Crown Of Stars - Child Of Flame Part 62

What was going on? Were they abandoning the siege? Had Prince Bayan tracked them down at last?

Ai, Lord. Maybe Ivar was with him. Maybe Ivar wasn't really dead.

Prince Ekkehard emerged from his tent with his four faithful companions behind him, but they stopped short, caught cold, when two Quman soldiers rode up and dumped at Bulkezu's feet the body of a Wendishman dressed in the light armor of a scout and wearing the badge of Princess Sapientia. Ekkehard grabbed his battle banner out of Welf 's hand and tossed it back inside the tent. Standing with his friends, he could no longer be identified as a royal prince of Wendar.

Bulkezu held up a hand for silence. He had taken off his helm. The wind streamed through his beautiful hair, making it writhe like snakes around his shoulders. Below, the Quman army was pulling back from the walls; on the far sh.o.r.e of the river, groups of ten and twenty riders moved toward the eastern bank, gathering into larger cohorts as they returned from their far-flung foraging.

"Arm for battle, Prince Ekkehard," said Bulkezu." The time for fighting is soon upon us." At last, he met Hanna's gaze." When I have destroyed their army, and burned their city, then you will lead me to the witch called Liathano."

THAT day, the ninth of Setentre, the feast day of St. Mary the Wise, six of the ten scouts sent far forward of the army did not return. That evening, Prince Bayan called a war council so that all the n.o.bles and commanders could hear the reports of the four who had survived.

But before Prince Sanglant led his personal retinue to the council, Zacharias had the pleasure of watching the prince make his Eagle squirm." It worked well enough with Hedwig."

"That is what I am trying to explain, Your Highness." Wolfhere was actually sweating, although in truth it was an unseasonably warm evening, muggy with the promise of a thunderstorm looming on the horizon." Princess Theophanu had three Eagles in her entourage, and the only one who has the gift of the Eagle's sight is no longer with her. I can use my sight to see where the princess is -"

"At Quedlinhame. Not here, where she ought to be." -but without another Eagle with sight to communicate with, I can't know why she is there, or what she intends, nor even how large an army she has with her."

"What of the missing Eagle?"

"As I told you. She rode south to Aosta. Soon after, I lost track of her."

"Lost track of her?"

"Just so, Your Highness. We are not the only ones seeking to conceal ourselves."

One of Sapientia's stewards rushed up, and Heribert stepped aside to speak to the man.

"Which would explain, I trust, why you did not see the Quman army lying in wait for us at Osterburg? Or, as I've heard, Liath and I when we lived at Verna. Indeed, now I see the limitations of your Eagle's sight, if it is so easily clouded by sorcery."

Wolfhere lifted both hands in a gesture of surrender." In truth, no more than one of every five Eagles has ever had even an inkling of the Eagle's sight. It's a secret we guard- "Or h.o.a.rd."

-and one that not all Eagles can, or should, master." "Well," said the prince. He beckoned, and Heribert came over to him and whispered in his ear. Sanglant smiled sourly." We must go, if they are waiting only on us." He glanced around the sprawl of his encampment, fires flowering into life as twilight spread its wings over the army: a few cloth tents but mostly men hunkering down to rest on their cloaks. Every man there kept his armor on and his weapons and helmet beside him, now that they knew the Quman were close by. They had marched through open woodland this day, an easy march, seeing nothing.

Too easy. The Quman scouts ranged wide and saw everything; everyone knew that. Bulkezu was sure to already know exactly where they were and how many soldiers they had. He was only playing with them, letting four enemy scouts escape the net of his own scouting line to lure his enemies into complacency. Zacharias had begun to entertain thoughts of running away, into the woods, but then he would only be caught by a Quman scout and dragged back to Bulkezu. But probably they were all going to die, anyway, in whatever battle was sure to come. He just hoped it would be quick.

"You're pale, Brother Zacharias," said the prince." You'd best come with us. We'll need to know what you know about the Pechanek clan. None here knows them as well as you do."

He couldn't even answer, only shake his head, fear choking him, as Sanglant picked out his most trusted commanders to attend him: Lord Druthmar, Captain Fulk, Sergeant Cobbo, even the lapdog, Hrodik, who at least had the knack of obeying orders.

Bayan and Sapientia held court at their huge tent, all the sides strung up from trees, making it an open air pavilion where every important n.o.ble could gather. The crowd parted to let Sanglant through. He took the place of honor at Bayan's right hand, with Heribert and Zacharias given leave to stand behind him and the rest of his captains fading back to find places in the crowd. Blessing, as usual, sat on her father's lap. She had a stick, carved into the shape of a sword, but she had learned patience in the last few days and now held it over her thighs, her little face drawn into an intent frown as she listened to Bayan quiet the crowd and call forward the surviving scouts.

Of the four scouts who had managed to return, three wen grians and the fourth a wily marchlander out of Olsatia, one of Lady Bertha's trusted men-at-arms. Not one of Princess Sapien-tia's Wendish scouts had come back. The marchlander had seen a man in Wendish armor strung up in a tree, missing his head, but she hadn't stayed to investigate.

"The main army lies on the west bank of the Veser River," said Bayan after the reports were finished." We'll cross the Veserling tomorrow and continue to march west through the rough country between the two rivers."

"Wouldn't it be better to move northwest along the Veserling, where the marching is easier," asked Duke Boleslas of Polenie, aided by his translator, "and move directly to relieve the siege on Osterburg?"

Bayan shook his head." The Quman rely on archery. If we approach through rugged country, they'll have less chance to break up our line of march with arrow shot. We would be easier targets marching along the river valley."

Prince Sanglant said little as Bayan outlined the order of march. There was little to say, reflected Zacharias. Bayan was an experienced soldier. He knew what he was doing.

A misty rain fell part of the night, enough to break the heat but not so much to make anyone miserable. In the morning the army set out, a process that took a goodly length of time as each legion or cohort or war band waited its turn and then moved forward. Because of the dampened ground, they raised little dust, a mercy for those marching in the rear. It also meant that they wouldn't betray themselves to the Quman too soon, although surely by now the Quman knew exactly where they were.

It was the tenth day of Setentre, the feast day of St. Penelope the Wanderer, as Heribert was quick to remind him, warm and muggy with that coiled snap in the air that heralded a thunderstorm. But as they marched and the sun rose to zenith, as the trees sweated last night's raindrops onto their heads, no thunderstorm blew through to break the heat. Zacharias rode two ranks behind Prince Sanglant, praying that he wouldn't vomit out of plain fear. His stomach roiled, as disturbed as the air and the wind, waiting for the coming storm.

Once, shouts rose, and a messenger galloped down the line, pausing to speak to Prince Sanglant before continuing on, back to where Prince Bayan rode with his Ungrians. Rumor filtered back to the group around Zacharias. Outriders had clashed with Quman scouts. Skirmishes had broken out across their line of march. The Quman were retreating, falling back toward the Veser, still several leagues away. It was hard to know what was true and what falsely hoped.

They crossed the Veserling in the afternoon at a ford controlled by a contingent of Lions under Princess Sapientia's command. She had crossed first, in the van, with three legions, and left soldiers behind in case Quman hors.e.m.e.n crossed the river and swept around in an attempt to divide their forces. The Lions left behind to guard the ford were already digging in, calling to each other as they worked.

"Ho, there, Folquin, you idiot! Don't drop that log on my head, if you please."

"Lady's t.i.ts, Ingo, if you keep getting in my way I'll scar that handsome face of yours, and then your sweethearts won't want you anymore, and the Quman will probably refuse to cut off your head for a trophy!"

It was amazing how quickly a crude palisade could go up when the workers were lashed by the goad of fear. Strange how these kept joking as they labored. Zacharias felt he could hardly speak, as though he'd lost his tongue.

How would Bulkezu cut it out? Where would the knife's edge first touch flesh?

The jolt of water on his legs brought him back, hazy, clinging to the saddle as his horse plunged into the river. The current streamed past, trying to drag him off, but he had clung to life for this long that he hung on with bitter strength as the horse made for the opposite bank. This time of year the river was wide but shallow, a silty greenish-brown color. A branch swirled past him, then, strangely, a mangled glove. At last the horse struggled up the sh.o.r.e and he was at once directed to the right, leaving a trail of water drops as he followed the others along a narrow trail cut through the forest, mostly oak and hornbeam here along the river, fairly open, with a dense layer of crocus, h.e.l.lebore, and wild strawberry carpeting the ground. They regrouped north of the ford where someone had years ago cut a clearing into the wood. An old shack lay tumbled down, good for nothing more than breaking into firewood. In all, as they gathered into their command groups, Zacharias estimated they had about five hundred mounted soldiers: Sanglant's legion, made up of his own personal retinue, Gent's irregulars, and Waltharia's levies.

"We'll make camp here, with the river at our back," said the prince. Lord Druthmar and Lord Hrodik hurried off to give their captains the order to dig in for the night.

Bayan and his Ungrians had just crossed when a scout rode up to Sanglant's position." Come quickly, my lord prince. There's news! The siege has been lifted!"

A cheer rose raggedly from the men standing around, echoed by others, farther away, as the news was relayed out to them. Sanglant only frowned." I'll come," he said, hauling his daughter up on the saddle in front of him." Heribert! Lord Thiemo. Zacharias. Wolfhere. Fulk. Lord Druthmar. You'll attend me. The rest, be mindful that we must be ready. An attack might come at any moment."

At the ford, Duke Boleslas and his Polenie were crossing; behind them waited the baggage train, lost to Zacharias' sight where it snaked back into the woodland on the other side of the Veserling. Sanglant's party rode on upstream, where Bayan's Ungrians had made camp next to Sapientia's Wendish legions.

The princess and Bayan held court where three logs had fallen together in such a way that planks could be thrown over them and chairs set up on this raised platform. As they rode up, and Sanglant handed his horse over to Captain Fulk to hold, an argument broke out between two lords standing right in front of the makeshift platform. One of them Zacharias had never seen before; the other was the infamous Lord Wichman, second son of d.u.c.h.ess Rotrudis of Saony, known throughout the army for impressive deeds of valor as well as an absolutely vile temperament. Some said he couldn't be killed, for many had tried, and not all of them were Wendar's enemies.

-swore you wouldn't molest, but then I found that you'd forced her not even just once but three times before you left for Gent!" said the other lord, a brawny fellow with a bald spot and a fleshy face.

"Who's to say I forced her," sneered Wichman, "or that she didn't ask for it, wishing for a bull instead of an ox?"

The other lord swore violently, leaped forward, and grabbed Wichman's throat in his beefy hands. Prince Bayan turned bright red with anger as he jumped up, but before he could act, Sanglant had cut through the crowd and hauled the first man off Wichman.

"I beg you, Cousin, pray leave off strangling your brother." His hoa.r.s.e voice rang out over the rising clamor." He may well deserve it, but we need him to fight the Quman."

Laughter coursed through the ranks of the a.s.sembled n.o.bles. A good family quarrel broke the tension. Bayan leaned down to whisper in Sapientia's ear.

Gagging and rubbing his throat, Wichman spat on the ground, careful to aim away from the prince." Ai, Lord! She was just his concubine, common born. Easy enough to get another one, if she didn't please him."

The brother was struggling in Sanglant's grip, but even a man as stout and broad as he was couldn't quite get free." She pleased me well enough, before you spoiled her!"

"Lord's b.a.l.l.s, Zwentibold, that was-what?-two years ago? She's forgotten you by now- "She's dead. She hanged herself after you raped her."

The crowd had drawn back away from the brothers, but Zacharias couldn't tell if the n.o.bles were appalled at the tale or only worried that one of the two men would draw a sword and accidentally injure a bystander.

Unexpectedly, Sapientia rose, signaling to Bayan to sit down again." I pray you, Sanglant, let go of our cousin Zwentibold." She took a spear out of the hands of one of the men-at-arms standing below the platform and, from the height, drove the point into the ground between the two men." Place your right hand on the haft," she commanded imperiously. Not even d.u.c.h.ess Rotrudis' sons, who both wore the gold torque that signified their royal birth, dared disobey a public order made by the king's heir, especially not when so many of her husband's picked soldiers crowded around, smiling grimly with their spears in hand.

"Now swear by Our Lord and Lady," she said when both men gripped the haft, glaring at each other with a hatred as palpable as that of the looming thunderstorm." Swear that until the Quman are vanquished, you will do no harm to the other, for the sake of peace in our ranks and for the sake of the realm itself."

Put to the test in front of the entire a.s.sembly, they had no choice but to swear.

Sapientia's triumph was easy to see in her expression. At that moment, she looked truly as the heir ought to look: bold, stalwart, and ready to lead. But it was Bayan who stepped up beside her and raised his voice.

"Lord Zwentibold has brought us valuable news: The Quman army withdrew this morning from their siege of Osterburg." A cheer rose, but it died away when Bayan lifted a hand for silence." Lord Zwentibold was therefore able to ride out of the city with three full cohorts of mounted men and make his way to us. But if Bulkezu withdrew his soldiers, it was only to prepare to meet us. We have no good count of their numbers, and they are in any case difficult to count because of their habit of ranging wide and moving quickly. Do not believe that they can defeat us, because G.o.d are with us."

This ringing statement produced another cheer, during which Bayan whispered into Sapientia's ear. When the cheering died down, she grasped hold of the spear's haft again and called out." Let every leader swear peace and mutual help to one another. Tomorrow is the Feast of the Angels, when the heavenly host sing of the glories of G.o.d. We will fight in the name of Our Lord and Lady, and they will ride with us. Do not doubt that we will defeat the Quman once and for all time."

THAT morning, Antonia rose early, prayed, and paced, knowing it important to keep up her strength. At the appropriate time, she waited by the curtained entrance to the guest quarters, head bent and hands folded in the very picture of perfect repose. But in her heart she fumed over the petty insults and grave wrongs the mother abbess and nuns at the convent of St. Ekatarina had done to her.

For three months she had bided here, as quiet as a mouse, as humble as a sparrow, a most unexceptional guest. And yet Mother Obligatia persisted in treating her as an enemy.

A woman's voice, raised in prayer, lifted with heartbreaking beauty: "The longing of the spirit can never be stilled."

As quickly it was lost: a shift of air in the dusty corridors, perhaps, or the singer inadvertently turning her head so that her voice didn't reach so far. A bell tinkled softly. Antonia suspected there were secret hidey-holes from which they observed her. Of course, growing up as a n.o.ble child in a royal house, she was used to constant observation. Years of education in the church and the years she had spent presiding as biscop of Mainni, when she was never alone except for moments spent in the privies, had served to hone her skills, to teach her how to present to the world at all times the smooth mask of humility on her face.

Still Mother Obligatia suspected her.

A sc.r.a.pe of sandal on rock caught her attention.

"Sister Venia?" The raspy voice of the lay sister, Teuda, sounded from beyond the curtain.

"I am ready."

For three months they had followed this ridiculous routine. Teuda led her along empty corridors hewn out of stone past the chapel to the tiny library where, in the hours between Terce and Nones, she was allowed to read. At midday, Sister Carita, with her unsightly hunchback, escorted her to the service of s.e.xt and then back to the library. After the brief service of Nones, Teuda led her back to the guest quarters, where she languished until Vespers, the only other service she was allowed to attend with the sisters. Even her meals were delivered to her in the guest quarters, where she ate alone.

To treat a sister nun in such a fashion was a mockery of charity! They did not trust her.

Sister Petra was already at work, making a copy of the chronicle of St. Ekatarina's Convent. She nodded to acknowledge that Antonia entered but did not greet her. In truth, except for Mother Obligatia and the lackwit, Sister Lucida, the other nuns acted around Antonia as though they were under a vow of silence. Only Teuda, as a lay sister, was allowed to speak to her, and she said as little as possible.

From Terce to s.e.xt, Antonia studied several interesting and obscure works on theology and philosophy: the apocryphal Wisdom Book of Queen Salome; a complete copy-very difficult to come by of the Arethousan Biscop Ariana's heretical and quite scandalous Banquet, regarding the generation of the blessed Daisan out -of the divine substance of G.o.d; the Catechetical Orations by Macrina of Nyssa. But once she had returned from the midday service, she took down the final and of course thereby unfinished volume of the convent's chronicle. She would finish it today, and then there would be no more reason to delay her mission.

The light lancing down through the shafts carved into the rock shifted over the four writing desks as the hours wore on. The silence was broken only by the sc.r.a.pe of Sister Petra's quill and the occasional crackling of vellum as Antonia turned a page. Otherwise, they might have been entombed, suffering the ecstacy of oblivion.

She caught a whiff of cooking turnips, fleeting, gone.

Strange, she mused, as she read the final entries. In the year : The queen took refuge in the arms of St. Ekatarina from those who hunted her, together with certain n.o.ble visitors from Wendar. A party of clerics from Wendar stayed one week in the guest hall. A blight struck the wheat crop in the vicinity of Floregia. Jinna bandits killed every member of the house ofHarenna, leaving their palace and fortress in ruins and their lands without a regnant. The palace of Thersa, eight stones, and ruins.

Two years ago, Queen Adelheid had found safety here, fleeing Ironhead. Two years ago, Father Hugh had sheltered here as well and by an act of sorcery had aided Adelheid's escape.

In the year : Lord John, called Ironhead, was crowned king at Darre.

Now Ironhead was dead and Adelheid was queen. Antonia had to admire a mind that worked as subtly as Father Hugh's, laying out a torturous path often obscured by false doors and then following it to the end.

The rest of the entry for last year did not interest her, a record of certain disasters, called omens, that had befallen various peasant communities and local districts. No doubt the people had sinned in some grievous manner and were being punished by G.o.d, as they deserved. That was the usual reason for famine, drought, plague, and the blight of leprosy.

No hand had yet recorded the most important events of the current year, : the death of the skopos and her replacement by Anne; Adelheid's triumphant return and her restoration to Aosta's throne.

Probably, now, they never would.

Teuda, the lay sister, appeared at the door. Her time was up. As Antonia tucked the volume back onto its proper shelf, straightening the corners, wiping a smidgeon of dust from the corner of the book placed next to it, she wondered if she would be able to salvage this chronicle from the chaos sure to follow. There was a great deal of valuable information here, and it was obvious to her that the abbesses of St. Ekatarina's had known far more than they chose to let on. Why else record, in plain sight, the stone crowns scattered around the continent? In their own way, they were making a map. They knew the crowns were a key.

But she couldn't tell if they understood what those keys unlocked.

With a smile for Sister Petra, who had just set down a newly trimmed quill and now wiped ink from her fingers in preparation for services, Antonia left the library and dutifully returned to the guest hall. She tided herself up, revived herself with some wine set aside for this purpose, and went to pray at the small chamber where an altar stood. There was a cunning screen set into the altar itself, a concealed alcove so that an observer on the other side could look into the tiny chapel without being seen. She had noticed it within days of her arrival and could now tell if someone was lurking behind it, spying on her. There was no one there now; they would all be at prayer.

She spent a while making sure everything was ready. Then she knelt before the altar to pray, and to wait.

G.o.d would grant her triumph. Who else would see that G.o.d's work was done properly on Earth, if not her? She asked, of course, for forgiveness. Sometimes the blood of innocents had to be spilled in order to bring about the greater good for humankind.

In due course, as she always did, Sister Lucida arrived to escort Antonia to dinner. A halting footfall followed by a sc.r.a.ping sound as she dragged her cane along the ground preceded her appearance in the archway that separated the tiny chapel from the main guest hall. As the lackwit sucked in a breath, she snorted and gurgled, breathing hard, eyes blinking away tears. The light in the guest hall always made Sister Lucida cry, as though she had caught sight of angels in the streaming rays. She looked around aimlessly for a bit, head bobbing; it was difficult for her to focus.

At last, she fixed on Antonia and hobbled over. She grinned, displaying about ten teeth, all she had left. Her voice was a cross between a goose's honk and a pig's snort." S supper! Praise G.o.d!"

"Pray kneel beside me a moment while I finish my prayers," said Antonia with a gentle smile. She even helped Sister Lucida with the difficult task of kneeling, grasping her firmly around the back to hold her tight.

Then she slipped a slender knife out from the girdle wrapping her waist and thrust it, decisively, swiftly, up between Lucida's ribs, into the heart. As she held it steady, it pulsed to the frantic beat of the nun's heart. Lucida's mismatched eyes widened in shock and fear. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out, only a strangled croak.

"Pray, keep still, Sister Lucida, or you will surely die at this moment. As long as my hand holds the knife firm, then you will stay alive."

A whimper escaped the nun's lips, nothing more. A single tear slid from her right eye, trickling down her poxmarked face.

Antonia closed her eyes, the better to concentrate. The familiar syllables poured as smoothly as cream from her lips. She did not CHILD or FLAME understand them, of course, because they came from the ancient rituals known to the Babaharshan priests, but their efficacy was undoubted." Ahala shin ah risk amurru galla ashir ah luhish. Let this blood draw forth the creature out of the other world. Come out, creature, for I bind you with unbreakable fetters. This blood which you must taste that I have spilled makes you mine to command. I adjure you, in the name of the holy angels whose hearts dwell in righteousness, come out, and do as I bid you."

The iron-forge scent stung her nostrils. The breath of its being, shuddering into her view, stirred her hair. A galla swayed at the edge of her vision, a dark, towering shape, like a tall reed, reaching from floor to ceiling of the stone chamber.

Lucida, seeing it, jerked convulsively in terror. The knife in her chest wrenched sideways. Her heart's blood poured out of her, a river of scarlet gushing onto her robes, flowing away onto the stone floor. With a grimace of distaste for the mess, Antonia released her and let her drop. She stood and took a step back as the shadow that was the galla brushed past her, smelling the rich tang of innocent blood. Where its substance flicked over her, she heard faintly its agonized screaming, like the whine of a raging storm heard through thick walls. The middle world was torment to' the galla; that was why they were so easy to control once they were brought over. Though it wavered, tiny tendrils lapping out to touch the flowering lake of blood, it could not resist the very thing that would bind it to her will.

It drank.

She had to cover her nose with a perfumed sleeve to m.u.f.fle the stink of blood and the stinging forge-tang of the creature.

Soon enough, it had finished. Lucida was, amazingly, still alive, still conscious, her eyes wide and staring and one hand twitching. Life ebbed quickly. A last whimper escaped her as her soul fled. Antonia was relieved that the lackwit nun had died quietly. Not everyone did.

Still, it was an effort to raise her hands to p.r.o.nounce the final command." I adjure yorj, creature. This is your task, and you will do as I command. Kill the woman whose true name is Lavrentia, the mother of Anne."

Obedient to her will, its dark substance trembled, and it moved away immediately, its bell-like voice tolling the name of its victim.

Pa.s.sing through the rock itself, it vanished from her sight, but if she concentrated, she could see with its senses as it forged forward on the track of its prey.

Mother Obligatia-once known as the novice Lavrentia-a.s.sembled all unsuspecting with her nuns in the refectory, laying their simple meal out on the table.

Now, at last, Antonia allowed herself to totter to the stone bench carved into the wall, back by the entryway. She sank down, shaking horribly, all the strength drained from her limbs. It might take her hours to recover, and the link that bound her to the creature she had summoned still sucked at her heart. When she had been a young woman, sorcery hadn't taken so much out of her. Age had weakened her. In truth, unless she could divine the secrets of immortality, she hadn't many more years before she might become too weak to impose her will on the church.

Resting, eyes shut, she prayed for strength and health and long life in order that she could continue to do G.o.d's work on Earth. On the floor nearby, Lucida's body cooled and stiffened.

THE FIELD OF BLOOD.