PROLOGUE (91 page)

The storm had made a few of his allies timid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What of spears and arrows?"

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

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

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After a bit, the wind dropped enough, and their shouting ceased, so that he could speak again.” Those who faithfully follow me, I hold in my hand. Those whose hearts are not loyal receive no protection from me." He gestured toward the fleet before counting his commanders.” Who are we missing? Who has turned tail to run home?"

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

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

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

A longship was coming in, bucking in the swells. Its mast had been snapped off halfway, and shreds of sail draped the deck. Seaweed wreathed the stem of the ship. A half-dozen oars had survived the wreck, but not one body could be seen. Deep gouges marred the clinker-built hull, scars cutting through the red-and-yellow paint to reveal pale wood beneath. Rigging trailed behind like so many snakes wriggling through the sea, except for two lines drawn taut at the front.

The merfolk were hauling in the crippled ship.

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

Even from the height of Cracknose Rock every soul there recognized the corpse. Like the rest of them, Ardaneka's chieftain bore distinctive markings on his torso. Seawater and feasting crabs

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

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

"So it was not," remarked Stronghand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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queen was too exhausted to be moved; the rigors of the mountain crossing in the fullest months of her pregnancy had worn her down. Henry could not wait, nor did Adelheid counsel him to tarry in the palace while she recovered.

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

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

The magnificence of Darre still awed her. The city was built on five hills, with the two palaces—representing spiritual and temporal power—sitting at the height of Amurrine Hill. The city walls remained more-or-less intact from the time of the old empire, repaired and rebuilt over the course of the four hundred years since the last empress had died defending her throne from the invading Bwr horde. The Bwr army had left the walls intact and razed the temples instead, to show their hatred for the empire's bloodthirsty gods. Cut from huge stone blocks quarried to the east, the walls rose to the height of ten men, and it was said that a person might walk five leagues on those parapets and not come to the end of them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Villam leaned toward Rosvita, speaking in a low voice.” Do

you see how they call for 'Father Hugh'? Look at their faces. The flowers are for the presbyter, not for the king."

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