The Gathering Storm (84 page)

Liath nodded. “A fair question, Lady Bertha.” Recalling Eldest Uncle’s trick, she unbuckled her belt, holding it high in one hand. “Imagine that this side of the buckle represents the land in which the Ashioi dwell.” She spoke the words much as Eldest Uncle had, giving the belt a half twist and showing how a two-sided belt became a one-sided belt because of that twist, and how the Ashioi land would return to the place it started. “The spell Anne means to weave can only work if the land lies on Earth. This means that the destruction will happen twice—once when the land intersects with Earth, and a second time when the new spell casts it away from Earth again. This is what we must not allow. We must seek to mitigate the return, and fight to prevent a second sundering.”

Many among Sanglant’s retinue spoke at once, calling out questions, but their voices quieted as Li’at’dano paced forward.

“What has been done, is done,” she said. “I will aid you, Liathano, as well as I am able. Let me send my apprentice, Sorgatani, with you.”

“You will not come yourself?” Liath asked.

“My strength is bound to this land. If I leave it, I will die. I will send warriors in my stead, three hundreds of them, who will fight fiercely on your behalf.” She beckoned to a stocky mare with a cream coat and, on her woman’s head, startlingly black hair. “This daughter can be called Capi’ra. She will lead those who fight with you.”

“Does Sorgatani know that those who escort me stand the highest risk of dying? We will battle at the center of it all.”

“She knows.”

Liath nodded. “Then we march as soon as we break camp.”

Sanglant broke in before the shaman could answer. Liath had courage and power, but she had little idea of what made it possible to move an army. “We’ll need help if we are to survive such a long and arduous journey. Can you supply us with guides? Food? Supplies?”

Li’at’dano shifted her weight and made a gesture with her hands that finished with a touch to her bow strap. Had she been a horse, he thought, she would have flicked back her ears to show dislike. She addressed Liath, not him.

“Two days’ ride from here lies a stone crown. It is an ancient monument that was erected here long before my people came to these pasturelands. If you can weave the crowns, then you can travel from one crown to another directly.”

The glare of the sun sharpened. Wind snapped banners and pennants. He raced through the implications of the shaman’s statement, and had to restrain a laugh even as he wanted to cry.

“Why did you not tell me this before?” exclaimed Liath, almost shivering with excitement. “Anne will never expect an attack from that direction! I can do it!”

“With an entire army?” demanded Captain Fulk, then recovered and looked at Sanglant. “My lord prince, if I may speak.” He pressed his horse forward. When the prince nodded, giving him permission, the captain went on. “In this way Hugh of Austra saved Princess Theophanu and Queen Adelheid and their companies from an Aostan lord named John Ironhead, who meant to hold them as hostages.”

“Hugh!” One word from Liath, that was all. She looked away, hiding her face from Sanglant’s view.

“Go on,” he said curtly to Fulk. He hated talk of Hugh.

“Yes, my lord prince. We numbered seventy-five men and fifty horses, many fewer than we have here, and even so the path was fraying as the last of us crossed through, according to the report of Sister Rosvita. She was almost lost as the pathway collapsed behind us. I think it unlikely we can move an army of this size through the crowns.”

“It is not possible,” agreed Li’at’dano. “That any sorcerer accomplished what you speak of—to guide a group as large
as the one you speak of—is astonishing. The crowns were meant to accommodate small parties only.”

“Hugh did it,” said Liath in a dangerously rash tone.

“With only seventy-five men and fifty horses,” said Sanglant. “We have near a thousand. And a griffin, whose feathers are proof against magic.”

“Ai, God,” murmured Liath. “I had forgotten the griffin. Can such a creature even pass through the crowns?”

“If I may speak, my lord prince,” said Hathui. “My lady. Consider this as well. Sister Rosvita told me that months passed in the moment that they stepped through the crown.”

Fulk nodded. “As many of us here can attest.”

She acknowledged him and went on. “In that same way, I suppose, four years passed here on Earth while you experienced only a handful of days passing in the world above, according to your testimony.”

“Do you doubt her?” asked Li’at’dano.

Hathui’s smile was sharp. “Nay, Holy One, I do not doubt Liath, for I knew her before, if you will remember, when she was one of that company to which I hold allegiance.”

“Go on, Hathui,” said Sanglant. He had primed her for a speech, although she had cleverly adjusted her terms with the unexpected introduction of the stone crown.

“Sorcery is dangerous, my lord prince, and uncertain. It seems unlikely the entire army can pass through the crowns in any case. In addition, if all of us travel together, then how can we alert our supporters elsewhere? We ought not to move in a single group. It would be better to split up.”

“To split up?” he asked, knowing his lines as well as Hathui knew hers.

“When the storm comes, my lord, no one will be safe. Those who support the king and Wendar must know what to do. If they are not prepared, then whatever force convulses the Earth will be echoed by terrible strife among those who suffer and are afraid.”

Li’at’dano beckoned Hathui forward. “You are wise, Daughter,” said the old shaman. “I would look at you more closely, for it is not given to every creature to learn wisdom.”

“I thank you, Holy One,” murmured Hathui, but she glanced at Sanglant as if to say, “save me!” No one doubted
Hathui’s courage, but it was clear that the Horse people, and particularly the ancient one, made her nervous.

“Go on,” said Sanglant, not wanting any of his people to show hesitation, and Hathui—not without trepidation—nudged her horse closer to Liath’s on the grass between the two groups, human and centaur, allied, yet in so many ways separate.

The shaman examined Hathui for a space before turning to Liath. “She is a worthy daughter. Will you give her to me as part of our bargain?”

“She is sworn to the regnant,” said Sanglant irritably. “One of his chosen Eagles. She must return to his hand at the end of her flight.”

“A pity,” mused Li’at’dano, but she made no further claim.

Liath saw the trap, but it was already sprung. “Will you and I not travel together?” she asked Sanglant.

Sanglant had never done a harder thing than what he did now. “To defeat Anne we need an army greater than the seven hundreds we have here. To defeat Anne we need an army greater even than that with which we defeated Bulkezu. A griffin brings me more than feathers to cut through the magic wielded by our enemies. It can bring me an army as well.”

Liath opened her mouth to protest, then fell silent. He went on.

“I must ride west to gather as many Quman as I can. Margrave Waltharia holds troops in readiness, waiting only for my return. From the marchlands I will turn south and draw more Wendish troops as I go. Brother Breschius assures me that the Brinne Pass remains passable for much of the year, if the weather holds fair. I’ll cross that way into Aosta, and march on Darre to free my father.”

“But—!” Color had leached from her face, leaving her gray with shock, and her hands clenched the reins until her knuckles turned white. Her horse minced under her, sensing her tension. “But that means we must—”

She could not speak the word. Neither could he. He could scarcely bear to think of it: That means we must part. Must separate again, not knowing how many months or years would pass until they met. Not knowing if they would ever meet.

It gave him no pleasure to twist the knife into her belly. “It has to be done this way. Do you believe that a griffin can cross through the crowns?”

She shook her head despairingly. “Nay. It seems likely its feathers will cut the threads of the spell. That way lies disaster for all who attempt the crossing.”

“Anne has woven her net well. She controls not just sorcery, and the crowns, but Henry’s and Adelheid’s armies as well. We must match her. This is the only way.”

She shut her eyes and said nothing, because she knew he was right. As much as he hated it, this
was
the only way.

“There remains one thing more, Holy One,” he said, unable to bear her silence and knowing that if Liath had a chance to speak he would weaken. He gestured toward the wagon.

“What of my daughter?”

Li’at’dano waited, and waited, but Liath neither spoke or opened her eyes. Tears wet her cheeks, but she made no sound, only sat there, rigid and suffering.

At last, the shaman inclined her head to Sanglant with a touch of disdain, yet just perhaps in the manner of a teacher acknowledging a pupil’s apt question. “I have pondered deeply about the child. It may be I have thought of a way that will give us time to save her.”

ALTHOUGH Anna was busy making ready to go, Matto still found time to pester her.

“Later, in the night, we could sneak out into the grass.”

“And be eaten by the griffins?”

“The prince did it. Out in the grass.”

She looked at him, and he flushed, shamefaced, and hoisted a chest into the back of one of the wagons.

Thiemo stalked over. “Are you bothering her?”

“Is it any of your business?”

They both seemed to have puffed themselves up with air,
trying to look bigger and bulkier than they were, although indisputably Matto had the broader shoulders while Thiemo stood half a hand taller.

“Stop it!” said Anna. “Does it matter that you’re jealous of each other? What will happen to us? Did you think of that? Will we abandon Blessing, or will we ask to stay with her?”

Stay with her
. Out in this God-forsaken place, separated, perhaps forever, from their homeland.

She burst into tears. Matto and Thiemo shied away from her as she brushed past them, returning to the empty tent. Blessing had lain in the wagon all morning; no one wanted to disturb her, except for the healer who at intervals squeezed a bit of liquid down her throat through the reed.

What did it matter? Blessing was to be handed over to the centaurs, and the rest of them would journey back across the interminable steppe. It didn’t bear thinking of. She began rolling up the traveling pallets, the last thing to go.

“I will not abandon her. But I don’t want to stay here. I don’t want to stay.”

So it went with those who served. Yet she hadn’t fared any better before the Eika invaded Gent, when she had lived under her uncle’s harsh care. The Eika invasion had freed her from her uncle’s house, but hiding in Gent had not made her and Matthias more comfortable. Quite the contrary. Matthias had been eager to apprentice himself out as soon as he was given the opportunity; he saw the worth of an orderly existence, with the promise of a meal every day and shelter over his head at night. War and plague and famine might afflict him—there was no defense against acts of God—but being a member of Mistress Suzanne’s household gave him a measure of security.

Hadn’t God wanted her to go with Blessing? Why else would she have got her voice back just then? Whatever power earthly nobles held over her, it was but a feather on the wind compared to God’s power.

“Anna?”

“Go away, Matto.”

“Nay, Anna, we’ll not go. We’ve talked it over.” Thiemo pushed in next to him, and they both knelt beside her where
she was rolling up the last pallet. Everyone else had left the tent; after this tent came down, they would march.

“We’ve talked it over, Anna. We’ll stay with you, both of us. No matter what. We won’t leave Princess Blessing. Or you.”

She couldn’t speak because of the lump choking her throat. She tied up the pallet and picked up another, while Thiemo and Matto did the same. In silence they carried everything out to the wagon while soldiers dismantled the tent.

They traveled all afternoon, first overland to the river and then upstream through tall grass. That night she slept restlessly under the wagon while Thiemo and Matto kept watch. She woke to hear footfalls rustling in grass as they paced; the wagon creaked as the healer sat the unconscious girl up and forced a precious bit of fluid into her, enough to keep her alive one day more.

That was all they could hope for.

She rolled over but could not go back to sleep. The constant irritation of breathing grass all day made her throat raw and painful. The wind had turned cold, and she shivered in her blankets, wishing she had a warm body to share them with. But whatever she did, whichever man she chose, the other would be angry and jealous. How could she balance one with the other? What if they lived for years out here, alone together among a foreign people? How was it possible that Matto and Thiemo would not, in the end, come to blows? Or worse? What if they decided that neither of them wanted her?

She waited until they converged on the opposite side of the wagon and wriggled out, got to her feet, and dashed into the grass, bent over so they would not see her. Although she met no sentries, she didn’t go too far; she could not get the iron stink of the griffin out of her head. The hooded griffin paced along at the head of the procession, obedient to its master, and the big female flew overhead but circled down at night to curl up beside its mate.

She heard them before she saw them, their muted voices whispering, and she stopped at the verge of a stand of stunted poplars growing just beyond the river’s edge. Through furled leaves budding on the trees she saw an amorphous beast
perched on a rock overlooking the river. She froze, heart racing, knowing how foolish she had been to leave the safety of camp. If she did not move, perhaps the beast would lumber off without noticing her.

Its murmured laugh made her shudder until, too late, she realized that she watched no beast at all but the prince romancing his wife, huddled close against her with a cloak thrown over their shoulders. How would it feel to sit with his arm tight around her, to feel his lips pressed close, to hear the murmuring of his voice as soft as the caress of the wind?