Elliott, Kate - Crown of Stars 1 (58 page)

"For in the writings of the church mothers, and in the calculations of the Babaharshan mathematici," intoned the man in that sonorous voice only the truly self-important can manage, "it is written that the passage of Mok into the sign of the Healer, the eleventh House in the lesser Circle, the world dragon that binds the heavens, betokens a period of healing and hope whose emanative rays are only intensified by the passage of Jedu, the fierce, the Angel of War, into the same sign, as will happen very soon, very soon indeed, for fierce Jedu soon will move out of the Unicorn and into the Healer. So should you take heart that the heavens grant us hope at this dark hour, and you should be generous in relieving the burdens of those of us trapped inside your fair city."

"Oh, spare us this nonsense," muttered Liath under her breath. She regretted saying it at once. She had forgotten how well Sanglant could hear.

Sanglant glanced at her but said nothing.

"Say on," said Werner to the man, who continued, oblivious to everything except Werner's rapt attention.

"Yes, the heavens give us hope. You must not expect disaster for no comet has flamed in the sky and only such glowing swords portend ruin. Therefore, we may all feast and celebrate for our rescue is at hand
— Werner was, indeed, beginning to look more cheerful. "—and if gold is laid out in a pattern known only to me, then I can read by various diverse and secret means the exact hour and day of our liberation!"

"Ah," sighed Werner ecstatically.

Ai, Lady! This man would do more harm than good. But Eagles had no opinions. Princes might, however. She had to risk it. "He's a fraud," she muttered under her breath.

At once, Sanglant lifted a hand for silence. "Where did you learn this knowledge of the heavens?" he asked the old man. "How can you assure us this is true?"

The man clapped hand to chest. "Noble prince, you honor me with your notice. I was trained at the Academy of Diotima in Darre, under the shadow of the skopos' palace itself. In the Academy we learned the secrets of the heavens from the writings of the ancients and also how to foretell the fates of man and the world from the movements of the stars."

"For a price," said Liath. "Usually in
gold."

Then was aghast she had spoken out loud. But how could she help it? In all their wandering, Da had never passed himself off as an astrologus or haruspex
—one of those men or women who claimed to be able to divine the fate of "kings and other folk." Frauds, all of them, Da claimed, though he was learned enough that he could have made a decent living for them both had he been willing to do so. But Da respected the knowledge he had and, perhaps, feared it as well. It was nothing to trifle with. It burned in her heart that the knowledge he had

paid for so dearly should be treated as merely another form of commerce
—a lucrative trade visited upon the ignorant and gullible—by such people as this charlatan. The old man frowned imperiously at her. "Mine is a proud trade, and though some in the church have frowned upon it, it has not been condemned—"

The deacon interrupted him. "At the Council of Narvone, the casting of horoscopes was outlawed. Only God and the angels may have foreknowledge of our fate."

"Well, I
—" he sputtered. "I do not cast individual horoscopes, of course, but I have great knowledge and none dare scorn me, for I know the ways of the heavens. I have studied the very
Astronomicon
of Virgilia and—" Liath snorted. "Virgilia wrote the
Heleniad.
It is Manilius who wrote the five books called the
Astronomicon
that I suppose you speak of. And the Academy founded by Diotima of Mantinea rested in the city of Kellai, not in Darre."

Sanglant coughed, but he was only stifling a laugh. She faltered. Every person in the hall stared at her as if she had suddenly begun speaking a foreign tongue, like the disciples at the Pentekoste, touched by the Holy Word.

Ai, Lady. She had let her impatience with fools and that old slow-burning anger at Da's death get the better of her. She had betrayed herself to them all.

"What
—?" said the mayor, mouth popped open with the look of a fish on a platter. "What—? I don't—"

"I am outraged!" said the man who claimed to be an astrologus, and the deacon, too, stepped forward, staring with interest
—or was it surprise? or was it suspicion?— at Liath.

"Mayor Werner," said Sanglant, cutting into this so sharply that all of them drew back from Werner's chair. "I have need of this Eagle, messages to be run to those of my men who are posted along the walls. You have this business in hand, I believe, and the biscop will arrive soon." Werner opened his mouth.

"Good," said Sanglant. And to Liath: "Come."

She followed him outside. Her heart hammered hard in her chest. But for some strange reason she was not afraid but instead relieved
—and even elated.

He halted in the great courtyard, full in the sun, and stretched shoulders and neck like a great beast settling itself after a triumphant struggle. Then he studied her, and because she had already betrayed herself, she was not afraid to look directly at him in return.

"I have heard the
Heleniad,
of course," he said, "or parts of it at any rate. In the king's progress many poets have sung the epic to entertain the court, and of course you have heard the poet who resides in Werner's palace recite it over these past ten nights."

"Mangle it, more like."

He smiled. "Perhaps you would render it more pleasingly."

She shook her head sharply. "I am not poet or bard, to sing in public."

"No, you are not. You are something altogether different, I think. Is there truly such a book as this . ..
Astronomicon ?"

"I have heard of such a book, but never seen it. There is a reference to it in the
Etymologies
of Isidora of Seviya where she comments on
—" She broke off. Lord in Heaven! Was she trying to
impress
him?

"You are truly Wolfhere's discipla, are you not?"

"I don't know what you mean by that."

"I don't know what I mean either," he said sharply, and frowned and looked abruptly away from her. It was almost painful to have him look away; she had not realized how much his gaze warmed her, or at least how much she wanted his attention. Like bread given to a hungry child.

She winced, for was it not a true enough comparison? She was alone and he was here
—

He was like no one she had ever laid eyes on.

Sanglant lifted a hand, and she tensed, but only because half of her willed him to touch her while at the same time the other half feared what his touch
—the tangible and irrevokable sign of his interest in her—would unleash. How could she even feel this way after what had happened with Hugh?

But Sanglant was not trying to touch her; he opened his hand to reveal her Eagle's ring. "A man brought this to me yesterday. I believe it is yours?"

He waited. Finally, as carefully as one might pluck a jewel from the coils of a snake, she picked it up off his palm. "It is mine. What happened to the man
—?"

"We gave him shelter and employment of sorts." His eyes glinted. She could not read his expression. "His daughter I sent to our healer. She may yet live."

"I thank you," she said softly. The ring was still warm from his skin.

"Let me," he said, and he took her hand and slipped the ring onto her finger. He glanced up over her shoulder, released her abruptly and stepped back. "Here is your praeceptor." Acknowledging Wolfhere, he allowed himself a brief, self-mocking smile. "She is yours," he said to Wolfhere. "Though perhaps you should watch her more closely." He spun and left them.

Wolfhere crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at her. She twisted the ring and, blushing, said nothing. The stench of the tannery clung to his clothes. "Prince Sanglant is right," he said finally. "I should indeed be watching over you more closely." He gestured. "Come." She dared not disobey.

WERNER detained them again, but in the end Liath found herself seated opposite Wolfhere in the empty stall that had become both bedchamber and storage room for her and Wolfhere and Manfred.

"Now," said Wolfhere in the quiet tone of a man who intends to brook no disagreement, "for twenty-five days we have bided here in Gent and you have avoided me except when I have demanded your time to teach you about the duties of an Eagle."

"Mayor Werner has need of my services as a messenger."

"Mayor Werner thinks too much of his own consequence and is perfectly willing to enhance it by having a King's Eagle to carry his messages for him on trivial errands. You would be more useful running errands for the Dragons . . . and their captain."

She flushed.

"He is a king's son, Liath. What is commonplace for him would be disastrous for you." She flushed more deeply, mortified. "Remember the precepts I have taught you, and understand that you must hold to them once you are fully an Eagle." She tried to nod but could only manage a slight jerk of the head. Mercifully, he changed the subject. "In any case, this evening I have excused myself from the feast, which apparently will be much reduced now that the biscop has stepped in to set up rations for the city. Manfred will attend Mayor Werner.
You
will attend me. It is time for you to witness the workings of the magi, even one as weak in the craft as I am."

"Da said was deaf to it," she blurted out. Anything to delay.

"Deaf to what?"

"To magic." There, it was spoken out loud.

"So he
did
teach you magic. You must trust me, Liath. You cannot conceal the truth from me. I know your background too well."

Better, it appeared, than she herself knew it. She shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, but Wolfhere's gaze was too keen. She could not fool him. And yet. . .

Wolfhere lifted an eyebrow, waiting for her to speak.

She brushed a piece of straw off her leggings and
king's
shifted her seat. She was by now thoroughly sick of straw; it poked through everything and tickled her nose all night. Behind her, her saddle provided reasonable support. But she felt the presence of the book, hidden beneath the saddle and within the leather saddlebags. Could Wolfhere feel the book's presence as well? Was he only biding his time?

"What do you mean to do?" she asked.

"I mean to seek a vision of this intelligence Prince Sanglant speaks of, whatever creature it is that directs the Eika siege." He rose. Because she no longer had a choice, she rose with him and followed him out of doors.

It was dusk in Gent. Clouds had come in after that glorious morning sunlight and now it was again a dreary, overcast, damp spring evening. St. Melania's Day, Liath thought, named for the saint who had admonished the patriarchs of Kellai when they refused to accept the supremacy of the Lady and Lord of Unities. It was also the seventeenth day of the month of Sormas. Because cloud covered the sky, she could not orient herself by the stars. And dared not. It was bad enough Wolfhere knew her father and mother had studied the forbidden arts. She had only made it worse by speaking so rashly in Mayor Werner's hall.

This night the streets were mostly empty. Perhaps the morning's excitement had exhausted everyone. Their footsteps were swallowed in the greater hush of a city turning over from day to night, from activity to restless sleep, haunted always by the presence of the Eika outside the walls. A thin sheen of moisture from the afternoon's shower covered the plank walkways that kept them above the muck of the streets. The drums that always pounded in the Eika camp were, thank the Lady, muted this night, though still audible. Even so, she found her footsteps falling into beat with them; she skip-hopped, trying to walk off the rhythm.

Wolfhere smiled and they turned past the old marketplace and skirted the edge of the royal mint, which was heavily guarded. The wind shifted, bringing the stink of

L=

the tanning works up from the western bank of the river. There, work went on into the night at adjacent warehouses where armor and weapons were being turned out from iron and wood and leather that had been carted in from the countryside by the refugees.

He led her across the central square of Gent and up the steps of the cathedral. Built all of stone, its massive front stood like the shield of faith in Gent's center. They slipped inside easily, since the doors had no locks.

And in any case, some of the refugees from the countryside had taken up residence in the nave. Liath hesitated in the entryway, hearing the shuffle of bodies within, coughs and whispers. No light was allowed after sunset, even in a stone building, for fear of fire, but she could see blocks of shadows, awnings and blankets thrown up as walls between the benches to separate one family from the next. Everyone had settled down to sleep. Wolfhere touched her on the arm and she followed him silently to the stairs that led down to the crypt.

Liath had never been afraid of the dead or the darkness. As Da always said:
"Those who rest in the Chamber of Light are at peace; the others have no power to harm us."
Even so, it soon became so dark as they descended stairs made first of stone and then, as they descended still deeper, of bare earth, that even she with her salamander eyes could not make out the walls but had to feel her way by touch.