PROLOGUE (126 page)

A flash of blue fire caught her gaze: the crossroads between spheres and worlds. Its flames shuddered and flared, bright one instant and then fading as if that fire pulsed in time to the heart of the universe. In flashes she saw through the distant crossroads into other worlds, other times, other places, glimpses half seen and quickly gone:
a girl standing with her arms full of flowers; a woman seated at a desk, writing with a strange sort of quill on sheets of paper, not vellum, her black hair pulled back in a ponytail and her dark coat cut in a style Liath has never seen; Count Lavastine's effigy in stone, with two stone hounds in faithful attendance; an egg cracking as a barbed claw pokes through from inside the shell; the slow trail of molten rivers of fire as they shift course; a centaur woman galloping across the steppe, expression alive to the beauty of speed and power; a woman dressed only in a corded skirt, suckling t\vin infants; Emperor Taillefer himself, proud and strong, at the height of his power, as he watches his favorite daughter invested as bis-cop.

Inside a pavilion, Ironhead's concubine, the pretty one with black hair, smooths Lord John's hair back from the crown of his head in a gentle gesture as he sleeps. Then she takes a stake and, with a hammer blow, drives it through his temple so hard that the point of the stake cleaves his skull to pierce the carpet below. Blood pools, changing color as it snakes out in a stream along the ground, drawing her gaze along its twisting length until Liath sees the man watching from a shadowed corner in the tent.

Hugh.

He lifts his head, as if he has sensed her. She bolts down another branch of the crossroads, forward in time.

Longships ghost out of the fog wreathing the Temes River. With heartless efficiency, silent and almost invisible, they beach along the strand below the walled city ofHefenfelthe. The great hall built by the Alban queens rises like the prow of a vast ship beyond the wall, long considered impregnable. Because of the power of the queens and their tree sorcerers, Hefenfelthe has never been taken

by fighting. Eika warriors swarm from the ships as mist binds the river, concealing them. A torch flares by the river gate. The chain rumbles, and as the vanguard races up to the walls, the gate swings open. What cannot be gained by force can be gained by treachery. Stronghand pauses as three men dressed in the rich garb of merchants scurry out of the gate, signaling frantically as they hurry forward to welcome the army they betrayed their own queen for. His lead warriors cut down the traitors. No man cm serve two masters. If they would betray their own people for mere coin, then they can never be trusted. His army pours past the bodies, although dogs pause to feed on the corpses and have to be driven forward. He waits on the shore as the sun rises, still obscured by mist. The first alarms sound from inside the city, but it is already too late. Threads of smoke begin to twist upward into the heavens, blending and melding...

She paused, aware again that she stood far up the stairs, the sphere of Aturna glittering below, beyond the golden wheels, and the universe opening beyond her.

A silver belt twisted through the gulf, marking the path of the country of the Aoi, now drawn inexorably back toward Earth. It was impossible to tell one side of the ribboned surface from the other or if it even had two sides at all but only one infinite gleaming surface. With her gaze she followed it down past the spheres descending below, each gateway a gem cut into a sphere's bright curve, all the way down to where Earth lay exposed below her, too broad to encompass with her outstretched arms here at the height of the spheres. Its curve, too, was evident where the line of advancing dawn receded to the west and night rose in the east. Taillefer's crown gleamed, spread out across the land, seven crowns each with seven points, the great wheel set across many realms and uncounted leagues: the vast loom of magic.

She saw:
Far below a battle rages. On a knoll a child brandishes a useless wooden sword while all around her Lions fight and die under the assault of winged riders, the Quman. Is that Thiadbold, calling out commands? The Lions fight bravely, but their numbers thin as the winged riders attack again, and again. It is only a matter of time.

As though struck by lightning, she recognized that dark-haired girl. She plunged down into the world below the moon, bow in hand.

How has Blessing come to be so old, four years of age at least? Ai, Lady! Has so much time passed? Has the child grown, knowing nothing of her mother? Will she die likewise, motherless and abandoned?

Liath sets her arrow to the bow, makes ready to draw.

But whom shall she shoot? There are fifty, or a hundred, or two hundred Quman riders swarming around the knoll and, farther away, another equally large group attacks and routs the rear of a legion of Wendish soldiers. She recognizes the banner of Saony, but this is only a minor distraction.

She must save her child.

Yet against so many, one arrow will not be enough to save her.

To shoot now is to waste the only weapon she has left.

Ai, Lord. Where is Sanglant?

They had at last gained a good view of the plain and the Quman army set in battle order not far beyond when one of Bayan's Ungrians came galloping up.

"My lord prince!" The captain had served in several embassies and spoke Wendish well.” Prince Sanglant! Prince Bayan commands you to turn your line about—

"Turn my line about!" Sanglant's anger cut the message short. What was Bayan plotting now, demanding that he turn his line away from the enemy and thus lose the honor of engaging the Quman in battle?

"Look, my lord prince!" cried Sibold, who had been given the honor this day of carrying the banner.

Only a short stretch of woodland separated them from the open fields where the Quman gathered. The vanguard of the Wendish army could be seen, banners flying, as they emerged from the wood and split apart into regular lines to face the Quman across the broad gap. For a moment Sanglant admired the brisk efficiency of Sapientia's troops, drilled and trained by Bayan over the winter. Was it jealousy that made him hesitate? Did he fear that Sapientia would acquit herself well, as Bayan clearly meant her to do?

Wasn't it necessary to give her a chance to prove herself fit to command, and therefore to rule?

He turned back to the messenger.” Go on."

"My lord prince." The man loosened the strap on his helm and tipped it back for relief from the heat.” Prince Bayan orders you to turn your legion and ride to the aid of the rear guard. The Quman swung wide and sent an entire wing of their army to destroy the rear. Duke Boleslas and the Polenie are hard hit, and the rout has already reached the Saony legion, which is scattering—

"My daughter?" asked Sanglant, as the cold battle fury descended.

The messenger flushed.” There is no news either of your daughter's whereabouts or those of Prince Bayan's mother. The entire rear has collapsed."

He waited for no more.” Captain Fulk! Send Sergeant Cobbo to alert Lord Druthmar that we are turning. He will ride at the rear of our unit. I'll take the van myself. Sibold!"

Horns rang out. The banners.signaled the turnabout. These were not battle-hardened troops, as his Dragons had been, but he had seen their willingness to follow over the last few months. This would be their true test.

Goaded by his fury and his fear, they rode recklessly, at full bore. He trusted them to keep up. Let the unworthy fall behind. He would kill every Quman himself if he had to.

They swung wide through the open woodland as they pounded past Prince Bayan's Ungrians, who whooped and cheered to give them courage but who nevertheless kept moving toward the plain. Why hadn't Bayan himself turned around to meet the threat from behind?

No time to think of that now.

A gap had opened between the Ungrian rear guard and the van of the Saony legion, under the joint command of the two quarreling brothers. Stragglers appeared, running through the trees: soldiers on horseback, a few hapless camp followers on foot, screaming warnings when they saw the prince and his legion. He lifted a hand; Fulk blew the horn twice, and the entire mass of men—not less than six hundred riders including Druthmar and his marchlanders—came to a stop as Sanglant brought several soldiers to a halt.

Their stories varied wildly. The entire Quman army had hit the baggage train. Lord Zwentibold was dead. Duke Boleslas was dead. Duke Boleslas was in league with the Quman. All the wagons were burning.

One man had seen the Lions forming up around a knoll; from his brief, panicked description, Sanglant recalled the little hill. He had noted it, as he always noted strategic landmarks, when he had ridden past earlier.

Signaling to Fulk, he started forward. Soon enough they heard the clash of battle ahead. Breaking into a gallop, Sanglant led the charge.

The Saony legion, taken unawares from behind by the Quman, had dissolved into scattered bands of stalwart men fighting for their lives while the rest fled or were cut down from behind. Sanglant saw Wichman's banner, still bobbing aloft, before he lowered his lance and let the weight of their charge carry them into the Quman line. In their heavy armor, his Wendish auxiliaries bore down and trampled the more lightly armed Quman riders, just overran them. Sanglant knocked one man from his horse, then thrust his lance deep into another Quman's unprotected belly before letting go of the haft and drawing his sword. With a cry, he lay about on either side, driving his way through the Quman. Feathers drifted on the air. Bones cracked. Horses stumbled, wounded, and fell, plunging their riders to the ground. A shout of triumph rose from the Saony men who had so far survived, and they redoubled their efforts.

"Call the advance!" cried Sanglant over the noise, pulling away from the fighting so that Fulk could gather his men again. Wichman had rallied half the remaining Saony troops. There was no sign of Zwentibold. Sanglant signaled, and Lord Druthmar joined him.” Use your men as the other claw of the pincer. Now that we've shaken up the Quman line, you can crash them between your group and Saony."

"As you command, my lord prince." Druthmar called out orders as Sanglant withdrew from the battle with half of his soldiers.

Fulk blew the advance. Sibold raised the banner high, thrice, and with Sanglant still in the lead, they rode in haste for the baggage train. Behind, the battle raged on as Druthmar drove his soldiers back upon the flank of the Quman, catching them front and rear.

But as shadowy figures fled through the forest on all sides, refugees from the fighting, Sanglant could think only of the baggage train. Pray God his daughter still lived. He should have left her at Walburg, with Waltharia; he knew it, and guilt burned him, but he had to push it aside. If he let guilt cloud his mind now, then he was risking the lives of the men he commanded. There would be plenty of time for guilt later, when this was done.

A crowd of prisoners came into view, being herded by a half-dozen Quman soldiers. At the sight of this new force, the Quman abandoned their captives and rode away, unwilling to stand and fight. The prisoners cheered hoarsely at the sight of the prince and his golden banner. But Sanglant strained to see through the open forest. Was that the knoll, ahead? He heard cries, and the ring of fighting. He heard rain, and the growl of thunder.” There!" cried Fulk.

A broad clearing opened before them. Wagons and carts had been abandoned all across the grassy expanse, now wet under a light rain whose front stopped, uncannily, just before the knoll. Careless Quman, lured by the riches carried in a prince's train, had given up the fight to loot. Not all of them were so undisciplined, however. Wagons had been thrown up to make a palisade around the knoll, but this line had now been abandoned as the remaining Lions were forced to retreat up the knoll. Despite the tiring run, Resuelto stretched out into a gallop, feeling his rider's anticipation.

"Fulk! Take Cobbo's company and kill those looters." A third of the men peeled away, bearing down on the enemy now scrambling for their horses, trying to ready their weapons before they got trampled or swept away. A few Quman threw down their weapons and dropped to the damp ground, trying to surrender—

He didn't see what became of them. The Quman's leader had pulled back from the attack on the knoll to meet Sanglant. Both men wielded swords. Sanglant parried, and cut, cleaving the other man through shoulder and wing. With a shove, he toppled him from his horse.

A Quman rider collided with Resuelto, but the steppe pony was dwarfed by the Wendish war steed. The jolt made the gelding stagger, but the Quman was knocked to the ground. Resuelto reared and plunged down. The Quman died quickly, but the pony still struggled, trying to rise.

At last Sanglant reached the overturned wagons. Above, a score of Lions fought desperately against the onslaught of winged warriors. A cheer rose from the Lions as they caught sight of their rescuers. They attacked with renewed strength, using their shields to shove the winged riders off-balance as Sanglant, now closely followed by Lord Hrodik and his Gentish followers, fell upon their flank.