The Gathering Storm (83 page)

“Indeed.” The snappish way Brother Severus spoke the word silenced the other man. “Sister Abelia may prove more persuasive with the sorcerers, since they seem to defer to women. I detest waiting as much as you do, but we have no choice.”

Stronghand wiggled one of the planks until it shifted, and he turned it sideways and squeezed through, then paused, lying up against the building as the two men walked out of the house not three paces from him, down a pair of steps, and onto the grass, still talking.

“Was it a difficult journey, Brother Severus? The dangers are many in these times.”

“We had a delay, a detour. I had an errand to run for the skopos to the monastery at Hersford, but we had swift riding after that and our crossing from Medemelacha went smoothly.”

Hersford
. Alain had sojourned at Hersford. Memory niggled Stronghand like the annoying whine of a dog. Had he heard Severus’ sour voice in his dreams?

“The war is going badly for the Albans, as you may have seen,” continued the younger man, pleased with his tidings. “The queen’s uncle and brother march to bring aid, but we’ve not heard yet from him, although there’s a rumor now that his army was utterly destroyed by the Eika. Who can be worse? These Albans, with their pagan rites, or the godless Eika?”

“Our task is clear, Reginar. How God choose to punish the heathens matters nothing to us unless it interferes with our undertaking. It’s true there are many dangers afflicting us, Albans and Eika, heretics and civil war. We avoided the Eika ships on the crossing, thank the Lord. I had to raise a small illusion—”

“But you taught us to detest the illusionist’s skill as a tissue of lies, Brother! Unworthy of our talent and serious purpose!”

“So it is. But while one should rightly detest a lowly bard who sings for his supper and entertains the common folk with bawdy tunes unfit for cultured ears raised on the
Heleniad
and the
Philologia
of St. Martina, it is understood that God have created every creature with a purpose, however vulgar it may be.”

“I have met a few such base creatures in my time!”

“Indeed. It is our task to rule and theirs to serve. In any case, on our journey the Lady’s justice traveled with us, or we would not have made it this far and in such good time.”

“That is a blessing, Brother.”

“So it is. Yet matters remain unsettled. There is much to do and less time than we need. We have little hope of sending anyone north, if the seventh crown lies in Eika territory, as we believe it must. And although our brethren have found the Salian crown, the civil war there grows desperate. I fear Sister Abelia will not be safe when she travels there to supervise the others. Their work on restoring the crown goes slowly. They are having a difficult time finding workers willing to toil when they are always in fear for their lives.”

Stronghand felt a very human urge to laugh. Truly, at times, it seemed forces far greater than he were at work, smoothing his path.

The two robed men crossed to the grassy sward lying within the great circle. The flickering torchlight weirdly shadowed the upright stones. Of the seven monoliths, four had yet to be raised. A third figure appeared, hurrying toward them past one of the fallen stones.

“Brother Severus?”

“Sister Abelia.” They were mostly shadow, despite the torches; Stronghand could distinguish them by height and the distinctive way each one moved. Severus had arrogance, while the younger man, Reginar, moved with more boldness and less discipline. The woman had determination, at least; she was farthest from him and most difficult to see. “How have you fared?”

“Poorly, Brother Severus,” she said with obvious disgust.
“It is as Father Reginar says. They will not enter the stones at night, no matter what argument I offer them. They say it is forbidden to them. I think they are craven.”

Stronghand rolled up to his feet and padded forward as the two men absorbed her words. He marked one sentry, a stocky figure mostly hidden behind a straggle of brush; an arrow’s shot down the hill lay tents. Otherwise, they were alone.

The wind gusted, and a misting rain hissed across the grass, gone as quickly as it had come. The young man pulled up his hood, but the old one took no notice. He seemed to be fuming, rubbing fingers over his balding pate, impatient to get on with their task and put annoying obstacles behind him.

Stronghand walked right up behind them, testing the ax’s heft in his hand. The feel of the handle gripped in his palm always gave him a sense of well-being.

“What will we do, Brother?” asked Sister Abelia.

Seeing the shadow of Stronghand’s movement, she gasped and clapped her hands to her face, too startled to flee.

Stronghand bared his teeth as the two men turned, utterly surprised, and stumbled back from him in terror. Humans were so physically weak, and these weaker than most, unarmed and unprepared.

Yet it never served to underestimate them.

“There is an easy solution to your problems,” he said in his perfect Wendish, before they could shout for help. He touched the wooden Circle that hung from his neck. “Make a new alliance.”

SANGLANT rode at dawn into the council circle with his sword sheathed, his back straight and shoulders squared and strong, an orderly retinue of some twenty attendants and noble companions behind him, and a satisfied smile on his face. The centaurs had shown him scant respect when he first
arrived, but that was before he had seen Bulkezu killed, hooded a griffin, and bedded his wife.

The smile faded as he surveyed the waiting centaurs, a score of them led by the ancient shaman, and the wagon that concealed the Kerayit witchwoman, herself attended by a dozen men armed in the steppe way with short bows, spears, and curved swords.

To these foreigners he was about to give his beloved daughter—their price for alliance. Blessing was the sacrifice, and it tore his heart knowing that without their help she would certainly die. Might be dead already.

He glanced back to the wagon trundling along, Liath riding guard beside it together with Anna, Matto, Thiemo, Heribert, the Kerayit healer, and a pair of soldiers.

Li’at’dano had freshened the paint on her torso. The green-and-gold stripes made a stark contrast to her silver-gray coat. She carried a bow, with a quiver slung across her back, and her attendants were armed in a similar fashion, although a few held wicked-looking spears, half tipped with obsidian and the rest with cruel steel points. They had striped their torsos as well and decorated their faces with chalky lines and ocher dots. He could imagine them, in their thousands, in a wild rampage through the streets of ancient Dariya, burning, pillaging, and killing.

Li’at’dano looked him over as she might a wild dog that has crept into camp hoping for scraps, and she waited with obvious indifference to his presence until Liath reined her horse up beside his. Only then did she stamp one foreleg to acknowledge their arrival. The other centaurs repeated the gesture and whistled softly.

Behind him, the two Quman who had agreed to come with him echoed that whistle. A partridge burst out of the grass, flying low over the ground, wings whirring as if in reply, and as it disappeared from view all the noise of their movements and voices faded until the only sound was that of the wind muttering through the long grass. Bugs chimed. Otherwise, it was silent.

Liath rode out into the gap between their two parties. She lifted a hand to gain their attention.

“We have little time, and few enough to undertake a dangerous
task. This is what I know. Two thousand seven hundred and two years and some seven months ago the Ashioi were cast out of this world by human sorcerers working in concert through the stone crowns and under the guidance of a powerful shaman.”

She did not turn to look at Li’at’dano, but Sanglant did. The old centaur merely watched. Did she feel emotion in the same way humankind did? He doubted it.

“That spell caused untold destruction throughout the lands, and it did not work in the manner they had hoped it would. It did not cast the land of the Ashioi into the void forever. Even now the land of the Ashioi follows a path twisted back on itself that brings it home again to Earth. According to Brother Breschius and Brother Heribert, who have kept track of the passing of days, today is the nineteenth day of Yanu, in the year seven hundred and thirty-four after the Ekstasis of the blessed Daisan. When the crown of stars crowns the heaven, on the tenth day of the month of Octumbre in the year seven hundred and thirty-five, the spell will be complete. The land inhabited by the Ashioi will return to the roots from which it was torn free. According to the workings of the universe, all things must return to their rightful place.”

As she spoke in Wendish, certain centaurs murmured a running translation to their comrades as did Gyasi to the Pechanek Quman—one man and one woman—who had braved the displeasure of their tribes’ mothers to follow him. Now and again Liath would pause to let them catch up, but always, inexorably, she went on in that same calm voice, detailing the approaching storm.

“In nineteen months there will come death and there will come destruction. We have no way to escape the consequences of what was put into motion so long ago.”

She let them consider as she herself glanced over at Sanglant. He didn’t smile at her. He didn’t need to. He knew what he needed most to know of her: that she had changed and that she had not, the familiar weaving of her shot through with new threads.

That didn’t make what he had to do today any easier.

“The mathematicus known as Sister Anne intends to weave this ancient spell again, to banish the Ashioi and their
land from Earth a second time. Of a certainty I know it will condemn the Ashioi. Their land has been cut off from Earth for so long that it dies. They are few, and they are weak. There are almost no children.”

Here she hesitated and, with an effort obvious to her husband although others might think she merely paused for breath, she did not look toward the wagon where Blessing lay dying.

“Perhaps there are those among you who care nothing for the fate of the Ashioi. Let me argue, then, in this manner. What effect Anne’s weaving will have on Earth itself I do not know, but I believe it will condemn many, many more people to die, countless people, and bring about wholesale destruction on a scale we cannot fathom. I have seen—”

She faltered as she was overwhelmed by memory, but she swallowed firmly and began again.

“I have glimpsed the past. I know what immense destruction the spell caused then. I believe that if it is woven a second time, it will cause a terrible disruption in the fabric of Earth far greater than if the ancient spell, the first spell, simply ran its course. Many will die regardless; no one can change that now. But what Anne intends is not only wrong but will bring upon us all ruin arid desolation.

“I cannot command any of you. I only command myself. I have seen Taillefer’s crown spread across the land. I have a good idea of where each stone circle lies that Anne must control to weave the spell. Yet since the spell needs seven crowns to function, it may be possible for us to disrupt it by halting the weaving at one or two or half of the crowns. I will travel as quickly as I can to the central crown, where Anne will lead the weaving. I will stop her. Or I will die.”

Resuelto flicked his ears back as Sanglant’s hands tightened on the reins.

“Aid me if you wish. If you will not aid me, then I beg you, stand aside and do nothing to hinder me.”

She let out a great breath and lifted her chin. She was so bright as the sun’s light cast its brilliance over her. She was so beautiful. As much as Sanglant simply lusted after her, he gazed at her now with much more complicated emotions: desire, love, anger still stirring in its dark pit, but respect as well
and pride in her strength. A little awe, perhaps, for the dazzling promise of the power she had unlocked within herself.

It was true she could not command men, but she would go where she meant to go and by having the courage to take that path, others would follow the trail she blazed. He could not battle Anne on any sorcerous plane, but without the strength of an army to back her up, Liath might never reach Anne, and certainly she could never control the chaos and dissolution that would inevitably erupt across Wendar and the other countries in the wake of the cataclysm.

Maybe God had a hand in bringing them together—for surely without each other they could not succeed.

“I have spoken as clearly as I am able,” she finished. “I have told you what I know, as simply as I can. I must set forth soon, and quickly. Today if I can; tomorrow if I must.”

She looked toward the wagon where Blessing lay surrounded by her faithful attendants, but she set her lips together in a thin line and lowered her hand. “That is all I have to say.”

Silence followed her speech except for the ever-present drag of the wind through the grass. It was not warm, but today’s strong blow did not make his bones ache with cold. Clouds gathered along the eastern crags, breaking up into smaller clots as the peaks tore them apart. Nothing else moved.

“You know I am with you.” Sanglant let Resuelto take two steps forward before reining him in. His voice carried easily. “I will do what is necessary to stop Sister Anne.”

“What role do we play?” demanded Wichman, behind him. “I don’t like all this talk of sorcery.”

“Sorcery will not protect us from an arrow in the back. Anne will protect herself with soldiers as well as magic. That is why we need both griffin feathers and sorcerers. Without soldiers of our own, we are too vulnerable to those who possess Henry’s army.”

Wichman grunted, and there was murmuring among those assembled to listen.

“Let’s say it’s true,” said Lady Bertha, “for I’ve seen strange enough things that I’m less likely to doubt such tales than I was a year ago. Why should we help the Aoi? You say
the land will return and that the one known as Sister Anne, who is also skopos over us all, will raise a great spell against the Lost Ones that will cause untold destruction. But what if this spell would make things better? What if it would banish the land of the Lost Ones so that we need never worry about them again? Wouldn’t that leave us free to fight our own battles and restore King Henry to Wendar? The Lost Ones have no allegiance to us. We can’t know how many of them there are, and whether they’ll be our allies or our enemies when they return.”