PROLOGUE (31 page)

"Ah." Zacharias considered the goats, who had resolved their dispute by pulling to the limits of their ropes where they had found satisfaction in a bramble. His profile seemed vaguely familiar to Sanglant, but he couldn't place him. Had he seen him before? He did not think so, yet something about the man rang a resonance in his heart. The frater had a bold nose, a hawk's nose, as some would have been wont to say, and a vaguely womanlike jawline, more full than sharp. He had the thinness of a man who has eaten poorly for a long time, and a shock of dark hair tied back at his neck. Like a good churchman, he had no beard. But his gaze was clear and unafraid.” Do you believe she is lost to you, Your Highness?"

"I will find her."

Zacharias considered the words, and the tone, and finally nodded.” May I travel with you, then, my lord?"

Oddly, the question irritated Sanglant.” Why do you seek her?"

"So that she may explain to me these calculations. She, too, seeks an understanding of the architecture of the universe, just as I do. She must know something of the secret language of the stars—

"Enough." The man spoke so like Liath that Sanglant could not bear to hear more of it. Ai, God, it reminded him of the conversation he had overheard between Liath and Sister Venia: Hugh could read, could navigate the night sky, could plot the course of the moon; Hugh had a passion for knowledge, and Sanglant did not. Would Liath like Zacharias' company better than his? She lived at times so much in her mind that he wondered if she ever noticed that with each step her feet touched the ground. Maybe her feet no longer touched Earth at all, not now. Perhaps all the secrets of the stars had been revealed to her on some distant sphere, and she need never return to the Earth he understood and lived on.”

Heribert coughed slightly, and Sanglant realized that every man there was waiting for him.” You may travel with us, Brother, as long as you abide by my orders and make no trouble."

"I have a wretched tongue, Your Highness," said the frater, "and it has gotten me into trouble before." He spoke bitterly, and made a kind of gesture with his hand, toward his hips, quickly cut off, as though he hadn't meant to make any such gesture at all.

"A little honest gossip is common to men accustomed to the soldiering life, Brother, but I don't tolerate lies or betrayal. Nor do I punish men for speaking the truth."

"Then you are an unusual prince, my lord."

"So he is," interposed Fulk. The good captain regarded the dirty frater with suspicion.” You'll do your share of the camp work, I trust?"

"I'm humbly born, Captain," retorted the frater tartly.” I do not fear hard work, and have done my share, and more than my share, in the past. I survived seven years as a slave among the Quman."

The soldiers murmured on hearing this boast.

"Is that so?" demanded Sanglant.” What tribe took you as a slave, and what was their chieftain's name?"

The frater's grin had the beauty of a hawk's flight, swiftly seen and swiftly vanished.” I walked into the east to bring the light of God to their lost souls. But the Kirakit tribe, whose mark is the curve of an antelope's horn, scorned me. They traded me to the Pechanek tribe as part of a marriage agreement. You can see it on my back, if you will: the rake of a snow leopard's claw, to-mark me as the slave of their begh Bulkezu."

"Bulkezu," echoed Sanglant.

Zacharias shuddered. Even spoken so softly, and at such a distance, names had power.

Sanglant touched his throat, felt the scar of the wound that ought to have killed him, but had not.” I fought against him once, and neither of us won in that encounter." He smiled grimly.” I will take you gladly, Brother, for it seems to me that a man who can survive seven years as a slave of the Quman will not falter easily."

"Nor will I," agreed the frater, "although I was hoping for a wash."

"Who's on water duty, Captain?"

Fulk had been regarding the frater with surprised admiration. Now he turned to the prince.” I had meant to bring the matter to your attention, Your Highness. The ruins make a good defense, but there is no nearby water source. I've got the men carrying in buckets, enough for the night. Brother Zacharias may go down to the stream, if he wishes."

"Nay, wait a moment, Captain." Heribert stepped forward.” This is a Dariyan fort, is it not?" He surveyed the ruins with the eye of a man familiar with ancient buildings.

Sanglant had camped in old Dariyan forts before. Well built, they had usually weathered time and war so well that their walls still provided a good defensive position, and Sanglant had fought for too many years to pitch camp even in peaceful territory without an eye to defense. This fort, like all the others, had square walls and two avenues, one crossing the other, that split the cramped interior into four quarters, with four gates. Fulk had posted sentries along the outer walls and had placed the camp in the central square, itself ringed by a low wall. Heribert crossed to that inner wall and began a circuit, bending now and again to brush accumulated dust from the reliefs of eagle-headed soldiers and women with the muzzles of jackals that adorned the walls, a parade etched into stone that ringed the entire square.

Abruptly, Heribert struck at the ground with his staff, then called over a soldier. With a spear's haft and a shovel, they dug and levered and, that suddenly, got a stone lifted. A cloud of moisture billowed up.

"Sorcery!" murmured one of the soldiers.

"A miracle!" said a second.

Heribert returned in time to hear this comment.” Nay, there's no sorcery or miracles involved," he said, somewhat disgustedly.” All Dariyan forts were built to the same plan. One cistern always lies in the central square, marked by a woman dressed in a skirt hung all around with lightning bolts and carrying a water lily. Usually, in forts that were inhabited for a lengthy period, an entire network of rain spouts and channels leads rainwater into that central cistern, and—

Because he seemed ready to go on indefinitely, caught up by his passion, Sanglant interrupted him.” Let me taste the water first."

A rope and bucket were found. When a soldier brought him the half-full bucket, Sanglant dipped a hand in the cool water, sipped, and let the taste of it wash over him. No taint of poison or foulness burned him. The water smelled fresh, and had been covered for so long and so tightly that no animal had fallen in to poison it.” I judge it safe to use, Captain."

"Truly, that will save us labor, Brother," said Fulk, eyeing Heribert with new respect. Captain and cleric went aside, and Heribert began pointing out to him certain features of the fort. Zacharias left camp to wash himself in privacy. Blessing stirred and woke from her nap, and Sanglant unwound her from the sling as the soldiers built up a good fire and brought out their .equipment for mending torn cloaks and tunics. The cooks roasted the six deer they'd shot in the course of their march that day.

In this manner, they settled down for the night. Sanglant fed Blessing a paste made of pulses and goat's milk, sweetened with honey that the soldier Sibold had stolen from a bee's nest two days ago, although the poor man still had swollen fingers, the price he'd paid for this prize.

"Da da!" Blessing said in her emphatic way.” Da ma ba! Wa!

child of elame
Ge! Ge!" She wriggled out of his lap and grabbed his fingers, wanting to walk. In the past ten days she'd gotten so steady on her legs that she could now run, and did, whenever he wasn't holding on to her or she wasn't in her sling. She was so used to the soldiers that she would run, screaming with excitement, to any one of them, as her father chased her, and hide behind their legs. This had become part of the nightly ritual of the war band. Once she had exhausted them in this way, she presided, from her father's lap, over the singing that followed dinner. Every man there knew a dozen tunes or twenty or a hundred. Blessing babbled along enthusiastically, and although she couldn't quite clap her hands together to keep time, she waved them vigorously.

When she finally slumped into her father's chest, eyes half closed, he called Brother Zacharias over to him and questioned him closely about Bulkezu and the Quman. The frater had managed to wash the worst of the dirt off him, although his clothing still stank. He had the accent of a man born and bred in the east among the free farmers, those who had settled in the marchlands in exchange for land of their own and the protection of the king. Of the Quman, Zacharias had a slave's knowledge, incomplete and sketchy, but he noticed details and he knew how to talk.

"Maybe it's best we ride east," said Sanglant finally as Fulk and Heribert listened.” Sapientia will not like this news of our father's marriage to Queen Adelheid."

"It's a long road to the east," observed Heribert.” All roads are long roads." Blessing had fallen asleep on his chest. He bundled her up in the sling, off the ground so no crawling creature could bite her. The others rolled themselves up in their blankets. From farther off he heard sentries pacing on their rounds, their footfalls light on packed earth. He could not sleep. His hand still smarted from the prick of the thistle.

Jerna's aetherical form fluttered down beside him, rippling like water. She curled herself as a veil of protection around the sleeping bundle that was Blessing. Perhaps, like an amulet, she did protect the baby. Blessing had not taken sick for even one day since Jerna began suckling her, nor was the baby troubled by fly or mosquito bites like the rest of them. Hot sun did not make her dusky skin break out in a rash, nor did she seem to mind the cold.

She was growing so fast that every man there knew it was uncanny and abnormal, although none spoke a word out loud.

Maybe he was a fool for letting an abomination nurse her. Perhaps it wasn't wise. But what else could he have done? He had made the only choice open to him.

So be it.

AS King Henry's army lurched and toiled up the pass, Rosvita found herself for the fifth time that day at a standstill behind a wagon. This one had gotten stuck where its wheels had broken through an icy crust to bog down in mud beneath.

Fortunatus reined his mule up beside hers, and sighed.” Do you think it was wise of King Henry to cross the mountains this late in the year?"

"Speak no ill of the king, I pray you, Brother. He marches at God's bidding. You see, the sun still shines."

So it did, however bleak and wan its light seemed against a backdrop of dark clouds, cold mountainside, and a cutting wind. Soldiers and servants hurried forward with planks and sticks to coax the wagon out of its mire. Soon a dozen of them had gathered around the stricken wagon, arguing with each other in the tone of men who have had their endurance tested to the limit.

"Shall I speak to them, Sister?"

"Nay, let them be unless it comes to a fistfight. But you may take the reins of my mule, if you please." As she had done the other times they had halted in this manner, she dismounted from her mule to give a few words of comfort to a wagon's load of soldiers so stricken with the flux that they were too weak to walk.

"Let us pray, friends," she said as she approached the wagon, although in truth most of the soldiers were too delirious with fever to hear her words. The wagon stank of their illness, for these were

the poor souls who no longer had the strength to hoist themselves off the wagon and stagger off the path before voiding their bowels.

It took her perhaps four steps to walk from her mule to the wagon. Only for that long did she turn her back to the pass up which the army struggled.

The wagon driver had a cloth tied over most of his face to mask the stench of sickness, but even so, she saw his eyes widen in terror as he looked past her. She heard it first as a rumble, a crackling thrumming roar that obliterated distant shrieks and warning calls.

"Sister!" cried Fortunatus.” Ai, God, we are overtaken!"

She turned back. She hadn't turned away for longer than it would take to count to ten, but in that brief span the sun had vanished under a curtain of white descending off the mountains. For an instant, the sight so disoriented her that she imagined them overwhelmed by a deluge of white flower petals.

The blizzard hit without warning. She had time only to grab at the wagon's side, to brace herself. Fortunatus flung himself down from his mount and yanked on the reins of her mule. Then the storm swallowed him, and smashed into her.

She could not even hear the moans of the ill soldiers. Wind lashed her and snow blasted her. Pebbles caught up by the wind peppered her back as though a giant was hurling them against its enemies. She groped her way along the wagon until she shouldered up against the protecting bulk of the oxen. Luckily, she wore gloves, but even so her fingers stiffened where they clutched at wood and harness. She had to keep her back to the wind in order to breathe.