PROLOGUE (109 page)

"That tower belonged to Narvos' clan," murmured Maklos, with a look that suggested he still took the loss personally.” The Cursed Ones took it when I was a boy."

"All this was our country once," said Agalleos.

"And will be again," retorted Maklos.

They looked each at the other; something about the lightning shift of expressions, their grim frowns, made Alain shiver as at a touch of cold wind or the frozen lips of an evil spirit kissing his heart. They moved on into the forest, heading north into broken country.

By midday they reached the river. It was nothing at all like the great northern rivers, the Rhowne and the Veser, with their wide banks and streaming current. No Eika ship could have navigated this river; it was too rocky, too shallow, more rapids than river, really. The ford was guarded by an outpost of Cursed Ones, an earthen palisade, a stone tower, and two concentric ditches to protect against attacks. A road struck north, paved with stones, a magnificent piece of engineering.

"Their armies are moving north and west now," whispered Agalleos, "to fight the Horse people."

Alain told them about the group that had attacked at Queens' Grave and kidnapped Adica.” Do you think they can walk the looms? Is that how they came there?"

Agalleos fingered his beard, as if the topic made him uncomfortable.” I've heard it said. I've never seen it, nor why should I have? I am not a Hallowed One, to be allowed to glimpse the magic of the heavens. The Cursed Ones have strong legs and growing armies. They have roads, and their own cursed magic. Why should they need to steal what little we have?"

"To make us their slaves," said Maklos.” They would leave us with nothing but our deaths. Even our deaths they take from us, to give to their gods. This isn't even their land. I wish they'd go back into their ships and let the sea swallow them up."

"But don't the Hallowed Ones have some great weaving planned?" asked Alain.” Isn't their magic enough to defeat—?"

Agalleos slapped a hand against Alain's mouth.” Speak not of what is forbidden. We are not Hallowed Ones. It is not allowed for us to hear such secrets or even speak of their existence."

Shevros was staring at Alain as though he'd sprouted horns in place of his ears. Rage growled, and Agalleos, glancing at the hounds nervously, took a step back.

Maklos, standing closest to the edge of the wood, hissed softly.” Uncle. Come see."

Alain's face still stung from the unexpected blow. His heart raged, and yet he was ashamed of himself as well. What right had he to delve into the secrets known to Adica and her companions, that they had suffered and died for, that they had trained long years to master? Yet the more he knew, the more likely he could help Adica. Resentment flared. What right had the Holy One to thrust him into a world he did not understand, to command him to play his part, and yet never tell him the truth?

He had so many questions. How was it he could understand his companions? Was it because this was the afterlife? Yet he hadn't been able to understand Two Fingers, or the folk in the desert, or the Akka people. Instead of the afterlife, perhaps this was simply a different life. Truly, people did not seem so dissimilar here, even if their customs and secrets were unfamiliar to him.

Sorrow licked his hand.

In any case, wasn't it the Holy One they had come to Shu-Sha's land to rescue? Once they had. rescued her, she could answer his questions.

"Hsst!" Agalleos beckoned to Shevros.” Do you see that standard? What mark?"

Alain eased forward so that he, too, could see. Visitors had come to the outpost, a procession of at least two hundred people, most of them soldiers dressed in bronze armor and helmets and carrying the long spears that he now recognized as typical of the Cursed Ones.

o

"The blood-knife." Shevros' eyes were sharpest. Alain could not quite make out the insignia marked on the white standard, a narrow length of cloth bound vertically along a pole.” Look there. The high priest's feathers."

Shevros' words struck the others to silence. They watched from concealment as the retinue entered through the gate and disappeared behind the palisade bank, but they had all glimpsed the figure wearing a magnificent headdress composed of iridescent blue-green feathers.

With a heavy voice, Agalleos spoke.” There can only be one reason the high priest of Serpent Skirt would leave his temple in the City of Skulls. He must be going out to oversee the return of an important prisoner. Or to kill her."

They looked at each other, then, the uncle and his two young nephews. They were speaking not with words but with their expressions. Questions were asked, a decision made, and Alain did not yet even understand what was going on.

But they did.

"I'll go back," said Shevros.” I know the worm's road best." He grinned, just a little, as he looked at his twin.” I know you, Mak-los. You'll not be content if you don't go forward. I wish you glory of it. Just don't get yourself killed." He grabbed his twin by the shoulders and kissed him soundly on either cheek.

"What's going on?" demanded Alain. They looked at him as if they had forgotten he was there. Agalleos' words penetrated far enough to.waken in his mind the conversation he'd had with Laoina in those last moments before they'd parted. Rage whined. At the northern gate, the priest and his escort appeared again, supported by a dozen men from the outpost as they marched to the ford and began the crossing.” You think that party is going to fetch the Holy One, from wherever she is being held prisoner."

"We must follow them," said Agalleos.” We cannot risk losing their trail. Shevros will return by the worm's road to the camp and alert the queen. Then she can send a raiding party this far, at least. That way, maybe, we can rescue the Holy One. Otherwise " He shrugged, making the gesture, at his throat, of a knife slitting the skin.

"I have to go back to the camp, to Adica."

"If you must, then go." Agalleos said the words widiout anger or accusation.” But if you go with Shevros, you must go now, and you must leave your spirit guides with us. We'll take care of them as best as we are able. We'll bring them safely back to you, if we can."

Shevros was already shedding most of his gear, taking only a knife, two waterskins, and a pouch of food. His shield, his spear, even his sword he left behind.

"Ai, God," murmured Alain, sick to the depths of his heart. The hounds gazed at him patiently. Tears welled in his eyes but did not fall.

Shevros, ready, turned to look at him expectantly, waiting for his decision.

"Why is the Holy One so important?" Alain asked finally, hearing the words tumble out, feeling as might a man scrabbling for a branch to grab onto as he slides over the edge of a cliff.

"Without the shaman of the Horse people," said Agalleos, "so I have heard, the Hallowed Ones cannot work their magic. That is all I know." He glanced impatiently toward the ford, where half of the priest's party had already crossed. A raft had been brought for the man wearing the feather headdress.” That is all I need to know. I am theirs to command in the war against the Cursed Ones."

"The Holy One brought me here," murmured Alain.” She saved my life."

There wasn't really any choice. He had a debt to pay. Honor obliged him. And anyway, he could never abandon the hounds.

"I'll stay with you."

SHE dreamed.

Seven jewels on the seven points of the crown worn by Emperor Taillefer, all gleaming, yet they recede before her, or she falls away and upward, and their light spreads out until a band of darkness lies between each discrete point, like a thousand leagues of land J

between them, a vast crown of stars straddling the land itself. But where the brilliant light winks, it turns over in the manner of a restless beast as she walks into a cavern heaped with treasure. Young Berthold, Villam's missing son, sleeps peacefully, gold and silver his bed. Six attendants lie in slumber around him. Their respiration breathes a soft mist into the air, churning and twisting, and through that mist she sees into another landscape where a woman with wings of flame wanders through a cold and barren land. The winged woman's face is turned away, but surely she knows her; surely she has only to speak to touch her "Sister, I pray you. Wake up."

She woke suddenly, into the darkness. A lamp hovered overhead, held by the nervous hand of her servant Aurea.

"Sister."

"What is it, Brother Fortunatus?"

He sat on the edge of the bed, holding her hand. She could feel how cold her hand was in contrast to the warmth of his fingers.” Are you well enough to rise today?" he asked, glancing anxiously toward the door, still hidden in the early morning shadows.

Aurea set down the lamp and frowned at the cleric, although her heart wasn't in it. Rosvita had long suspected that Aurea had taken a liking to Fortunatus, but he had vowed his life to the church and, unlike certain of his brethren, kept steadfastly to his pledge of chastity and devotion to God.” I told you not to be bothering my lady," she said, "even if it's true she's much better."

"You were ill, too, Fortunatus," said Rosvita.

"The summer fever afflicted many of us, Sister," he agreed, "but I am well enough now."

"You're too thin. I can see that you're still tired."

"This would not wait, Sister."

She sat up. She was light-headed but otherwise felt hearty enough, even hungry.” If you will, Brother."

He retreated hastily to stand in the hall outside. Three young clerics hurried in to fuss over her as Aurea helped her with her morning business and dressing.

"Sister Rosvita! You look so well today!" That was young Sister Heriburg, short, stout, with a bland, amiable face and the hands of an angel when it came to writing.

"Sister Infirmarian says not one soul died last night." Sister Ruoda marched over to the window and threw open the shutters while timid Sister Gerwita shrieked in protest.” Nay, for if the contagion is dying, then the air isn't contaminated anymore, and I must say, begging your pardon, Sister Rosvita, but it smells in here."

Rosvita laughed while Aurea, eyes wide, tucked her mouth down into tight-lipped disapproval. But the young women were themselves a breath of fresh air, as the ancients would say. She watched them bustle around, setting the place to rights: straightening the blankets, closing the two books Rosvita had been reading, wiping sand off the table, cleaning the pen that Rosvita had forgotten last night when she had worked at her
History
until fatigue drove her to her bed. They were so young, so clever. So energetic. She remembered being that enthusiastic once, overwhelmed by the glory of the regnant's schola.

"Now that you are better," said Sister Heriburg, who wasn't as bland as she looked, "I'll have the servants bring our pallets back here. You ought not to have to sleep alone."

"Even in the kitchens they're saying no one died last night," Aurea commented as she helped Rosvita with her robes.” The local folk say that when a dawn comes with no dead, then the fever is spent and autumn will follow soon."

"That would truly be a blessing." Rosvita sat patiently while Aurea brushed out her tangled hair, braided it, and pinned it up at her neck, a cloth cap sewn with a net of jewels tucked up and over her hair. Fortunatus, obviously agitated, crept back in and seated himself on the bed again, since Rosvita had taken the only chair.” What troubles you, Brother?"

"Messages. I saw an Eagle ride in. She'd come from the north, from Princess Theophanu, but instead of being taken to Queen Adelheid, she was led away to see Presbyter Hugh."

"Perhaps the queen was asleep. She's been up many nights with the infant." She hesitated, seeing his distressed expression.” Surely there's no rumor of any unseemly intimacy between queen and presbyter."

"Nay." His grin flashed, and a familiar spark of mischief lit his expression.” None but what you've just whispered yourself."

Ruoda could not have been above eighteen years, but she had never learned to school her tongue.” They're a handsome couple, when they hold court together as they do now, with King Henry out on campaign in the south."

"Queen Adelheid is devoted to the king!" protested Heriburg indignantly.

"Truly, and so would I be if he'd given me back my throne, and fathered my child."

"Hush, infant," said Fortunatus as mildly as he ever could. Like Rosvita, he liked the bustle and hubbub now that their numbers had increased again. He turned back to Rosvita.” Not one soul in Darre has a bad word to say about Presbyter Hugh. Why should they? There's no man with gentler manners or a more noble bearing." Did sarcasm twitch his lips as he spoke? For once, she couldn't tell.