Elliott, Kate - Crown of Stars 1 (35 page)

Geoffrey was not well enough to travel; the wounds he had sustained from the hounds were bad, although likely not mortal. He was left in the care of frater, with orders that he vacate the holding as soon as he could travel.

Lavastine appointed a chatelain from among his ownserving-men, a man born of free parents who had placed himself in the count's service in hopes of gaining something more than the youngest son's share of his parents' farmstead. If Sabella's rebellion turned out to her advantage, this man might well find himself steward of a good holding. If it did not...

But as Alain watched wagons of provisions trundling out of the holding
—vegetables and legumes taken from the storerooms, shields, good spearheads and strong wooden shafts, a few swords, old helmets and new, cloth for tunics and tabards, milled grain, leather, and five small coffers filled with the silver and gold that constituted both Geoffrey's movable wealth, brought to the marriage as his groom's gift, and Aldegund's portion of her family's wealth—he saw how Sabella improved her chances of winning the throne by this victory.

They marched south through the borderlands that had once separated Wendar and Varre and which were still lands that had as many hands in one pot as the other. At two holdings they found enthusiastic support, and Lavastine took on twenty-four more men as soldiers, though they marched under their own captains.

But over the next ten days they took over three holdings whose noble lords and ladies professed loyalty to King Henry. Not one of these holdings, after they saw Lavastine's retinue and heard his blunt speech, resisted. All of them kept their lives but lost fully half of their movable goods. Lavastine's supply train grew longer and longer, and the five coffers of silver and gold and gems grew to nine.

Soon they reached lands loyal to the duke of Varingia, and they turned westward, back into Varre, to find and join Sabella's army.

"So were Lady Sabella's followers stripped of their lands and wealth after her rebellion failed eight years ago," said Master Rodlin one night when he came back from tending to the horses. He was obviously deeply troubled; otherwise he rarely spoke to Alain and cer-
* -'
ily not to confide in him.

Alain had fed and watered the hounds and tied them under a wagon for the night. There they lay, five of the eight who remained
—Fear, Bliss, Ardent, Steadfast, and Good Cheer, their eyes open and unwinking, staring at him and at the snapping fire. Now that Joy was dead, old Terror slept in Lavastine's tent, and Alain let Rage and Sorrow run unleashed beside him because he could now trust them to do as he wished and leave people alone.

Alain wanted to speak. He wanted to say, "Is it any fairer when Henry's supporters are divested of lands or riches that have been held in their family for generations?"

But he did not speak. He dared not. They would think
he
sympathized with King Henry.

He did not. He knew nothing of Henry except the name, not truly. Nor did he sympathize with Sabella. How could he, knowing what he did of Biscop Antonia's actions and Sabella's willing complicity in them?

He had a great deal of time to think, and think he did. Of course foremost in his heart was God, Our Lady and Lord, and after them his own kin, his father Henri and Aunt Bel and his cousins. But he had left his family far behind, in distance if not in his heart.

It was said often enough in Osna village that Count Lavastine was a godly man, asking fair taxes in exchange for the protection he offered the little port. Because so many merchants lived there, Osna was a target for raiders from all sides, sea and land.

But the protection of the counts of Lavas had served the village well over the years since the emporium there was established in the time of the Emperor Taillefer. No freeholder in Osna village except those who managed their fortunes very badly indeed had ever been forced to indenture themselves in exchange for payment of outrageous rents or taxes. That was the sort of thing the noble lords did in Salia, for they were very greedy there. Not one soul in Osna village had ever had to sell one of their children into slavery in order to meet their debts or taxes; but Salian slaves, children born to free or once-free parents, were brought to Osna every summer and

king's dragon

sold to families in the lands nearby or shipped onward, to ports farther east.

So that must be his duty. It was the only thing he could sort out from the impossible confusion of his thoughts. He would stay beside Lavastine, as much as he could, as much as he was allowed to. Was that the sign the Lady had meant for him? Was it Her hand that had brought him friendship with Lavastine's hounds, which in its turn allowed him to remain close to the count?

It must be so. Agius thought he was Lavastine's bastard, but why would a noble lord send his bastard off with a freeborn man and not put the child directly into the monastery, if that was his intent?

Biscop Antonia perhaps thought he was the fruit of a Midsummer's Eve seduction, gotten on a human girl by the shade of an elvish prince. But how could a dead creature, elvish or not, get a living woman pregnant?

And the Eika prince had misunderstood his words completely and thought he was
King
Henry's son!

No. He could just imagine what Aunt Bel would say about such fantasies!
"The Lady and Lord act for a reason,"
she would say. She was a good, practical woman, and to her, as to the deacon of Osna village and the other householders, God worked in practical ways and rewarded those who were faithful, hardworking, and pragmatic. Of course Aunt Bel knew that God worked in the world and that angels might light in modest homes or saints walk abroad to save the weary and forsaken. She would not doubt Alain's rose, or the vision he had seen at the old Dariyan fort.

But she would expect Alain to be made humble by these experiences, not proud.

"Why would these things happen" she would ask, "if there is not a task for you to accomplish, lad?"

It was the only answer that made any sense to him: He was the only one who knew
and
believed Lavastine rode to war not because he supported Sabella but because he was ensorcelled.

J He did not know what else to do but watch over him. That must be his task.

"WOLFHERE returned from Freelas after fourteen days. He brought bitter news.

Eika raiders had laid waste to the monastery at Sheep's Head and then sailed eastward to join an army of their kind. Already, as rumor told the story, this very army had besieged the great port city of Gent, gateway to the rich heartland of Wendar and the birthplace of King Henry's great-grandfather, Duke and later King Henry, the first of that name. In Gent's cathedral the first Henry's son, known as the elder Arnulf, had married his seven-year-old daughter Adelheid to Louis, the five-year-old child king of Varre. The elder Arnulf had, of course, made himself their regent. For good measure, he had betrothed Louis' infant sister Berengaria to his heir, Henry's father, the younger Arnulf. That King Louis of Varre had died young, and without leaving an heir, was simply the Lady's and Lord's Grace in granting fortune to Arnulf's house. That Berengaria had died in childbed some years later only sealed the issue. To the Wendish kings, Gent itself symbolized the passage of Varre's noble house and its right to rule Varre into Wendish hands.

"We must ride east," said Wolfhere, "to Gent, to see for ourselves the truth of these rumors. King Henry dares not ride north unless he must, not now. There are too many whispers about the doings of his sister, Lady Sabella. Some even say she is speaking rebellion outright. What a bitter thing it is, that she should cause so much trouble now, when we need our armies so badly here in the north."

He sat in the inn common room, elbows folded on the
king's dragon
/ table, a mug of ale at his left hand. He spoke mostly to Manfred and Hathui, but now and again his eye lit on Liath and Hanna, who sat silent but attentive at the end of the table. It was evening, and many of the locals had come in for a drink, mostly, Hanna knew, to watch the Eagles and listen for scraps of news from the great world beyond. Custom had been up for the last ten days because of their guests, who had gone from being a curiosity to an item of gratifying interest eight days ago when Hathui broke the nose of an importunate, and very drunk, young farmer.

Hanna admired Hathui, a big-boned, strong woman who had, by her own account, grown up in horse country far to the east in the march country of Eastfall, beyond which lay the wild lands and the barbaric Quman peoples, the winged horsemen
—so Hathui called them. They lived in darkness, outside the Light of the Circle of Unity, and Hathui's own brother had walked as a missionary into those dark lands and never returned.

"So I dedicated my life to St. Perpetua, Lady of Battles,"
Hathui had said,
"and swore to fight them instead."

Until the day she took the ring investing her into the king's service as an Eagle, Hanna had not realized how much she wanted to see the world beyond Heart's Rest before she settled down and, like her mother before her, became chatelaine of her own inn. She had not allowed herself to want it, knowing it was out of her reach; what point was there in reaching for something you could never have? That was why inn work appealed to her, because was it not said that "the innkeeper sees the world through the guests that come in through her door?"

And yet, she could have gone with Ivar to Quedlinhame, where she would have seen the king's court. And yet, she might have gone with Liath to Firsebarg. But it was better not to think about Firsebarg, because that would make her think of Hugh.

"As for you two young ones," Wolfhere added, wrenching Hanna's attention back to the matter at hand, "you will have to learn the ways of the Eagles as we ride. I had hoped to send you
—" He broke off, took a deep draught of ale, and sighed, setting the mug down so hard that foam spilled over the side. "That will all have to come later. Are you strong enough, Liath? If not, we can leave you here and—"

"No! I'm strong enough!"

Hanna placed a hand on Liath's arm, to calm her. Liath was stronger, truly, but she was as skittish as a calf and she wore away at herself with her constant fear. And still, even seeing Liath this way, Hanna dreamed of Hugh some nights. Most nights, if truth be told. But there was no other man like him, or none she had ever seen. Better to let go of his memory, to let it fade. Better not to worry at herself dreaming of something she could never have, and most likely was better off not having. Out on the road there would surely be sights to drive him from her mind.

"I secured horses for you in Freelas." Wolfhere blinked guilelessly at Manfred and Hathui. "Do you judge them able to ride well enough?"

"What?" asked Hathui with a sharp smile. "The horses? I haven't seen the horses."

Wolfhere bared his teeth. "Two horses, spirited, and with stamina. No, my child, indulge me in this. The ride to Gent will be hard, and I do not know what we will find there or how quickly we may be forced to leave. They say a king leads this Eika army, and that he is an enchanter. They say he cannot be killed. If these two will hold us back, then we must leave them in Freelas or at our posting in Steleshame."

Here, now, was something to worry over. Hanna was not nobleborn, to have been trained young to the saddle. That she had any familiarity with horses at all was only because her parents ran an inn. She held her breath. Liath stared at the fire, obviously distracted.

"Hanna is a serviceable rider but no better than that," said Manfred in his blunt way, "but I judge her will to be strong enough that I trust her to keep up, whatever the hardships."

Wolfhere raised an eyebrow. "Praise from you, Manfred, is praise hard won. And Liath?"

Liath stirred, hearing her name.

"Liath," said Hathui with contempt, "can ride perfectly well, though she claims not to have ridden a horse for over three years. She's still weak. But I believe she will recover as we ride. If she has not by Steleshame, we can leave her there."

"Then it is settled," said Wolfhere, and Hanna stopped holding her breath. "Come, my children, and see your new horses. They were the best I could find on such short notice. We will leave as soon as you have saddled them."

Leave!
Hanna felt her feet rooted to the floor, growing into the wood, which would never let her leave her beloved home. To
leave
sounded so wonderful as words. "This soon?" she managed, her voice not quite cracking. "I thought, not until morning
—

Wolfhere's gaze, on her, was softly reproving. A kind man, she saw, until you went against his wishes. "We are Eagles, Hanna. There must be no delay in the king's business. Do you understand?"

She stood obediently. She had dreamed, and she had been given. She refused to let fear get the better of her and especially not after watching Liath be consumed and controlled by her own fear. "Of course, sir."

He chuckled. "And today is St. Eusebe's Day, is it not? The sixth day of Avril. What more auspicious day to begin your apprenticeship as King's Eagles?" He rose. "Hathui, see to provisions. Come, Liath, it is time to move. You and Hanna will come with me to the stables."

Hanna thought his tone softened a little as he looked at Liath. Poor Liath. Hanna knew very well that Liath did not intend to look quite so exotically lovely and quite so pathetically lost. She touched her friend's shoulder, and Liath started and jumped to her feet.