Elliott, Kate - Crown of Stars 1 (40 page)

Certainly they resembled old Dariyan letters, but these letters were altered in subtle ways from the letters carved into stone in the old fort or scratched into the hilt of her new sword, from the letters written in old crumbling scrolls she had seen in the scriptoria of monasteries where she and Da had taken shelter as they traveled.

Seeker of Hearts.
The words came to Liath's lips, but she could not speak them out loud. No one else seemed to have noticed the strange delicate carvings. The back of the bow was unmarked except for the paint; only on the inner curve, facing the archer, did the bow speak. So did Liath also keep silence. For as Da always said:
"Words spoken rashly can be used as weapons against you,"
and also, many times,
"Keep silence, Liath! To speak out loud your secrets is like to a merchant opening a chest of jewels to every passerby on the road and thereby announcing his wealth to bandits."

Like
The Book of Secrets.
She did not glance toward the stables, where their riding gear was stowed. Surely Wolfhere suspected she carried the book with her; he had seen Hanna with it. He had never mentioned it, never asked any questions about it, and to Liath, this in itself was suspicious.

"Where did it come from?" she asked, indicating the bow.

"I haven't seen this bow before," said Wolfhere, "but it has been five years since I've ridden through Steleshame."

"I was here two years ago," said Hathui. "I remember nothing like. Manfred?"

He shook his head and extended a hand to take the bow. Liath hesitated an instant, then forced herself to give it to him. He turned it this way and that, examining it, took an arrow from his own quiver, and sent a shot at the palisade. The dull thunk of the arrow burying itself in a log sent the chickens scattering and set the dogs to barking and the children to shrieking.

He grunted, looking satisfied, and gave the bow back to Liath. He said nothing about the carvings.

Mistress Gisela emerged from the longhouse. Her court
—the womenfolk of her holding—trailed after her. Liath had seen men and boys and other women at work in
the village and fields surrounding Steleshame when they had ridden in that morning. Gisela was a stout woman with the bold gleam of authority in her blue eyes. She was holding a spoon still wet with broth. The smell made Liath's mouth water. Behind her, half grown girls dropped spindles down, then pulled them up again, spinning thread from flax.

"I hope, Master Wolfhere," said Gisela sternly, "that you do not intend to have sport within these walls. Sword practice I do not frown on, but archery belongs outside. My chickens and these children are very valuable to me."

"I beg your pardon, Mistress," said Wolfhere. He gestured toward the bow and case. "Do you recall when this came to Steleshame?"

She frowned. "I haven't seen it before, but you'd best ask the blacksmith. He knows more of which weapons come in and which go out."

That Steleshame had its own blacksmith was a mark of the prestige granted it by the king's protection. But the blacksmith, a short, burly man stained almost as dark as Liath by years of working in fire and ash, did not recognize the bow or the case, nor did he recall when or how the weapon had come to Steleshame. Indeed, no one did, and Gisela soon chased the children back to their chores and the women back to their weaving and spinning.

She presided over the midday meal of roasted chickens, leeks, bread, cheese, honeyed mead, and apples. When the meal was finished and all had toasted St. Bonfilia, whose day this was, Gisela allowed her niece, a handsome young woman with pale blonde hair, to bring forward the two new cloaks.

"Spun last winter," she said, "of Andallan wool from the Pyrani Mountains. The wool from that region is particularly strong and warm. My cousin's husband brought me four bags of it from Medemelacha."

"Medemelacha is a long way from here," said Wolfhere, "He travels by ship every other year," explained Gisela, not without pride. "We have a prosperous holding, enough to feed the king should his progress ever ride this way!"

"Be careful what you wish for," muttered Hanna. "I can only imagine what it must take to feed all the people who travel with the king."

"It has been six years since the king visited Gent," said Wolfhere calmly, not seeming to scorn Mistress Gisela's boast. "And with the current troubles we have heard of, perhaps you will get your wish."

She nodded briskly. "The Dragons rode through not twelve days ago, as I told you. But they rode in great haste, and I could do no more than give them provisions while the blacksmith checked over their armor and gear. Then they were on their way."

As Gisela spoke, Liath noticed to her surprise that the niece blushed a bright red and lifted the bundled cloaks up to conceal her face.

Mistress Gisela clucked, shaking her head. "Ai, yes, I hope the Dragons can drive the Eika away. Gent is only three days' ride from here, if the rains haven't been bad. It is out through Gent that my cousin's husband travels, down the Veser River and out by the northern sea west along the coast of Wendar and then west and south along the coast of Varre and farther south yet to Salia, to the emporia there. If the Eika continue to raid, or if they invade, as some say they have this spring, then
—we//!" She threw up her hands in distress, but Liath suspected that Mistress Gisela relished having an audience to appreciate her family's importance and far-ranging connections. "How will we trade by sea if the river is in the hands of savages?"

"How indeed. Your hospitality had been most gracious, Mistress." Wolfhere now rose, and Gisela rose with him. "But we must ride."

At this command, the others rose as well, moving away from the table.

"Come forward, child," said Gisela curtly. The niece, hesitant and still blushing, presented the cloaks to Wolfhere. He took them, turned, and handed one to Hanna and one to Liath.

"This is very fine work!" said Hanna, taken quite by surprise.

"I thank you," said Gisela. "You will certainly hear as you travel that Steleshame is renowned for its weaving. I only keep in the weaving room those of the women who are in good health and particularly adept at the craft. The others I sell or put out into the fields with the men. And any of my relatives' daughters who show skill in needlework are fostered here with me until they marry."

Liath merely smiled, stroking the thick gray cloak. It was bordered with a scarlet trim, a length of cloth as deep a red as blood, which had been embroidered with gold eagles from top to bottom. She edged past Wolfhere to stand beside the niece.

"Is this your needlework?" she asked. The pretty girl nodded, flushing again. "It is very fine. I will always think of you when I wear it."

The niece smiled tentatively, then spoke in a voice so muted Liath could barely hear her: "You will see the Dragons?"

"I suppose we will."

"Perhaps you could ask
—" She broke off, looked mortified, then finished in a murmur. "No. He won't be thinking of me."

"I beg your pardon?"

But the others had already moved outside, and Liath had to follow them. Boys from the stable had saddled new horses. Hathui was already mounted, looking impatient to be gone.

"I can ride well enough," Hanna was saying. "But I worry that Liath isn't strong enough yet." She glanced toward the door, saw that Liath had emerged. "You know it's true!" she added snappishly.

"I'm strong enough." Liath did
not
want to stay on at

Steleshame while the others rode to Gent. She wanted to see the Dragons, to see the soldiers whom Ivar had dreamed of fighting with
—not that he ever would now. She wanted to meet Da's cousin's son.
A kinsman.

And anyway, she couldn't leave Hanna or Wolfhere. They were all that protected her from Hugh. If she stayed in one place, vulnerable, Hugh would catch up with her. He would
know.

"I think Liath is strong enough," said Wolfhere mildly, "though she has recovered even more quickly than I expected. Now." He crossed to them and, with a sign, showed them that he expected them to stand still. With a bronze clasp he closed the new cloak about Hanna's shoulder, then did the same for Liath. His hands were firm and decisive.

"This cloak marks you as riding under the protection of the Eagles," he said, then gestured to them that they should mount and be ready to ride.

"The Eagles also carry the King's seal as a badge," said Hanna, who like her mother always pointed out these essential details.

"You have not yet earned the right to carry this badge." He touched a hand to the brass badge he wore pinned to his tunic, at his throat. "You must learn the precepts which govern the conduct of an Eagle. And you must swear to abide by them." He paused, glancing toward Hathui and Manfred. Both of them carried the seal, stamped into circular badges. But though they were younger and obviously newer to the service of the Eagles than Wolfhere, the badges they wore did not look newly made, not like Hanna and Liath's new cloaks.

From out in the fields, Liath heard singing. The gate stood open, and now two boys drove two squealing and grunting young pigs in toward the small hut by the far corner of the compound, where they would be slaughtered for the night's feast. Hathui, unable to wait any longer, urged her horse forward, heading out the gate.

"And lastly," Wolfhere said, "no man or woman is given the Eagle's badge until she has seen a comrade die. Death is ever at hand. We do not truly become Eagles until we accept and understand that we are willing to pay that price for our service and our king."

days after leaving Steleshame, Liath rode with Wolfhere and the small party of Eagles down into the bottomlands to the west of Gent pushing against a tide of refugees. They came on carts, on foot, leading donkeys and cows or carrying crates that confined chickens and geese. They hauled children and chests and sacks of withered turnips and jars cushioned by baskets of rye and barley. The old road was littered with their castoff baggage, those who had managed to leave their homes with any of their possessions and not merely their lives. The damp ground was churned to mud by their passage. Where the forest retreated from the road, trails beaten down through grass appeared as the refugees made new paths in their haste to flee.

Wolfhere spotted a lord astride a horse, dressed in a good linen tunic and attended by two wagons, five servants, and ten fine cows. He left the others and drew the lord aside. Their conversation was brief, and the lord and his party left at once, continuing west. When Wolfhere returned, he looked graver than ever.

"Are these the townsfolk of Gent?" Liath asked, staring. There were not hordes of people, but the flow was steady: She had never seen so many people on the move before. Always, she and Da, the occasional merchant who plied his wares between one town and the next, and the fraters, clerics, and messengers about their business for church and king were the only travelers on the roads.

Thinking of fraters she thought of Hugh, shut her eyes

against the thought of him. Felt sick, for an instant, and stopped herself from looking behind to see if he was dogging their trail. Somehow, somewhere, he knew where she was; she could feel it.

"Nay, child. These are the farming folk from the estates and villages surrounding the city. Gent has walls." Wolfhere's voice steadied her.

"Then why haven't these people fled inside the city?"

Wolfhere shook his head. "That I can't say. But if they have not, then I fear it bodes ill for those inside Gent."

On they rode, and people walking west called out to them:

"Do you bring word from the King?"

"What of Count Hildegard? Has she come yet? They say she has gathered her kinsmen together and rides to save the city."

"When will the Eika leave? When will it be safe to return to my farm?"

"Is King Henry coming himself with an army?" This from an old woman, her skirts spattered with fresh mud.

"Are the Dragons not here?" Wolfhere called back.

"They are so few, and the Eika so many."

"How many?" he asked, but she dragged her cart onward and her six children ran behind, faces pinched with fear.

After midday there was no one except stragglers. They came finally upon a deacon, walking like any common woman, her white robe and tabard flecked with mud and grit. Her servants led two mules, one laden with the massive silver Circle which had once adorned the Hearth, the other with a hastily folded altar cloth embroidered with gold thread and with the chalice and holy books, all saved from the church she had abandoned.

"Go no farther, honored ones," she said to Wolfhere, signaling her servants to halt. "Turn back while you are still safe. Tell the king that Gent is besieged."

"Why have you not fled into Gent?" Wolfhere asked.

"They are laying waste to the countryside all around."

She was, Liath thought, impossibly calm in the face of such disaster. "They are everywhere, good messenger. Gent is surrounded. I minister to the lands and estates west of Gent, so I was able to flee once I saw all my parishioners safely gone. East of the city and the river I cannot say, except that smoke has risen for twenty days, as if many fires are burning."

Hathui inhaled deeply, scenting. "Fresh fires and old," she said. "And dust, as of a great host moving." She swung her head to look west, then back to view the eastern horizon. "You see," she said to Liath and Hanna, "the sky and clouds have a different color. Mark this well, and learn." She inhaled again. "And another smell, like air too long shut within stone walls. Strange."