PROLOGUE (23 page)

"You're trying to trick me, Da,"
she would answer.
"Angels and daimones don't wear earthly bodies. They wear bodies made up of the pure elements, fire and light and wind and air, and yet they can see with a sight that is keener than that of humankind. They can see both past and future. They can see the souls of the stars."

"Some have argued they are the souls of the fixed stars.
" Thus would the argument be joined, over free will and Fate and natural law. And if not that argument, then a different one, for Da had a fine treasure-house of his own, knowledge earned over many years of study, and though his "city of memory" was not as finely honed as Liath's
—for he had taught her skills of memory which he had only mastered late in life—it was yet impressive. He knew so much, and all of it he meant to teach to his daughter, especially the secrets of the mathematici, the knowledge of the stars and of the movements of the planets through the heavens.

A sudden gust of wind fluttered the pages of the open book, set on her knee. Snow swirled past, but there were no clouds in the sky now. The cold wind brought memory.

Wings, settling on the eaves. A sudden gust of white snow through the smoke hole, although it was not winter.

Asleep and aware, bound to silence. Awake but unable to move, and therefore still asleep. The darkness held her down as if it were a weight draped over her.

A voice of bells, heard as if on the wind. Two sharp thunks sounded, arrows striking wood.

"Your weak arrows avail you nothing," said the voice of bells. "Where is she?"

"Nowhere you can find her," said Da.

"Liath,"
said a voice of bells, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Heart beating wildly, she dared not move, but she had to look. Snow spun past like the trailing edge of a storm, flakes dissolving in the sun. A feathery gleam lit the track where it bent away northward, a roiling in the air like the fluttering of translucent wings as pale as the air itself.

Something came toward her down the road.

The fear bit so deep, like a griffin's beak closing on her throat, that she could not draw breath. Certainly she could not run. Da's voice rang in her ears:
"Safety lies in staying hidden."

She did not move.

"Liathano."

She heard it then, clearly, the voice made of the echoes of bells ringing away long into an unbroken night. She saw it though it was not any earthly being. It did not walk the track but rather floated above it, as if unable to set its aetherical being fully in contact with the dense soil of the mortal world. It came down the track from the north, faceless, with only humanlike limbs and the form of a human body and the wings of an angel to give it shape.

It called her, alluring, not unmusical, with that awful throbbing bass vibrato in its tone. It wanted her to answer. It
compelled
her to answer.

But Da had protected her against magic. Silent, as still as stone, she did not move. She held her breath. A leaf blown free by the wind fluttered over her arms and came to rest on the open book, and then a second, as if the earth itself collaborated in hiding her.

The creature stalked past her, still calling, and went on up the road to the south and, at last, out of her sight. A single white feather swirled in the eddy left by its passing and drifted down to the ground. It was so pale that it shone like purest glass. Where she had tied it to a leather cord to hang around her neck, the gold feather left to her by the Aoi sorcerer burned against her skin as if in warning. Still she did not move. She was too stunned to move. She sat so still that eventually a trio of half-wild pigs, all tusks and bristles and sleek haunches, ventured out onto the path to investigate this bright interloper. But as soon as the lead pig nudged the white feather with its snout, the feather spit sparks, flashed and, with a whirlpool of smoke, dissipated into the air. The pigs squealed and scattered.

Liath laughed almost hysterically, but as soon as the fit passed, she was swept by such anger that she could barely get the book back into the saddlebag because her hands shook so. Was it such a creature that had murdered Da? Even that very one? Anger and terror warred within her, but anger won out. It hadn't seen her. Da's magic still protected her; whatever spell he had laid on her long ago had not died with him.

With anger came revelation: All those years she had thought him a failed sorcerer when instead he had poured that power into keeping her hidden.

"I swear to you, Da," she whispered, standing beside her horse with her eyes turned to the heavens where, perhaps, his soul looked down upon her, trapped on the mortal earth, "that I'll find out what it was that killed you."

"Nay, Liath, you must be careful,"
she imagined him saying to her. He was always so afraid.

And for good reason. Was it the aetherical daimone itself that stalked them, or a human sorcerer, a maleficus, who had drawn it from its sphere above the moon and coerced it to do his bidding?

"I'll be like a mouse," she murmured. "They'll never see me. I promise you, Da. I'll never let them catch me." With that, in her imagination, he seemed to be content.

A distant flock of sheep crested a rise and disappeared out of her view, an amorphous body herded by unseen dogs and a single shepherd. She did not want to stay here, where the creature had come so close. Apprehensive now and still unnerved by that unearthly sight and by the horrible, sick fear that had come over her when its inhuman voice spoke her name, she mounted and rode on. On this, her third day out of Quedlinhame, she could expect to come by nightfall to the palace at Goslar, so Hathui had told her. Please the Lady that she did; she did not want to sleep alone this night. And from Goslar, if the weather held, another four days of steady riding would bring her to Osterburg, the city and fortress favored by Duchess Rotrudis.

But when she rode into Goslar that evening, it was to find a large retinue already inhabiting it. A groom took her horse and she was brought at once into the great hall. There, seated on a chair carved with dragons and draped with gold pillows embroidered with black dragons whose curling shape and fierce demeanor echoed those of the King's Dragons, waited Duchess Rotrudis herself.

"What message does Henry send to me?" she asked without preamble as soon as Liath knelt before her. She did not resemble those of her siblings Liath had seen: Henry, Mother Scholastica, and Biscop Constance; she was not handsome nor had she any elegance of form. Short, stout, and with hands as broad and red as a farmer's, she had a nose that looked as if it had been broken one too many times, and old pockmarks scarred her cheeks. Even so, no one would have mistaken her for anything but one of the great princes of the land.

"King Henry speaks these words, my lady," began Liath dutifully. " 'From Henry, King over Wendar and Varre, to Rotrudis, Duchess of Saony and Attomar and beloved kinswoman, this entreaty. Now that winter is upon us, it is time to think of next summer's campaign. We 'must drive the Eika out of Gent, but for this endeavor we will need a great army. Fully half of my forces died at Kassel. I have taken what I can out of Varre, and asked for more, but you, as well, must bear this burden with the others. Send messengers to your noble ladies and lords that they will increase their levies and send troops to Steleshame after the Feast of St. Sormas. From this staging place we will attack Gent. Let it be done. These words, spoken in the presence of our blessed mother, represent my wishes in the matter.' "

Rotrudis snorted, took a draught of wine, and called for more wood on the hearth. "Fine words," she said indignantly, "when it is my duchy that the Eika ravage now.

They are not content with Gent. My own city of Osterburg has been attacked!"

"Attacked!" The memory of Gent's fall hit Liath as hard as a sword's blow, and she swayed back, horrified.

"We drove them off," said the duchess bluntly. "It was only ten ships of the damned savages." She handed the gold cup to her cupbearer, a pretty young woman dressed in a plain gown of white linen. With a grunt, she heaved herself up and walked over to look down on Liath. Pressing the tip of her walking stick under Liath's chin, she lifted the Eagle's head up so she could examine her face. "Are you some relation to Conrad the Black?" she demanded. "His by-blow, perhaps?"

"No, my lady. I am no relation to Duke Conrad."

"Well-spoken, I see," said the duchess. "Too old to be his get, in any case." She had a limp and one swollen foot, and when she sat heavily down in her chair, the pillows sighed beneath her. A servant hurried forward to prop the foot up on a padded stool. All along the walls rich tapestries hung, a sequence depicting a band of young ladies on the hunt, first after a stag, then a panther, and last a griffin. "You tell this, then, to my dear brother Henry. Good God, where is he now, dare I ask?"

"He and the court have ridden south
—"

"To hunt in Thurin Forest, no doubt!"

"Yes, my lady."

"While my villages burn under the raids of the Eika! Ah, well, no doubt he'll claim he must meet and trouble every southern lord in order to get them to pledge troops for next summer's war. A war every summer,
that
is Henry for you." She put out her hand and her cupbearer placed the gold cup in her hand. The duchess examined its contents, then frowned. "Here, child, my cup is empty." A boy dressed in a neat white linen tunic rushed over, took the cup away, and returned with a full one. A cleric leaned over and whispered into the duchess' ear.

Liath wished the noble lords would think of placing carpets or pillows down in front of their chairs so that her knees might have some respite.

"True enough," commented Rotrudis to the cleric before returning her attention to Liath. "Tell Henry that I expect more help from him. These Eika are like flies swarming around fresh meat. What if I can't wait for next summer?"

" have no further message from the king, my lady. But
—" She hesitated.

"But? But! Go on. I'm no fool to think Eagles don't notice that which others might miss."

"It's true, my lady, that Henry's forces were badly hurt at Kassel. His complement of Lions went from perhaps two hundred men to a bare sixty, and though he has sent for more centuries from the marchlands, there is no guarantee those men can march so far so fast or that the marchlords will be able to let them go."

"Huh. The Quman haven't raided for years. I think there's no threat there. But go on. What of the Varren lords?"

"They, too, suffered at Kassel, though under Sabella's banner. But the king has collected levies from them and expects more to be sent in the spring."

"That isn't good enough! I've had to send my own son Wichman and his band of reckless young gadflies to Steleshame to restore order. What has
Henry
risked?"

This was too much. Furious, Liath lifted her gaze to stare straight at the duchess. "King Henry lost his son at Gent!"

Courtiers murmured, shocked at her tone, but the duchess only laughed. "Here's fire for you! Well then, it's true enough that Prince Sanglant died at Gent together with the Dragons, but that's what the poor boy was bred for, wasn't it?"

"Bred
for?" said Liath, appalled.

"Quiet! You have spoken enough. Now you will listen to my words and carry them faithfully back to my dear brother. I need more help, and I need it soon. According to my reports, there's not a village left standing within a day's ride of Gent, and half the livestock stolen from the villages within three days' walk likewise and my people slaughtered, frightened, and running with a scant harvest to feed them this winter and no chance to sow in the spring, if the Eika aren't driven out. These Eika raid up the Veser as they wish, although winter's ice may dull their oars in the water, and none of the waterways are safe
—nor will they be after the thaw come spring. Tell Henry this: I know where our royal sister Sabella is. If he cannot help me, then
she will
—and bring me those lords who pledged loyalty to her, if Henry can't."

She paused, sipped wine, winced as she shifted her foot on the stool. "Now then, have you understood it all?"

Liath could barely speak, she was so astounded at the reference to Sabella. "That's the message you wish me to take back to King Henry?"

"Would I have spoken it if it were not what I wished delivered to him? Your duty is not to question, Eagle. Yours is to ride. Go on, then. I am done with you."

Liath rose, backed away, and retreated to the farthest corner of the hall. Was she meant to ride out immediately into the twilight? Where anything might await her? But a steward led her to a table placed in the back of the hall while the nobles began their evening's feast. Here, with some of the other servants, she was fed royally, a fine meal of goose, partridge, fish braised in a tart sauce, mince pie, and as much bread as she could eat together with a sharp cider. The nobles' feast went on forever, what with singing and dancing and tales, and even when the last platter of food was taken away, they still drank so heavily that Liath was surprised they hadn't emptied the cellars.