PROLOGUE (95 page)

As Ekkehard nattered on, and Boso translated, Bulkezu began to look bored. A discreet hand signal, and quickly enough horses were brought for the Quman prince, his bodyguard, and Hanna. Even Boso was left behind as the small party mounted and rode up to the hilltop to investigate the ruined palace.

Hanna saw no signs of rebuilding. The fire's destruction had been so complete that there wasn't anything left to salvage. Two years of rain and wind had washed the mantle of ashes off the hill, but blackened spars still stood in tribute to the sprawling palace that had once taken up half the height. The walls of the stone chapel were more or less intact, scored with the marks of fire. The shattered glass windows gaped vacantly and the roof had fallen in. Roof tiles littered the nave. Bulkezu poked through heaps of tiles with a spear but found nothing of interest except a bronze belt buckle, warped from the intense heat, that had once been fashioned in the shape of a springing deer.

He laughed softly.” Would that I had such power." He glanced up, caught by Hanna's silence, and peered at her with an unnerving stare.” Do you know how this came about?" He gestured broadly, encompassing the hilltop ruin.

She pressed her lips tightly together.

He smiled.” A broken lamp, oil spilled, or sorcery?"

At times like this, a fit of reckless fury would overtake her, a wish to slam her fist into that handsome face and gallop onward to freedom. But he had too many guards, more carefully placed since her last attempt to escape, for her to try again.

He enjoyed her anger. He fed on it, and it made him laugh. Although, of course, almost anything could make him laugh.

"Sorcery," he replied with satisfaction, as though she had answered him.

Maybe she had.

He whistled sharply. After a bit his shaman, Cherbu, trotted up on a piebald mare whose blotched coat bore a vague resemblance to the patchwork cloak and trousers worn by its rider. The two men exchanged a few words, after which the shaman dismounted, got down on his hands and knees, and proceeded to sniff like a dog, following an unseen trail through the ruins. Bulkezu followed him on horseback, singing in that irritating nasal tone the Quman used for their favorite songs to entertain himself as he waited. Hanna recognized a song he had once translated for her:
"Has anyone suffered so much misfortune as I have?

Who pities the orphan, or the little bird that falls from its abandoned nest?

It would be better to be dead than motherless.

But fate has already played this song.

If my mother rose from her sickbed and kissed me now, it still wouldn 't bring me any joy."

He paused. The shaman had vanished. Hanna looked around wildly, but she saw no trace of Cherbu or his patchwork cloak among the fallen beams and barren ground. The noises from camp, below them, seemed suddenly faint, shrouded. A cloud had covered the sun, granting respite from its glare, yet a thin line of light slithered through the wreckage like a snake.

An owl hooted. White flashed off to one side, and Hanna turned in time to see a huge owl settle onto the highest wall of the burned chapel.

"I'm here," she whispered, wondering if will alone, chiseled to a point and flung outward on a thought, would be enough to alert the owl to her presence among the Quman.

It raised its wings once, like a salute.

One of the guards drew, aiming an arrow at the huge bird, but Bulkezu spoke three soft words.

A billowing cloud of ash blew up from the ruins, making Hanna's eyes sting. She blinked rapidly, shielded her eyes with a hand, and when she dared look again, the owl was gone. The shaman, coated with a white layer of ash over his patchwork clothing, stood in the midst of the ruined barracks where five Lions had died.

"There," said Bulkezu.” That's where the fire started. He can taste it, you know."

"Taste what?"

"Magic."

"Why does he follow you, if he's so powerful? What do you give him to make him ride so far?"

Bulkezu laughed. God have mercy, how she had come to hate that laugh.” Cherbu is my brother. Our mother commanded him to serve me. Are you Wendish so uncivilized that you would disobey your own mother? It's true, isn't it, that you fight among yourselves more than you fight anyone else."

This struck him with such force that his laughter redoubled and he actually had to wipe tears from his eyes.

While she stewed, stoking her anger, she watched Cherbu pick through rotting planks and leaning wooden pillars singed by smoke and flame. Cold cinders crumbled under his hands as he marked a patch of ground with soot, then stamped around in a curious dance, singing in a reedy voice that occasionally slipped low.

Until a word she knew well slipped out of his throat, strangely accented but impossible to ignore.

"Liathano."

She started, betraying herself. Bulkezu whistled. Cherbu shook himself, slapped the ground, and returned, humming under his breath. He had a habit of regarding his listeners out of one eye, tilting his head to the side like a bird. Bulkezu questioned him at length, but the shaman replied in short phrases and finally shrugged, ending the conversation.

"Where is she gone, this Liathano?" Bulkezu demanded with a frown, turning to Hanna.” My brother says she is a female, but that he can't smell her out. Where is she gone?"

At last Hanna smiled, letting anger bloom.” Why should I tell you?"

Her cool defiance provoked him; easy to see, when his nostrils flared like that and his horse shifted nervously under him, catching his mood. But his wrath only made her more stubborn. She stared him down as his dimple flashed, as he laughed but stroked the hair

of his trophy head instead, almost caressing it. His brother spoke to him, glancing once at Hanna, and Bulkezu jerked as if he'd been struck. Without a word, he reined his horse around and rode down to camp. The set of his shoulders betrayed his rage. Half his guards followed him. The other half remained behind, watching with blank expressions.

But Hanna laughed, flushed with the satisfaction of having finally won a single, tiny victory.

Cherbu clucked his tongue, shaking his head from side to side so that his earrings swayed. When he spoke, although she couldn't understand the words, the tone could just as well have been her mother scolding Hanna and her two brothers if they whispered during Mass: "You know better than that..."

"I know, my friend," she said, and was surprised that she considered him no enemy, not really, despite the gruesome ornaments he wore. After all, she had not seen him lift a weapon or cast a harmful spell, not once. His cloak of magic protected Bulkezu from magic; that was all. He regarded her with a puzzled grin, since he couldn't understand a word she was saying.” I know I shouldn't make him angry. But right now it's the only weapon I have."

Such a frail weapon to fight back with, especially when fighting back made no sense. If she hadn't been Sorgatani's luck well, then she'd be dead.

The light of the setting sun streamed golden across the open space, illuminating each suffering soul slumped in the grass, two or three hundred of them mixed in among the livestock. It was hard to count with the sun's light shining in her eyes. By killing hundreds, Bulkezu had slaughtered the plague in their midst, but that didn't mean he'd stopped taking prisoners.

Her anger was a small thing to lay as an obstacle in his path, but sometimes you had to make the most of what little you had.

By the time she got back to camp, Bulkezu seemed to have forgotten about the incident. A feast was laid, cheese and freshly baked bread salvaged from the small estate they'd overrun that morning, roasted venison, and mare's milk. Bulkezu never drank much wine or ale, preferring to watch Ekkehard and his companions drink themselves into a stupor. In general, Quman soldiers were a dour and unexciting bunch, not one bit up to the standards of carousing that she had grown accustomed to riding with Wendish or Ungrian nobles.

It was, thank God, possible to step away from the feast and relieve herself in what passed for privacy, given the three soldiers who never strayed more than ten steps from her. The Quman were not in the habit of digging ditches to use as privies, but at least, like well-trained dogs, they tended to choose one area at each place they camped for these necessities. She remained at the outskirts of camp for as long as she could and watched the stars twinkling in the sky above.

Where was Liath now?

She had no way to look for her. She did not dare attempt to use her Eagle's sight for fear that Bulkezu would discover that she possessed a skill, not quite magic but stinking enough of sorcery, that he might try to force her to use it on his behalf.

A woman hurried out from the tent, making choking noises. She dropped to her knees a few paces from Hanna and threw up, mostly wine. The acid smell stung the air, then faded.

Hanna dropped down beside her.” Are you well?"

It was Agnetha. She grasped Hanna's hands.” He's not happy with me," she whispered frantically.” I did what you said. No flattery. No whining. No crying. But he sulked. Listen to him now."

Ekkehard had gotten hold of a lute and started singing, obviously drunk. He had a clear tenor and a poet's talent for shaping a phrase.

"Once in this bright feasting hall I laid eyes on the most beautiful of women.

Yet now I return and find her gone the walls fallen, the hearth silent, no ring of cup or lilt of song to cheer my heart.

Death has swept away all that I cherished.

"What shall I do?" whispered Agnetha, retching again, nothing but dry heaves now. She clutched her stomach.” Ai, God, he said he would throw me to the wolves, to the common soldiers. Tell me what shall I do, Eagle, I pray you."

"Lady shield you," murmured Hanna. A simple village girl like

Agnetha hadn't the least idea how to be a concubine. And why should she have? Hanna had learned how to negotiate and observe at her mother's inn; those skills had served her well at court.” You can't treat each man the same. What Bulkezu liked isn't what the prince will want. Flattery for Prince Ekkehard. Tell him anything as long as it's praise. If he casts you off, beg to go to one of his companions. Manegold is ,vain and shallow. Welf is short-tempered but feels shame for what they're doing. Benedict is sharp, He'll see through bald flattery, and he likes to hit his girls. Frithuric likes men as well as women and mostly wants to be petted and kept comfortable. He's decent enough."

Agnetha's face was a pale shadow under the trees.” How do you | know all this? Were you their whore before you went to Bulkezu?"

"I'm no man's whore, and never have been! I've spent time at court. An Eagle must learn to keep her eyes open and know those she serves."

Agnetha wiped her mouth with the back of a hand. She was dressed in a light shift, exposing rather too much creamy white breast only half covered by cloth and the silky fall of her long black hair. Even the normally impassive guards eyed her, such as they could see of her in the shadow of a tree with not more than a quarter moon to light the heavens. Maybe they had been among the dozen who had been fighting over her the evening she had come to Bulkezu's attention.” Lady save us," she murmured unsteadily.” When will it ever be over?" "I don't know."

She was trying her best not to cry.” I try so hard. My mother and my four siblings, an uncle and three of his children and two cousins. I'm all that stands between them and death." She shuddered.” And I'm still more fortunate than most, all those poor dead souls. But sometimes I just don't know how I can stand another day of it." She sucked in air, coughed at the stench, and rose, squaring her shoulders.” I just have to. I just have to."

As she turned to go back into the tent, she rested a comforting hand on Hanna's arm.” At least I'm out of Bulkezu's tent. It's not that he hits you, but there's just something so cold and unnatural about him. And he's so ugly."

"Ugly?" Hanna almost laughed, but did not.

"With those slanty eyes and that complexion, like mud? That Lord Manegold is like the sun beside a nasty goblin, for that's all the beast is."

Since Hanna thought Lord Manegold even more vapid than the infamous Baldwin, and not nearly as pretty, she didn't reply.

"At least it's not so bad for me now as it has been for you all this time."

"For me?" Shame made her cringe away from the other woman. How had she suffered, compared to all those prisoners she heard screaming as the Quman cut them down?

"He watches you all the time. I know you've been his mistress longer than any other woman. I don't see how you can stand it and keep so calm and dignified. You're so strong! I guess that's why you don't think of yourself as his whore."