PROLOGUE (14 page)

the beast gnawing down there, but whether it was anger that woke and troubled the beast, or the beast that fed his anger, he didn't know. Fate had betrayed him: his own mother had used and discarded him, his father had cherished him but only as long as it served his purpose. He had sworn enemies he'd never heard tell of, who hated him because of his blood and who would have watched his beloved daughter starve to death without lifting a finger to help. Liath had been torn from him, and despite Alia's explanation that the creatures who had kidnapped her had been daimones, fire elementals, he didn't actually know what had happened to her or whether she was alive or dead.

Still cradling Blessing, he watched as Sergeant Cobbo's men stripped the bandits of their belongings and clothes, such as they were, and dug a shallow grave. They came to the bowman finally, and he heard their exclamations over the power of the blow that had smashed the dead man's head in. They glanced his way at intervals with a kind of sunstruck awe, although thank the Lord they had
not been
stricken with the babbling reverence with which Matto now regarded him.

They hadn't heard the bowman begging for mercy as he had scrambled away. He hadn't heard it either, not really. He hadn't been listening because he'd simply been furious enough to kill anything that stood in his path or threatened Blessing. It was only afterward that he realized what he'd heard. And now it was too late.

Maybe the pity he felt wasn't truly for these poor, dead wretches. They would have killed him, after all. The Lord and Lady alone knew what they would have done to Blessing, had she fallen into their hands. Maybe the pity he felt was for that weak, unheeded voice in his own soul, the one that, before, might have listened and might have heard. The one that might have stayed his hand and let mercy, not rage, rule him.

With a grunt of displeasure, he acknowledged the men's fawning comments as they came back to the road. Alia was ready to leave. The sergeant helped Matto onto his mare while Sanglant kissed Blessing and settled her on his back again.

"I think that'll have taken care of the bandits," said Sergeant Cobbo with a smirk. He had taken the severed hand of the ringleader, the one who'd dressed as a hag, to bring as proof of the victory.” Don't you want anything? You have first choice of the booty."

"No.". Perhaps it was his expression, or his tone, but in any case although they all fell in as escort around him, not one, not even Matto, addressed a single question to him as they rode on. The silence suited him very well.

The next line of sentries lay within sight of Angenheim Palace. Sergeant Cobbo did all the talking and got them through the sentry ring quickly enough. Two of the soldiers on this sentry duty recognized him: He could tell by their startled expressions, like men who've seen a bear walk in dressed in a man's clothing. But their company rode on before either soldier could say anything.

So many petitioners had come in the hope of being brought before the king or one of his stewards that the fields around Angenheim swarmed with them. The fetid odor of sweat, excrement, and rotting food hung heavily over the fields. Common folk hurriedly got out of the way as Cobbo pressed his detachment through the crowd of onlookers.

Like most of the royal palaces, Angenheim had fortifications, although it wasn't as well situated as the palace at Werlida had been, placed as it was on a bluff above a river's bend. Angenheim boasted earthen ramparts and a double ring of wooden palisades surrounding the low hill on which the palace complex lay.

The court spilled out beyond the fortifications and into the fields where the petitioners had set up tents and shelters. Pasture had been ground into dirt and mud. Fires burned. Peddlers called out their wares; beggars coughed as they held out their begging bowls. Pit houses, dug out in a previous generation, had been cleaned out and inhabited by various wagoners and other servants who needed a place to stay while the king remained in residence. A small monastic estate lay beyond the fortified palace, but it, too, seemed to have been swamped by the influx of visitors. Sanglant had a moment to pity the brothers who were no doubt overwhelmed by the burden of providing hospitality to the king and his massive court. Then the party came to the final gate.

As luck would have it, Captain Fulk himself had been given gate duty this late afternoon. He stepped forward and called Cobbo

to a halt, exchanged a few jocular complaints with him, and, in mid-sentence, saw Sanglant.

His face paled. He dropped to his knees, as though felled. In the wake of that movement, the five soldiers with him knelt as well. All of them were men who had pledged loyalty to Sanglant on that fateful night fourteen months ago when he and Liath had fled the king's progress.

"You've returned to us, Your Highness." Fulk began to weep with joy.

Sanglant dismounted and indicated that the soldiers should stand.” I have not forgotten your loyalty to me, Captain Fulk." He could remember as clearly as yesterday the name and home village of each of the men kneeling before him, which they had confided to him on that dark night: Anshelm, Everwin, Wracwulf, Sibold, and Malbert. He offered Resuelto's reins to Fulk.” I would ask you now to see to my horse. The lad there needs tending by a healer."

"Of course, Your Highness!" They leaped up eagerly while Sergeant Cobbo and his men gaped, and Matto looked ready to fall off his horse either from pain or exhilaration. Cobbo asked a question of someone in the gathering crowd, and a servingwoman said scornfully, "Don't you know who that is, Cobbo? For shame!"

"Where is my father?" Sanglant asked his captain, ignoring the spate of talk his arrival had unleashed.

"Why, at the wedding feast, of course, Your Highness. Let me take you there, I beg you." Fulk gave the reins to Sibold and only then saw Alia and, a moment later, the baby strapped to Sanglant's back.

"I thank you." Sanglant was suddenly apprehensive, but he had to go on.” I wish to see him right away."

It took a moment for Fulk to shake free of amazement and curiosity. With a selfconscious cough and a good soldier's obedience, he led Sanglant to the great hall which lay in the center of the palace complex. A steady stream of servants laden with trays of meat and flagons of wine hurried in and out of the hall, passing through the throng of hangers-on and hopeful entertainers and petitioners who crowded around the doors.

They parted like soft butter under a knife at the sight of Fulk, Sanglant, and Alia. For some reason, Alia was still leading the pony and goat. If she was as nervous as Sanglant had suddenly be come, she betrayed nothing of it in her expression or posture. If anything, she looked remarkably grim. Her cold expression emphasized the inhumanity of her features.

He strode in through the doors into the shadow of the hall, hot with feasting and overflowing with a lively and boisterous crowd. The hall stank of humanity. He had spent more of his life on campaign than in court, out in the open air, and he had forgotten what five hundred bodies pressed together and all eating and farting and belching and pissing smelled like.

Angenheim's hall had the breadth and height of a cathedral. Unshuttered windows set into the upper walls at the far end allowed light to spill over the king's table, where Henry, laughing at the antics of a trio of jugglers, shared a cup of wine with a pretty young woman who looked a few years younger than Sanglant. She wore a crown. A banner hung on the wall beside that of Wendar: the sun of Aosta.” Whose wedding feast?" he demanded of Fulk, but he could not be heard above the noise of the feasting.

He strode forward through the ranks of trestle tables with Fulk at his back. Whippets slunk away from him. Servants leaped aside, and then cried out, seeing Alia behind him. Ladies and lords, seated at table, were struck dumb at his passage, or perhaps Alia had cast a spell on them that stole their voices. What couldn't she do, who could cause an arrow to pierce the wood of a tree? Silence spread in their wake.

An open space had been cleared in front of the king's table to give the entertainers room to perform their tricks as well as a space where those petitioners lucky enough to have gotten this far could kneel while they waited for the king's notice. The petitioners crouching along the edge of that empty space did not notice him because they were so intent on the king. Sanglant got a good look at the king for the first time, his view blocked only by the antics of the jugglers. Henry looked remarkably hearty, even a little flushed, as the young noblewoman laughed while gold and silver balls flashed in the air between the three jugglers. Sanglant used his boots to discreetly nudge a raggedly-dressed man out of his way. The man glanced up, startled, and scuttled to one side, causing a cascade as all the petitioners scrambled for new places. Princess Theophanu, seated at the king's right hand, noticed the movement

and tracked it back to its source. Her expression did not change, although it may have whitened a little, and her hands tightened on the cup she was in the act of lifting to her lips. The cleric standing behind her chair staggered backward, as if he had been kicked in the back of the knees.

A path opened through the throng, blocked only by the jugglers, who remained intent on the balls tossed between them. Sanglant ducked under the flying path of one shiny ball, caught another in his right hand, and was through their net just as Fulk swore under his breath. A ball hit the captain on the shoulder, fell, and shattered on a circle of ground swept clean of rushes that the jugglers had marked out for their tricks. The pony, hauled in this far and perhaps lulled by the stink and the carpet of rushes and tansy laid down on the floor into thinking it had come into a stable, chose this moment to urinate, loud and long.

Henry rose with easy grace. At that moment, as Henry looked him over, Sanglant realized that his father had noticed him as soon as he had entered the hall. As might a captain laying a counter ambush against bandits hiding in the forest, the king had simply chosen to pretend otherwise.

"Prince Sanglant," he said with a cool formality that tore at Sanglant's heart.” You have not yet met my wife, Queen Adelheid."

Obviously, Henry was still furious at his disobedient son, since this was the very woman whom his father had so desperately wanted him to marry. She was pretty, certainly, but more importantly she had that energy about her that is common to women who find pleasure in the bed. No doubt that, together with the Aostan crown she wore, accounted for the becoming blush in his father's cheeks and the smile that hovered on his lips as he regarded his disgraced son, come limping back scarcely better than a beggar.

Who was laying an ambush for whom?

Adelheid had the audacity, and the rank, to look him over as she would a stallion.” Handsome enough," she said clearly, as if he had caught them in the middle of a conversation, "but I have no reason to regret my choice. You've proved your fitness as regnant many times over, Henry."

Henry laughed. Made bold by the king's reaction, some among the audience felt free to chuckle nervously or snicker in response, by which time certain men had made their way through the crowd to throw themselves at Sanglant's feet.

"Your Highness!"

"Prince Sanglant!"

He recognized Fulk's men, who had evidently been serving at table or standing guard throughout the hall. Heribert arrived, pressing through the knot of petitioners who were crowded closest to the king's table, and knelt before him, grasping Sanglant's hand and kissing it.

"Sanglant!" he said triumphantly, as out of breath as if he'd been running.” My lord prince! I feared—"

"Nay, friend," said Sanglant, "never fear. I pray you, rise and stand beside me."

"So I will," said the young cleric, though he wobbled a little as he got to his feet.

"Who are these, who have come forward?" asked Henry.” Does Brother Heribert not serve Theophanu?"

Theophanu still clutched her cup. Old Helmut Villam, seated beside her, leaned to whisper to her, but she was obviously not listening to him. She merely nodded, once, curtly, to Sanglant, before setting down the wine cup.

"This is my retinue, Your Majesty," said Sanglant at last.” These are men who have pledged loyalty to me."

"Don't I feed them?" asked Henry sweetly.” I didn't know you had the lands and wherewithal to maintain a retinue, Son. Certainly you scorned those that I meant to honor you with. I don't even see a gold torque at your throat to mark you as my son."

But Sanglant had his own weapons, and he knew how to counterattack. He stepped aside to reveal his mother.

She stood in a spray of light cast from the high windows. The light made bronze of her hair, burnished and finely-woven into a tight braid as thick as her wrist. She had rolled down the sleeves of Liath's tunic and belted it in the usual manner around her hips, although even with a length of material caught up under the belt the embroidered hem still lapped her ankles. Yet despite the unexceptionable appearance of the clothing, she blazed with strangeness, as alien as a sleek leopard glimpsed running with thundering aurochs.