him gently, with respect and kindness, so that he did not feel shame at his condition. He touched the gold torque at his neck, where once an iron collar had chafed him. "As long as you wear the collar at your neck, then surely you will not be free of Bloodheart's hand on you," the young man had said to him.

True words, although he hadn't understood them then.

"What happened to him?" he asked.

"Lavastine's heir? It transpired that he was not after all Lavas-tine's son, bastard or otherwise.

Lord Geoffrey's daughter was named as heir. The one called Alain might have been punished more severely, but it wasn't possible to prove that he had had a deliberate hand in the deception.

Some declared that Lavastine had forced the youth to accept his position as son. Most in the county praised his stewardship. The king chose to be merciful and allow the lad to serve him another way. He marched as a Lion into the east. After that, I do not know."

"He showed me kindness. I can't forget that."

He returned to the locals, who had obviously explored this site before and in the intervening years scavenged what they could from the wreckage. On the highest windswept curve of the bluff he stood knee-deep in windblown grass as he surveyed the land.

Liath and her companions had struck out across the old channel, following the path made by the massive chain. Beyond the riverbed, to the east, lay rockier ground, and beyond that a delta of reeds and drowned grass. In the other direction, to the west, had once lain pastureland and broken woodland, but these had turned to marsh, and now the scrub and trees soaked their feet in water.

North, the old tidal flats that had once surfaced only at low tide gleamed in barren splendor, completely exposed. The sea shone in the distance, visible as a shimmer of silver running below the pale horizon of cloud.

"Snowmelt," said the crone. "Floods from the melt cut those little channels through the flats.

There was plenty of snow last winter and too much rain in the autumn, before the great storm.

But we've had no rain for planting season."

"It's like the heavens closed right up," said her cousin, who was quieter but more inclined to fancy. "Like they was a wineskin run dry." He nodded to himself, and grinned, liking his comparison.

"You're quite the poet!" retorted his skeptical cousin. She was steward at a royal estate and had, as a child, spoken once to King Arnulf the Younger himself, so she had no hesitation in addressing a new king young enough to be her grandson. "What it means to us, Your Majesty, is that we've had no planting season, what with this frost and every night so cold. Will these clouds ever leave?"

Sanglant had no answer. The tides of destruction had reached farther than he had ever dreamed possible. He could only assess the changes in the land and, with his progress, ride on through a world transformed.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Historical characters are not listed as deceased.

Characters listed as deceased are those who died within fifteen years (or so) before the action in King's Dragon begins. Characters who die during the course of the series are not listed as deceased in this list.

Wendar and Varre:

King Henry (son of Arnulf the Younger and Mathilda of Karrone)(king regnant) his bastard son by Alia (Kansi-a-lari):

Sanglant

his children by Sophia of Arethousa (first wife):

Sapientia

Theophanu

Ekkehard

his children by Adelheid of Aosta (second wife):

Mathilda

Berengaria

Henry's brothers and sisters:

Richildis (renamed Scholastica, abbess of Quedlinhame)

Rotrudis (duchess of Saony)

Benedict (married to Marozia of Karrone)

Constance (biscop of Autun and later duchess of Arconia)

Bruno

various other children who died in infancy

Alberada (Henry's illegitimate half sister, daughter of Arnulf the Younger, now biscop of Handelburg) Sabella (half sister, daughter of Arnulf the Younger and Berengaria of Varre)

the Regnant's Progress:

His Schola: Rosvita

Her Clerics:

Amabilia

Constantine

Fortunatus

Gerwita

Heriberg

Jehan

Jerome

Ruoda

Aurea (a servant)

Other Clerics: Elsebet Eudes Monica

His Lions:

Thiadbold (a captain)

Artur

Dedi

Folquin

Gerulf

Gotfrid (a sergeant)

Ingo

Karl

Leo

Stephen

Fridesuenda (Dedi's betrothed)

His Eagles:

Ernst

Hanna

Hathui

Manfred

Rufus

Wolfhere

Sanglant's Retinue:

m. to Liathano

Blessing (their daughter)

His Schola:

Breschius

Heribert

His Personal Guard:

Captain Fulk

Captain Istvan

Anshelm

Arnulf

Berro

Chustaffus

Cobbo

Den

Ditmar

Everwin

Fremen

Johannes

Lewenhardt

Liutbald

Malbert

Maurits

Sibold

Surly

Wracwulf

Blessing's Retinue:

Heribert (see also schola, above)

Anna

Berda Matto Odei Thiemo

Jerna (a daimone)

personal servants:

Ambrose

Johannes

Robert

Theodulf

other retainers: Gyasi (a Quman shaman) his nephews, including Odei Gnat (a Jinna) Mosquito (a Jinna)

Argent (a male griffin) Domina (a female griffin)

royal households:

Henry's servants: Wito (a steward)

Sapientia's companions: Everelda

Theophanu's companions: Gutta (a serving woman) Leoba Ekkehard's companions:

Benedict

Frithuric

Lothar

Manegold

Milo

Thiemo

Welf

The Duchies:

Saony

Duchess Rotrudis her children:

Imma

Sophie

Wichman

Zwentibold

Reginar (abbot of Firsebarg)

Marcovefa (a Salian concubine) Rowena (a deacon)

Fesse

Duchess Liutgard

m. to Frederic of Avaria (her husband, deceased)

their children:

older daughter

Ermengard

Avaria

Burchard and Ida their children:

Wendilgard

Agius (a frater)

Frederic (m. to Liutgard of Fesse, deceased)

Ucco (a mountain guide)

Arconia

Berengar and Sabella their daughter: Tallia

Amalfred (a Salian lord)

Tammus (a captain, known also as Ulric, keeper of the guivre) Wayland

Conrad (called "The Black")

m. to Eadgifu of Alba (first wife)

their children:

Elene

Aelfwyn

m. to Tallia of Varre (second wife) their children:

Berengaria

two daughters (died in infancy)

Foucher (a foreman at the mines) Robert (a criminal) Walker (a slave at the mines) Will (a slave at the mines)

Varingia

Duchess Yolanda (daughter of Rodulf the Elder and Ida)

Rodulf the Younger

Erchanger

Towns & Counties:

Autun:

Ulric (a captain)

Erkanwulf (a soldier)

Louisa (daughter of Captain Ulric)

Gent:

Amalia (lady of Gent)

Autgar (an apprentice to Suzanne)

Ernust (a guard)

Fastrada (a serving woman at the mayor's palace)

Frederun (a serving woman at the mayor's palace)

Gisela (mistress of Steleshame, a nearby village)

Hano (a saddler)

Helen (a foundling)

Hildegard (count of Gent)

Hrodik (lord of Gent)

Humilicus (a prior)

Matthias (Anna's brother)

Miriam (a child)

Raimar (Suzanne's betrothed)

Suzanne (a weaver) Uota (a servant) Werner (mayor)

Lavas Holding:

Lavastine (count, turned to stone by an Eika spell)

Lavastina (his great-grandmother)

Charles Lavastine (son of Lavastina)

Charles the Younger (son of Charles Lavastine, father of Lavastine) Geoffrey (Lavastine's cousin, descendent of the younger brother of Lavastina)

m. to unnamed lady (deceased) Lavrentia (the current count) m. to Aldegund (second wife) two sons

Cook (a servant) Dhuoda (a chatelaine) Fell (a sergeant) Heric (a servant) Lackling (a servant) Raimond (a servant) Robert (a servant) Rodlin (stable-master) Rose (deceased, a refugee) Ulric (a carter) Waldrada (a deacon) Withi (a woman)

Meginher, Aldegund's brother

North Mark:

Harl, count of the North Mark married various women his children: Rosvita (a cleric)

Gero (heir and later count)

various children

Ivar

Dorit (a hired woman) Fortensia (deacon in Heart's Rest) Lars (a hired man) Liudolf (a marshal) Birta (an innkeeper) m. to Hansal their children:

Thancmar

Inga

Hanna

Karl

Osna:

Bel (a householder) m. to Ado (deceased) their children: Stancy m. to Artald various children Julien

Blanche (illegitimate daughter) m. to Julia

Conrad Bruno Agnes m. to Guy Henri (Bel's brother)

Corinthia (a deacon) Fotho (a woodsman) Garia (a householder in Osna) Giles Fisher (a boatbuilder) Miria (a deacon)

The Bretwald:

Martin (a boy saved from Gent)

Flora (Martin's wife)

Balt

Baltia

Bruno

Nan

Ulf

Uta

Others:

Dietrich (a lord)

Church-folk:

Biscop Alberada of Handelburg

Biscop Antonia of Mainz (later removed from office)

Biscop Suplicia of Gent

Biscop Thierra

Deacon Adalwif (in the marchlands)

Methodius (prior at Quedlinhame)

Mother Otta (abbess of Korvei)

Mother Rothgard (abbess of St. Valeria)

Mother Scholastica (abbess of Quedlinhame)

Willibrod (a cleric in the service of Antonia)

Zacharias (a frater)

Hersford Monastery:

Adso (a monk)

Bardo (abbot)

Beatrix (cousin to Ortulfus)

Egbert (a monk)

Felicitus (gatekeeper)

Fidelus (a monk)

Hosed (a farmer whose land is tithed to the monastery)

Iso (a lay brother)

Lallo (monk in charge of the lay brothers)

Mangod (a lay brother)

Ortulfus (abbot)

Ratbold (prior)

Queen's Grave:

Ivar, son of Harl & Herlinde

Baldwin

Ermanrich

Hathumod

Sigfrid

Biscop Constance

her retinue:

Bona (a nun)

Eligia (a nun)

Frotharia (a nun, assistant to Nanthild)

Nanthild (the infirmarian)

Maynard (a villager)

The Marchlands

Austra and Olsatia

Judith

her children:

Hugh (illegitimate)

Gerberga (current margrave) m. to Ekkehard of Wendar

Bertha

Theucinda

Adelinde (companion to Judith)

Eigio (servant to Hugh)

Hemma (a serving woman)

Vindicadus (a servant in the employ of Hugh)

March of the Villains

Helmut Villam

his children by various wives: Waltharia, margrave m. to Druthmar several children Berthold Hedwig (a former Eagle) Humbert (a steward) Jonas (comrade to Berthold Villam) Waldhar (a servant)

Westfall

Werinhar (margrave of Westfall, deceased)

Eastfall

currently without a margrave

The Lands Beyond

Salia:

Clothilde (a deacon, attendant to Tallia) St. Radegundis (the last queen of Taillefer) Tallia (a biscop, daughter of Taillefer) Taillefer (the emperor)

Arethousa:

Lady Eudokia

Lord Nikolas (nephew of Eudokia, putative emperor)

Basil (a chamberlain)

General Lord Alexandras Sergeant Bysantius

Ungria:

King Geza

Prince Bayan

Lady Ilona (a widow)

Aosta:

Queen Adelheid

m. to unnamed lord (her first husband) (deceased)

m. to Henry of Wendar (her second husband)

their children

Mathilda

Berengaria

her servants and soldiers and allies: Lady Lavinia of Novomo Captain Falco Captain Rikard Gerbert (a soldier) Milo (a soldier)

the office of the skopos: Clementia

Abelia (a cleric) Hatto (a presbyter) Ismundus (a presbyter) Petrus (a presbyter) others:

Arcod (a factor traveling with Brother Severus) Ildoin (a monk traveling with Brother Severus) John Ironhand (pretender to the Aostan throne)

St. Ekatarina's Convent:

Mother Aurica (abbess before Obligatia) (deceased)

Mother Obligatia

Carita

Diocletia

Hilaria

Lucida

Paloma (a lay sister)

Petra

Sindula

Teuda (a lay sister)

The Ashioi:

Eldest Uncle (twin of Zuangua) (father of Kansi)

Green Skirt

Kansi-a-lari, aka Uapeani-kazonkansi-a-lari,

The Impatient One (Sanglant's mother) Rain (a flintknapper) Secha Sharp Edge Skull Earrings White Feather Zuangua (twin of Eldest Uncle)

warriors: Buzzard Mask Cat Mask

Falcon Mask Fox Mask Lizard Mask

The Eika:

the WiseMothers (the most ancient ones) OldMother (the one who leads each tribe) YoungMother (the next OldMother) SwiftDaughters (those females who will not breed) Rikin Fjord:

Stronghand

Bloodheart (Stronghand's father)

Rikin slaves:

Otto

Ursuline (a deacon)

other chiefs and individuals: Dogkiller (Vitningsey's chief) Flint (Hakonin's chief) Grimstroke Ironclaw (Isa's chief) Nokvi (Moerin's chief)

Stronghand's army:

Aestan (an Alba soldier)

Eagor (aka Tiderunner)

Far-runner (friend of Yeshu)

Fellstroke

Last Son

Longnose

Quickdeath (of Hakonin)

Sharpspear

Tiderunner (friend to Aestan, aka Eagor)

Trueheart

Walker

Will

Yeshu (a Hessi interpreter)

Albans:

Eadig (earl of the Middle Country)

Ediki (of Weorod)

Elafi of the Isle (a sorcerer)

Erling (earl of the Middle Country)

Ki of the Isle

Manda of the Isle (Eel Tribe)

the Horse People:

Li'at'dano (a shaman, the Holy One)

Capi'ra (a warrior)

Sorgatani (a Kerayit shaman) Berda (a Kerayit healer)

the Quman:

Bulkezu (a chief)

Cherbu (brother of Bulkezu, a shaman)

Gyasi (a shaman)

Odei (nephew of Gyasi)

Agnetha (a prisoner) Boso (an interpreter)

the skrolin:

Gold-skin

Pale-skin

Pewter-skin

The Seven Sleepers:

Clothilde (founder)

Anne

Bernard (a frater)

Liathano (called Liath) (his daughter) Hiltrudis (deceased) Marcus Meriam (mother of Conrad the Black) Rothaide (deceased) Severus Theoderada (deceased) Venia (replaced by Reginar) Wolfhere (replaced by Abelia) Zoe (replaced by Hugh) In The Past:

Abidi (Urtan's mate)

Adica (a shaman at Queen's Grave)

Agalleos (of the Copper people, uncle to Maklos and Shevros) Agda (the healer at Queen's Grave)

Beor (war captain at Queen's Grave)

Dorren (a Walking One—a messenger)

Etora (Beor's sister)

Getsi (a granddaughter of Orla)

Hani (a young man of Kartia)

Hehoyanah (a young woman of Kartia)

Kel (a young man at Queen's Grave)

Kerayi (Weiwara's infant, aka Blue-bud)

Laoina (Walking One of the Akka people)

Maklos (of the Copper people, twin to Shevros)

Nahumia (leader at Old Fort)

Ni'at (of the Horse people)

Orla (leader of Queen's Grave)

Oshidos (of the Copper people)

Pur (a stone knapper at Queen's Grave)

Shevros (of the Copper people, twin to Maklos)

Sos'ka (of the Horse people)

Tosti (a young man at Queen's Grave)

Ulfrega (war captain at Four Houses)

Urta (child of Urtan)

Urtan (Adica's cousin)

Useti (Weiwara's older child)

Weiwara (a woman at Queen's Grave)

Wren (mate of Dorren)

Wrinkled-old-man (the younger twin born to Weiwara)

the weavers:

Adica (Queen's Grave)

Brightness-Hears-Me (the tribe of Essit)

Falling-down (the fens)

Hehoyanah (apprentice to Two Fingers)

Horn (dying)(replaced by Two Fingers)

Shuashaana (Shu-sha, of the Copper people) Spits-last (Tanioinin of the Akka people) Two Fingers (of Kartia)

the Three Queens: Arrow Bright Golden Sow Toothless