In the Ruins (75 page)

She flicked her palm in a dismissive gesture. “Say what you have come to say.”

“I speak to the mother of Prince Sanglant.” It wasn’t a question.

Now Anna saw the resemblance not so much in features as in the way a smile creased that woman’s face. The prince’s smile bore more honest amusement—her smile was cold—but nevertheless the expression was the same.

Hugh nodded, as if in acknowledgment of that smile. “I am come here to offer you an alliance, Uapeani-kazonkansi-a-lari.”

That startled them!

They broke out talking between themselves, commenting and arguing, but when she raised the back of her hand to them they quieted.

“How do you know that name?” she asked, her tone more like a threat than curiosity. “Did my son tell you?”

“No. A man became known to me who had knowledge of you, whom he called Kansi-a-lari. He was called Zacharias.”

This smile was softer and more genuine. “The-One-Who-Is-More-Clever-Than-He-Looks. Still, your pronunciation is almost as good as his. Where is he now?”

“He is dead, caught within the spell on the night the Crown of Stars crowned the heavens. On the night your people and this land returned to Earth.”

“Perhaps not as clever as I thought, then,” she remarked in a careless way.

Dead! This was the first news Anna had heard of Brother Zacharias since he had fled the prince’s retinue at Sordaia. So he
was
a traitor! He had fled directly to Lord Hugh. Her heart burned with anger, and she was glad—
glad
—that he was dead. He deserved it for betraying them!

“Clever enough,” said Hugh with a wry smile.

“Why will you, our enemy, offer us an alliance?”

“In what way am I your enemy?” he asked amiably. “The war you speak of took place so long ago it has passed out of human memory. I know nothing of the exiles. I am not at war with you. Nor are any of my people.”

She shook her head. “My uncle says that your people invaded the woodlands where his people bided for long years.”

“How can that be? No Ashioi survived on Earth.”

“They survived in the shadows.”

“In the shadows?” He considered, eyes almost closing as if he was thinking hard. With a slight nod, he went on. “If the memory is still fresh in your eyes, let me say that nevertheless I offer you an alliance.”

“What have you to offer us?”

Hugh still held onto Blessing, who had not moved. Strangely the woman who was Sanglant’s mother had glanced at the child only once and by no other sign showed any interest in her. Not the rest, though. Anna was accustomed to observing without being herself observed, because she was not important enough that noble folk took notice of her. Both the handsome man and the old man studied Blessing with alert interest. The woman standing at the side of the old man studied each person in Hugh’s party. Indeed, that woman caught Anna’s gaze and, for a moment, examined her so closely that Anna felt a fluttering sense of dread in her own stomach. She had a sudden horrible feeling that if their shadows grew long enough to touch those of the human party, they would gobble them up and swallow them alive. She clutched her hands together to stop herself from trembling.

“I can offer a weapon to you, if you are still bent on war.”

She laughed. “Your words make no sense, Golden One. First you say there cannot be war between your kind and mine because too many generations have passed. Then you say that you will offer us a sword with which to gain an advantage over our enemies. Which is it?”

“You came to Henry’s court in later days, only a few years ago, and warned him of a great cataclysm. Is it not true that you offered him at that time an alliance, while he stood in a position of strength?”

“Now he is dead,” she observed. “You know a great deal, Pale Sun. I like you.”

Blessing grunted. The sound was so quiet that it went unremarked by everyone except Anna.

“It’s true I made that offer to Henry,” she continued. “Because that was the will of the council. But those who wished for an alliance no longer lead the people.”

“Who leads?”

“I lead. I am Feather Cloak.”

“Is this the same position your son claims among the Wendish? He calls himself king.”

“Does he?” she asked, but it was obvious by her expression that she already knew. “Something like, in your eyes, I suppose. What is your offer? What sword do you bring to us?”

He shrugged, a movement that might have been designed to dislodge an annoying fly. “First of all, I have information. The Aostans are weak and divided.”

“The Aostans?”

“Those who live in the south. The Arethousans, too, have suffered grievously and are weak.”

“The Arethousans?”

“Let me proceed in a different manner. I have with me a map, which I can read, that shows the lay of the land.”

“Such a
map
would save us time and trouble, it is true.
If
we meant to march to war. But it is a long journey from these southern lands to those in the east, and the west, and the north. There is a great deal of wasteland to cross. It is an even longer road to Wendar.”

“So it is. There are shorter paths.”

“Ah.” She smiled in the manner of a warrior who has humbled his worst enemy. “You speak of the crowns. I know the secret of the crowns.”

“So you do, according to Brother Zacharias. Still, you were forced to walk across the breadth of the country through many lands in both winter and summer. I need not do so. I can walk where I will. I can cross between any crown and any other crown in the space of no more than three days. I can cross great distances in a short time. Who else has this power? Do you, Uapeani-kazonkansi-a-lari?”

Anna thought her legs would collapse, but she held steady. Disbelief choked her, and it was just as well, lest she cry out.

Traitor! Would you sell your own people to the enemy
?

“This offer tempts,” said the woman coolly. Her tongue flicked between her lips, as though she began to lick her lips for a taste of what she desired, but stopped herself. “So I ask myself: what do you want? In the marketplace, no one trades without asking a thing in return.”

He nodded, but he was tense now, eager, held taut. He teased his lower lip with his teeth, caught himself doing so it seemed, and licked his lips instead, in an echo of her, blinking quickly and taking a deep breath. “I want only one thing. One thing, in exchange.”

The faces of the Ashioi were masks, their expression impenetrable, even those whose features were not concealed by the painted snarls and open maws of animals.

“I want the half daimone woman called Liathano.”

Blessing twisted in his grip and bit him on the hand.

He shouted in pain, shook loose his hand, and slapped her so hard backhanded that the blow sent her tumbling to the dirt.

“Little beast!”

She lay there, breathing hard. Anna hesitated, hating herself for her fear, before sidling forward to kneel beside her. The girl’s hair concealed her face, but as Anna smoothed it back she saw the mark of Hugh’s ring, which had cut the skin, and the deep purple red welt that would spread and hurt.

Blessing grinned at her through tears of pain. “I’ve been waiting to do that,” she said triumphantly.

All around them, the Ashioi laughed.

THE pale ones had little to recommend them by the standards of civilized folk. They were not a beautiful race; they were too hairy, too pallid, too big. Of course they smelled bad. Yet the wealth of metal they bore was staggering. Each of the warriors carried a metal-pointed spear and a
strong metal sword. All were armed with such riches. They stank of cold iron. Even the captive girl was shackled in iron chains as she stared fixedly with her eagle’s glare at Zuangua, as though she recognized him. She lay with one hand propping herself up and the other gingerly exploring the pattern of cut and bruise on her face. Her expression was a mirror of her emotions, and it took no great cunning to see the thoughts filter by the way she frowned, then smiled one-sidedly to spare the bruised cheek, then winced and cocked a shoulder as though shutting off a nagging voice.

Secha knew that to clad prisoners in iron was to be wealthy beyond imagining. It would be difficult to defeat an enemy whose soldiers fought with such weapons. The Ashioi possessed only stone and bronze, but they had captured a few iron implements in recent months. They knew what power iron held and how difficult it would be to learn to forge in the manner known to humankind. There was a kind of magic to it.

No one willingly gave up such secrets, not unless they wanted something very badly in return.

After the girl bit their leader and the laughter died down, Feather Cloak turned to her people.

“Enough!” she said. “We will talk in council and decide what is best to do now that we understand the bargain that has been offered to us.”

Folk scurried away to scrape out a fire pit and rake dry grass back away from the rim, while additional mask warriors took up guard stations around the rock corral that fenced in the prisoners.

Fox Mask strutted up and down along the fence, making jokes to her companions about the leader. “The color of root paste, his skin! Might as well marry a mealworm! Hair as fine as spider’s silk! Imagine how nasty that must be to touch!”

Secha could not laugh. Inside that fence, the leader was giving his men directions. They secured their shelters, heated porridge over a small campfire, fed and watered their horses, shared out food and drink, and took themselves off to pits where excrement and piss were immediately
covered with a thin layer of dirt. Not entirely uncivilized, then. The servant tidied the girl, blotted blood off her face, and made her comfortable on blankets. As twilight drew over them, the warriors settled down in a defensive ring that would allow some to rest while others kept watch.

Fox Mask could say what she wanted, but their leader carried himself as do men who are accustomed to admiration. He had poise, a trait Secha respected. Despite knowing he faced an overwhelmingly superior force that could kill him and his warriors easily, he showed no sign of fear without, however, blustering in the manner of warriors such as Cat Mask and Lizard Mask who relied on muscle more than brain to win their skirmishes.

Behind her, flames crackled, eating through the latticework of kindling sticks, and bigger branches were stacked on the fire to let it blaze. Feather Cloak took her place within the aura of light as the council gathered in a ring, facing the light.

“Speak,” said Feather Cloak. “Let me hear your words.”

“Let us take them as an offering and be done with it,” said the blood knives.

“No,” said Feather Cloak. “It is foolish to throw away such a powerful weapon.”

“How can this spell he speaks of be used as a weapon?” asked the blood knives.

“Why fight at all?” asked Eldest Uncle. “If humankind is so weakened, it is best to parley. We can rebuild if we are at peace. We cannot rebuild if we are at war.”

Zuangua smirked, regarding his twin. Old rivalry existed between the siblings, twined together with long affection. “You have forgotten, Brother, that most of our people are those who were caught in shadow, betwixt and between. For us the war is yesterday, not three or four generations ago. For us, there can be no peace!”

“War is better.” Fox Mask’s statement ran like an echo back through those assembled. Only in the trees behind Secha was there silence, where waited her mate and her son and her infant daughters.

“War,” said the others.

“War!” they cried.

She looked toward the fence, feeling that they were being watched. Indeed, the man with sun hair had walked without fear up to the rock wall. He stood there, listening and watching and able, most likely, to understand the meat of the debate without understanding the skin that was its surface of words. Secha admired him for his exotic beauty, but also for a self-possession untroubled by any ripple of uncertainty. It meant a lot to hold firm in the face of the unknown.

For this reason, she knew she must speak, as was her right.

“Listen,” she said. “I have something to say. Why should we trust this golden one? He means to betray his own kind. Why not betray us in turn? He is brave and bold, it is true. Is he brave and bold enough to pretend to be our ally while leading us into death?”

“It’s true that all he claims to want is that woman,” said Feather Cloak. She did not bother to hide her disgust. “It doesn’t seem like much.”

“‘That’ woman is a great deal,” said Eldest Uncle. “She will be hard to defeat, and difficult to capture and hold.”

“But a fine armful to hold, so they say!” said Zuangua with a laugh.

Feather Cloak pulled a mighty grimace. Her indignation made her young uncle laugh again.

“Jealousy is a sharp spear,” Zuangua retorted, and Secha supposed it was so. He was cleverer than he acted, that one.

“I am not jealous!”

“You may not be, if you say so, but the Pale Sun Dog is. He is jealous of your son for having what he wants for himself.”

Feather Cloak seemed ready to burst with anger, so Secha cut in. “What man can help himself when faced with a creature born half of fire? Moths will die in flames. So might men, unable to resist that brilliance.”

“That is true, at least,” said Feather Cloak, mollified, “for I traveled for a time with my son in human lands. There was some head butting as men will do, over that woman. Yet even so, as Secha says, why should we trust this Pale
Dog? Even my own son has turned against us and cast his loyalty in with his father’s people.”

“Is it certain your son means to fight us?” asked Secha. “When was this news known? The Bright One did not harm us. She aided our cause.”

“If any can convince him, it would be his wife,” said Eldest Uncle, taking hold of Secha’s line of argument. “She is not against us. She is not our enemy.”

Feather Cloak shook her head decisively. “She is too powerful and must be killed. That judgment was passed on her in exile, was it not? By the one who wore the feathered cloak before me?”

“Since your words are true, there is no answer to them,” said Eldest Uncle. “But we no longer live in exile. Everything has changed. Our strategy must change as well.”