The Born Queen

1 The Hellrune

Dawn hadn’t yet shown her rosy hair when Alis gently woke Muriele. “Berimund remembered his promise, apparently,” she said. “A lady has come to fit you into a riding habit.”

“Really,” Muriele said, rubbing her eyes. “They hunt at night here?”

“No, but early. You’ll want to look your best, won’t you?”

“Doubtless. Very well. Give me a moment and let her in.”

She went to the window. The air was cool, and most of the city below was a dark mystery, with only a few pinpricks of light. The stars were diamonds and sapphires still. There was that faint smell of differentness in the air, or she might have been looking out of the Wolfcoat Tower at sleeping Eslen. What was happening there? Was Anne well?

An image flashed through her mind of Anne at four, her hair in long red braids, scrunched up in the window of the chamber of Saint Terwing, dressed in boy’s clothing, singing a little song to herself as she fiddled with a toy sword. Muriele hadn’t meant to spy on her, but the girl hadn’t seen her in the darkened hall, and she had watched her daughter for long minutes without knowing why.

She remembered Fastia with her long dark hair and prim humor and Elseny, never too bright but so sweet, so full of life.

Gone now. She’d once thought she heard Fastia whisper “mother” in Eslen-of-Shadows, but that had faded, and nothing remained of her beautiful girls but those things in their coffins.

But Anne had survived. Anne whose mischief often had crossed the line into caprice, who’d never thought herself pretty, who had tried to keep out of the way of the family and its affairs her whole childhood.

Anne, who had seemed at times to hate her. Anne, who probably needed her now more than she ever had.

Why had she left her only remaining daughter?

Maybe she couldn’t bear not to.

A throat cleared softly behind her.

“I’m ready, thank you,” she said.

The sun was a hand above the horizon when she met Berimund in the courtyard. The young man’s face was flushed, and his eyes a bit glassy.

“I hardly believe you can walk,” Muriele said. “I’m impressed.”

“Practice,” Berimund said. “Long practice from childhood.”

“Well, I thank you for remembering your promise.”

“About that,” he said. “There’s still time to change your mind.”

“Why would I? I’m looking forward to meeting your father.”

He nodded, looking as if he wanted to say something but not saying it.

“You make that riding habit look very nice,” he said finally.

“Thank you,” she replied. “It’s an interesting dress.”

The overskirt was cut rather like a knee-length hauberk, split up the front and back and made of wool felted into myriad patterns of serpents, falcons, and horsemen in muted golds, reds, and browns. It was sleeveless, so she wore a darker brown shirt beneath and numerous underskirts to protect modesty. Her calf-high buskins fastened at the top with a wolf’s head and were laced over woolen stockings. It seemed silly and barbaric, and she had thought at first that the dress was an attempt to humiliate her. But Berimund was attired in equally outlandish pants and a robelike coat.

“Interesting,” he repeated, grinning. “I sense an understatement.”

“I’m not familiar with the fashion, that’s all.”

“It’s a recent one. My father has an interest in the ancient times, and his scholars have determined that our mountain tribes are more like our revered ancestors than we folk of the cities. We have therefore adopted some aspects of their dress.”

“I see. I had no idea the mountain tribesmen wore Safnian silk shirts.”

“Well, there have been a few adaptations, I’ll allow.”

“When I first came to Eslen, the men were favoring floppy woolen caps like the ones the Cresson brothers wore at the battle of Ravenmark Wold. It seems silly now.”

“I wouldn’t make that comparison,” Berimund said stiffly. “Or call our fashions silly. Is it a bad thing to remember the virtues of our forefathers?”

“Not at all,” Muriele said. “I wish you and your father were more reminded of them, as a matter of fact, since your forefathers helped in originating the ancient covenant of embassy.”

Berimund actually seemed to wince slightly, but he didn’t reply.

“Shall we go to the hunt?” he asked instead.

The horses were clad in similarly strange harness, and her mount was provided with a quiver of arrows and a spear with a broad leaf-shaped head.

So caparisoned, she and Berimund and six of his retainers rode out of Hauhhaim through Gildgards, a tidy neighborhood with so many gardens that it seemed almost like countryside. She asked Berimund about it.

“The merchant guilds are given land within the walls for farming,” he explained. “In good times, they sell their surplus and profit from it. When Kaithbaurg comes under siege, their produce reverts to the king. Anyway, it makes the city more pleasant, don’t you think?”

Muriele agreed, and not much later they passed through the Gildgards gate and into a countryside of vast barley fields and small villages. After perhaps a bell, their path took them into the lowlands around the river and finally into Thiuzanswalthu, Marcomir’s hunting preserve, a vast, parklike evergreen wood. Soon they came upon a bustling camp sprawled out around a large tent. A group of horsemen and horsewomen were mustering like a small army, and they were all dressed much as Berimund and she were.

Berimund dismounted, took the reins of her horse, and led her over to the group.

Marcomir was a bit of a shock. She had met him once when she was fourteen and he had come to the Lierish court. At that time he had been in his fifties, but she still had been struck by the physical power that seemed to animate him, and she’d been a bit infatuated, taking every excuse to hover around while he was visiting.

Even now, she had a clear image of him in her mind.

That image was no longer accurate, however. Time had so shrunken and bent the monarch that she didn’t recognize him until she was introduced. The color had been bleached from him. If she didn’t know better, she would think him an albino. He trembled constantly.

But when she met his gaze, she glimpsed that old strength. It had been drained from his body and fermented, distilled, bittered there behind his eyes. As those pale orbs fastened on her, she felt as small as a barleycorn, and less significant.

“Father,” Berimund said. “I introduce to you Muriele Dare, queen of Crotheny, queen mother to Empress Anne I.”

Marcomir continued to stare at her.

“I’ve invited her to hunt with us.”

“What do you want here, witch?” the old man asked. His speaking broke the spell; his watery, quavering voice could not match his gaze. “Have you come here to murder me? Is that your intention?”

Muriele sat straighter but did not see any reason to answer such a question.

“Father!” Berimund said. “Do not be so ill-mannered. This lady—”

“Hush, whelp,” the king snarled. “I told you I would not see her. Why have you brought her here?” “You said I could not present her in court,” Berimund replied. “You said nothing about hunting.” “That’s a hair in my beard,” Marcomir snapped. “You understood my intent.”

He swung back to Muriele. “But since you are here, let me spell clearly for you. Your shinecrafting daughter is not and will never be queen. She has unleashed horrors that no man should ever see and tilted the world toward doom. I will not be guiled with words; I will not be won with gifts or favors. This is the battle foretold, the great war against evil, the ansuswurth itself, and we—with the holy Church—will stand against your dark lady and your unhulthadiusen, and we will send you all back to the abyss.” As she watched the spittle drip down his chin, Muriele found that she had had enough.

“If I had known,” she began, “that Your Majesty was a despicable liar who clothes himself in holy raiment to disguise the greedy, covetous ambition he has nursed for decades, I certainly would never have come here in hopes of a conversation. You are a loathsome thing, Marcomir. A better man would simply admit his avarice for power and control, but like a little child you make up stories to disguise your disgusting nature and in doing so become even more abhorrent. You dress your lords and ladies in homage to your beloved ancestors, but there is more honor in a single one of their rotting bones than in your entire body. Sing your churchish songs and play the harp of saintliness, but I know what you are, and so do you, and nothing you say or do, no host you muster, no war you win, will change that. I traveled to Hansa in hope of finding a man. Instead I find this. How sad and repulsive.”

Marcomir had found color for his face somewhere. He trembled more violently than ever.

“My dear sister-in-law,” a voice said behind her. “You still have that turn of phrase that so wins the hearts of men.”

Only Muriele’s anger kept her from screaming as she turned and saw Robert Dare sitting casually on a spotted mare, grinning from ear to ear.

Neil glanced up at the vast ceiling of the chapel and shook his head.

“What’s that for, Sir Neil?” Alis asked.

“Why is it so big?”

“You don’t find it beautiful?”

Neil traced his gaze up a narrow buttress that must have been twenty kingsyards high. Light colored its lean length, suffused through a dome pierced by a myriad of crystal portals that also illuminated statues of the winged saints, the lords of sky, wind, thunder, the sun, moon, stars, and planets. Many looked as if they actually were flying.

“It is. But it’s also distracting. How can one pray properly among so much…so much?”

“The chapel in Eslen is easily as large and ornate.”

“I know. I didn’t understand that, either.”

“It’s not so in the islands?”

“No. The chapels are very plain and no bigger than necessary to kneel or be lustrated. I feel lost in a place this big.”

“Well, I, for one, feel the need to pray. Will you wait for me?”

“Should we separate?”

“I don’t see why not,” she said. “If our escort wanted to do us harm, I don’t imagine that would be a problem.”

“I’ll try to find Lier’s fane in all of this, then,” Neil said. “I’ll meet you back here in the center.” Alis nodded and walked off, the whisk-whisk of her skirts echoing in the cavernous place.

Neil strolled past the saints of law and war, wondering if he ought to stop there, but the real need he felt was to find Lier, and so he continued to search, wondering what the saints thought of such ostentation. He supposed it depended on the saint. Some of them might be flattered.

It took a bit of time for him to realize the consistency of the groupings. The saints of sky were above, those of the qualities and affairs of men at eye level. That meant logically that he ought to look for a staircase down.

Once he knew what to search for, it wasn’t hard to find. Soon he was in a darker, quieter part of what was rightly a temple rather than a chapel.

There he found the saints beneath the earth and there, at last, the alter of Lier. The saint was carved from marble and shown as a man rising up from a wave, his long hair and beard blending with the foam. The chapel on Skern had a rough image whittled from an old piece of mast found as driftwood.

Neil knelt, placed two silver coins in the box, and began to sing his prayer:

Foam Father, Wave Strider

You feel our keels and hear our prayers

Grant us passage on your broad back,

Bring us to shore when the storm’s upon us,

I beg you now

Grant passage to my song.

It echoed weirdly through the halls, coming back to him to form odd harmonies. He tried to focus beyond that, to fill his mind with the presence of the saint, with the wild salt spray, with the great eternal thing that was the ocean. And at last he did, as the rhythm of his prayer ebbed and flowed, and he felt the deeps beneath him once again. He prayed for Alis and Muriele, for Queen Anne and his friends, for the dead and the living.

When he was done, he felt better, and humbled. Who was he to disparage what sort of chapel someone chose to build?

Before Muriele could find any words to meet Robert with, Marcomir’s voice began rattling in such rapid Hansan that she couldn’t have understood him if she was trying to, which she wasn’t. She was vaguely aware that Berimund also was shouting. Robert’s grin became somehow more wicked.

Marcomir’s tone dropped, and he finally switched back to the king’s tongue.

“You do not speak to me like that,” he said very coldly. “It is a mistake you will regret.”

Muriele kept her gaze on Robert as she replied.

“Here is the proof of your hypocrisy,” she said. “You claim my daughter to be a witch, and yet you harbor this—this thing at your court. He is a fratricide and an abomination of nature. Cut him; see if he bleeds. Feel his heart; see if it beats. You will find it does not. But then, you already know that, don’t you?”

“Oh, dear,” Robert began. “I know we’ve had a bit of a tiff, Muriele, but really—”

“Swiya! Silence!” Marcomir snapped at Robert before turning his full fury on Muriele.

“I ought to kill you like a rabid bitch, right here and now,” the king said very quietly. “You twist words, but I know the truth. You speak for her.” He came closer. “There will be no truce with evil, no compromise, and no peace. We will destroy your daughter and the heretics who follow her, or we will perish trying. In either case, no peace will ever be made, so I need never explain what happened to you.” “You would not,” Muriele said.

“He wouldn’t,” Berimund replied.

“What do you know, whelp? What makes you so compliant? Have you lain with this mother of witches?” “I have not,” Berimund replied.

“Haven’t you?”

“I just said that I have not,” Berimund gritted out.

The old king straightened a bit. “Very well,” he said. “Then you take her to Wothensaiw and strike off her head for me.”

Berimund went pale. “Father, no.”

“You are my son and my subject,” Marcomir said. “As neither can you refuse me.”

She actually heard him swallow. “Father, you’re angry now. Take some time—”

“Berimund, before the Ansus and all my men, do this or you are not my son.”

“It’s not right, and you know it.”

“I am king. What I say is right.”

Muriele felt the tightness in her chest and realized her breath had been caught there for a while. As she let it out, she seemed to be drifting away with it, watching it all from above.

Berimund’s head bent and then nodded.

When he looked up, his eyes were brimming. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Berimund—”

“Hush, Majesty.”

As they led her off, she saw Robert moving his lips, perhaps taunting her, perhaps trying to tell her something. Either way, the glee on his face was obvious.

Neil and Alis were escorted back to Berimund’s “rooms,” where they were free to wander in what amounted to a small mansion. He walked about restlessly, learning the floor plan, finding the ways in and out.

Worrying about Muriele.

Alis had managed to charm one of the retainers into giving her an extended tour of the castle. He would rather remain here, where he could greet the queen when she returned.

Of course, it might be days. He wished he could have gone.

He found a window facing east and watched the Donau flow toward the sea.

Night came, and he reluctantly took to his bed.

As the door burst open, Neil was already on his feet and reaching for Battlehound. He shook back the Queryen webs from his eyes, trying to remember where he was and who might be coming at him with blinding lanterns.

“Lay your arms down,” a voice commanded. “In the name of Marcomir, king of Hansa, give up that sword.”

Neil hesitated. There were a lot of them. He had slept in his gambeson, which would afford a little protection, but he couldn’t see how they were armored.

“I am Queen Muriele’s man,” he said. “I am here on embassy and claim the rights that come with that.” “You’ve no such rights, not anymore,” the man behind the lanterns said. “Give up that weapon and come with us.”

“I will see my queen first.”

“She isn’t here,” the man replied.

Neil charged.

Something heavy came from behind the light and smacked him on the side of the head. He stumbled, and hands gripped his sword arm. He swung his left fist and connected with someone and was rewarded by a grunt. Then they were all over him, punching, pummeling, kicking. His hands were lashed behind his back, a blindfold was tied on his face, and they dragged him from the room and through the castle for what seemed like an infinity. Then they were out of doors for a while, then back inside, in a place where the air felt very heavy. He was finally pushed roughly to the ground and heard the slamming of a metal gate. The floor smelled like urine.

He lay there for a bit and then started working at the bonds. It didn’t take much. They had gone on quickly and sloppily, and he’d kept tense as possible while they had tied them. Once they were off, he removed the blindfold.

It didn’t help much. It was still utterly dark.

By feel he discovered that he was in a stone cell barely large enough to lie down in and not quite tall enough to stand in.

His heart picked up a bit. He’d grown up on the moors and mountains and open sea. Even spacious rooms with no windows made him feel trapped.

This—this would drive him mad right quickly.

He lay back down so that he couldn’t feel any of the walls and tried to imagine he was on the deck of a ship, with the clouds rolling overhead.

He wasn’t sure how long it was before he heard footsteps. He both fastened on them and tried not to hope. What hope was there? That Alis had followed, killed whatever guards there were, and was ready to spirit him to safety?

Then he heard a feminine voice, and the ridiculous hope suddenly found roots.

It wasn’t Alis, of course, but a large gray-haired woman dressed in a peculiar black robe. Four other women in similar habit and a large man who stank as much as the floor accompanied her.

“I am Walzamerka Gautisdautar, the king’s inquisitor,” she said. “You will not struggle. You will answer my questions. If you want any answers at all, if you want to live until tomorrow, you will hang on my every word, as if I were the mother who gave you life, for I am surely the one who can take it away.” “I’m at your mercy,” Neil said. “Only tell me how my queen is.”

“Your queen has been kidnapped,” the woman said. “We are searching for her now.”

“Kidnapped?”

“Yes, by Prince Berimund, if you can believe it.”

“They were going hunting—”

“Indeed. Instead he abducted her. Do you have any idea why?”

“None. It makes no sense to me.”

“To me, either.” She paused. “You should know we’ve captured your little coven-trained spy, as well.” Neil didn’t say anything to that.

“Very well,” Walzamerka said. “Come along and mind your manners.”

The inquisitor led him down past a line of cells like his, up some stairs, and into a long, narrow hallway. Then they went up two minor staircases and finally ascended a long winding one, so he reckoned he was in one of the towers.

They emerged at last into a room lit with gentle candlelight. He blinked, and for a moment he felt a strange movement of time, as if he had gone back months and was waking on a certain ship. The chamber was warm, wood-paneled, and close, the light dim and golden.

A woman stood there, clothed in a black gown. She wore an ivory mask that did not cover her mouth. Her hands were alabaster; her white hair was fine and came only as low as her throat.

And he knew her.

“Sir Neil,” the woman said in her familiar, throaty voice.

“Take a knee, Sir Neil,” the inquisitor said. “Take a knee before Her Highness, the Princess Brinna Marcomirsdautar Fram Reiksbaurg.”

2 The Angel

Rommer Ensgrift backed away from Mery, who watched him go without much expression. “A word outside,” the thin, almost skeletal leic muttered to Leoff.

He followed obediently. Once on the stoop, Ensgrift mopped his forehead with a rag.

“I’ve heard stories,” he said, his voice quivering. “Maryspellen. But I never thought there could be any truth.”

Leoff couldn’t think of anything to say or do until the leic composed himself, which he did in a moment. “She’s half-alive,” he said.

“Half-alive,” Leoff said, repeating the nonsensical phrase.

“Auy. Her heart beats, but very slowly. Her blood crawls through her veins. She should never be able to walk or talk like that, but she does, and I can only think that is because she is half-animated by something else, something other than breath.”

“Something else?”

“I don’t know. I set bones and give herbs for the gout; I don’t deal with things like this. A demon? A ghost? This is for a sacritor, not me.”

Leoff flinched. For years he hadn’t had much interest in the organized Church. Since being tortured by one of its praifecs, he hadn’t had any use for it at all. Even if he did, given the present climate in the holy institution, they more likely than not would burn her immediately. If he could even find a sacritor, which in Crotheny wasn’t an easy thing these days, given the queen’s ban on them.

“Isn’t there anything you can suggest?” he asked.

The old fellow shook his head. “There’s nothing natural about this. I can’t see that anything good can come from it.”

“Thank you, then, for your time,” Leoff said.

The leic left in a fuss of relief, and Leoff reentered the house. Mery still was sitting where he had left her. “I’m sorry if I frighten you,” the girl said in a small voice.

“Do you know what happened to you, Mery?” he asked.

She nodded. “I was at the well. I thought I might see my mother again, but I didn’t. There was an angel there instead.”

“An angel.” It was an old word, one that people didn’t hear much outside of Virgenya. It was a sort of keeper of the dead, a servant of Saint Dun or Under.

“Mery, what did it look like?

“I didn’t see anything. I felt him all around me, though, and he talked to me. He told me I was on my way over anyway, that if I crossed to where the singing was, I could hear it better and even sing with them. He said I would be able to help you better, too.”

“Help me?”

“Write your music. To heal the law of death.”

“And then?”

“It hurt at first, when I first breathed in, but then it was all right. And then I went to sleep and woke up in my room.”

That she spoke so matter-of-factly about the whole thing was the most awful part, the thing that was hardest for him to accept.

Was she like Robert, then? But the queen said that Robert had no heartbeat, that when stabbed he didn’t bleed. How many varieties of the walking dead were there?

But the leic had said that Mery wasn’t dead. She just wasn’t fully alive, whatever that meant. He was a composer. All he had wanted to do was write music, hear it played, live a decent life. His hiring by the court at Eslen had been a proud moment, the opportunity of a lifetime. But he had walked straight into a Black Mary of terror and death, and now this. Why had the saints put this on him?

But then Areana laid her hand on his, saying nothing, and he remembered that if he hadn’t come to Eslen, he wouldn’t have met her. And although he had written the most hideous thing of his life, he also had written the most sublime.

And he had befriended Mery and come to love her. Mending the law of death was an awfully big thing, too big for him to comprehend. The angel—whether it was real or Mery’s own genius coming out again—knew that. The saints had given him something smaller to do, something real to him. They had suggested a way to save Mery or at least to make a start at it.

“Mery,” he said. “Go find your thaurnharp. You and I are going to play.”

And for the first time in a long while, she smiled at him.

3 Suitor

Anne stood on the battlements, gazing across the Great Canal down on the fires of the enemy camps. They went to the horizon, it seemed, a bloody mirror of the clear, starry sky above.

The wind had a lot of autumn in it. The unseasonably long summer had relinquished its hold on the world in a nineday, and now winter was looking for a home.

Winter that might freeze flooded poelen and let armies walk across them. Had the Hellrune foreseen an early hard freeze? Was that what the Hansans were waiting for?

She had been out of bed in a nineday; the wound was completely healed, and she was feeling fine. For another ten days she had been watching the army growing below her. Artwair had it numbered at fifty thousand, with more marching from the north every day.

Her own forces were swelling, too, as the landwaerden sent her the cream of their men and the knights from the Midenlands arrived.

A glance around showed her she was alone.

I shouldn’t feel bad about this, she thought. They’ll only kill my men, invade my kingdom. And I need the practice.

Still, it felt odd. It was one thing when someone had a lance pointed at you; it was another—

No, she thought. No, it isn’t. It’s the same.

So she reached through the night and spread her senses out, feeling the flow of the twin rivers and the terrible beauty of the moon, concentrating, breathing deeply, holding herself together as the poles of the world sought to pull her apart and past and future melted into a single unmoving moment.

Then she was done, her heart faltering in her chest. She was drenched in sweat despite the chill in the air. “There,” she whispered. “Only forty-nine thousand of you now. Did you foresee that, Hellrune?” Then she went down to her chambers and had Emily fetch her some wine.

Duke Artwair spread butter and soft cheese on a slab of brown bread and took a healthy bite of it. Anne dolloped clotted cream on a spongy slice of sweet mulklaif and nibbled at it. With the morning sun peeking in through the eastern window and a pleasant coolness in the air, Anne was enjoying breakfast for the first time in a long while.

“Your Majesty looks well,” Artwair commented. “You must have slept better last night.”

“I slept all night,” she said. “I can’t remember the last time that happened.”

“And the nightmares?”

“None.”

He nodded. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Thank you for your concern,” she replied.

She tried one of the rather large blackberries on her plate and was surprised at the tart, sweet flavor. Had it been so long since she had had a blackberry?

“Something happened in the Hansan camp last night,” Artwair said.

She thought it rather abrupt. “I’m sure a great many somethings happened,” she said.

“A particular something happened to a great many people,” Artwair said. “About a thousand men died.” “Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”

“Your Majesty—” He stopped and looked uncomfortable.

Anne reached for another berry. “If you had a siege engine that could reach them across the Dew, would you use it? Would you be bombarding them even now?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then,” she said, and popped the fruit in her mouth.

His frown was small but obvious. “Why not just kill them all in their sleep, then?”

“I can’t yet. It takes too much out of me. But I think I can kill another thousand tonight. I’ll try for more, in fact.”

“Majesty, the Hansans claim their cause is a holy one and say you are a shinecrafter and all manner of things. This sort of thing only gives that weight.”

“My power comes from the saints,” Anne said. “That is why the Church fears me, and that is why they spread these lies about me. Was Virgenya Dare a shinecrafter? She was not, and neither am I. My people know that. The Hansans choose not to believe it, but so what? They made this war long before they had me as an excuse, and you know that as well as anyone else.”

“I do, but it’s our allies I’m thinking of.”

“Allies? You mean Virgenya. Everyone else is pretty much off the fence by now, I think.”

He tilted his head in agreement.

“You’re a warrior, Artwair. Killing for you comes from a sword or spear. It seems natural to you. What I do does not, and that bothers you. But the dead, in the end, are still dead. Do you think I want to kill anyone? I hate the idea. But I don’t intend to lose this war. Hansa may have started off with the upper hand, but that’s not going to last. If a thousand or more of them die every day before the first arrow of this siege is even loosed, how long will they remain squatting on our property?”

“It may incite them to attack sooner.”

“Before they’re ready.”

“Madame, they are ready.”

“No. They have a flotilla coming down the Warlock. It’s about three days away. Forty barges, maybe ten thousand men, and a lot of supplies. They will disembark at Bloen and cut us off from Eslen. Or at least that is their plan.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“I just saw it this morning.”

“I thought you said you didn’t dream last night.”

“I didn’t,” Anne said. “I don’t dream my visions anymore. I’m in better control of them.”

“So, then these new forces played no role in your decision to exterminate a thousand men.”

“No,” she said, unable to prevent a little grin, “but it might still have that effect.”

“Might?”

“They’ll try to cross the river tomorrow morning,” she said.

“You saw that, too?”

She nodded and pushed the bowl toward him. “Try these blackberries. They’re very good.”

Artwair looked more than anything, puzzled.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“You just seem…Are you really well? You don’t seem yourself.”

“Why do people keep saying that?” Anne asked. “You really want the old me back, the girl who was too selfish to look past her own nose? I’ve feared this power of mine for too long, only using it when I absolutely had to, out of fear or anger. But the saints want me to use it. Do you think it’s an accident that I didn’t have nightmares last night? It’s keeping it inside that’s made me ill. Now I feel fine. I’m still Anne, Cousin. I haven’t been gobbled up from the inside by some booygshin or ghost. I know; I worried about that myself. I even thought I might be a walking dead, like Uncle Robert, until last night. I’m not. I heal fast because the saints will it, but my heart beats and my blood flows. I get hungry and thirsty. I eliminate, sweat, cough. No, all that’s happened is that I’ve learned to accept what I am rather than be afraid of it. And that is good for Crotheny, I promise you.”

Artwair took another bite of his bread. “Thank you for your candor, Your Majesty. And now I suppose I had better see to that river crossing.”

He lifted himself from the chair, bowed, and left. When he was gone, she signaled for Nerenai and Emily to enter.

“Do either of you think there’s something wrong with me?”

Nerenai shook her head. “No. As you said, you’re starting to come to terms with your power. You rely less and less upon the arilac, yes?”

“I see less of her,” Anne said. “And when I do see her, she seems…faded.”

“Did you—” Emily began, but then stopped and put her hands in her lap. “What, Emily?”

The girl looked back up. “Did you really kill a thousand men?”

Anne nodded. “Does that bother you?”

“Bother me? It’s amazing. The saints really have touched you. It’s like you’re Genya Dare reborn, come to lead her heroes against the Scaosen, to tear the doors off their palaces and grind them into the dust.” “I don’t quite have her power,” Anne said.

“No, but you will,” Nerenai said.

“My uncle Charles is so stupid,” Emily said. “He said you were just a silly girl. If he could see—” “Wait,” Anne said. “Your uncle Charles? Do you mean Charles IV?”

Emily’s hand flew to her mouth, and she reddened.

“I see,” Anne said. “This is what I get for not learning those tedious royal lineages, I suppose.” “I shouldn’t have said that,” Emily said.

“On the contrary,” Anne said, “you should have told me that long ago. And so I think now you should tell me anything else you might have failed to mention, or I might become very, very cross. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Majesty.”

Anne stood on the battlements of the south tower again the next morning, clad in a suit of black plate trimmed with gold. She left the helm off so that she could see better.

The view was wonderful. Directly below her was the Yaner Gravigh, the northernmost canal of Newland, hewing from east to west. A wall four kingsyards high stood on the southern birm and went off beyond sight in either direction.

Beyond were the vast downs of Andemuer, gently rolling hills tilled and terraced by a hundred generations of plowmen.

The host of Hansa was a bit of an eyesore, but at the moment, even that was beautiful to her because for almost a league the canal was clogged with their wrecked and burning boats.

They had come before dawn, dragging light watercraft from behind the hills. In a few places they had tried to float bridges, but those had fared no better. Artwair reckoned that more than three thousand Hansans had been slaughtered in the attempt, falling to siege engines and archers massed upon the birm wall.

The cost to Crotheny could be counted on a pair of hands.

“You sent for me, Majesty?”

Anne didn’t turn, but she nodded. “Good morning, Cape Chavel.”

“A glorious victory,” he ventured.

“I’m very pleased,” Anne said. “Of course, they’ll try again tomorrow, two leagues upstream.”

“Why not farther?” he asked. “I understand they need to reduce Poelscild, but why try to cross here, under our engines?”

“More than two leagues upstream the ground around the river gets low and swampy, or so they tell me,” Anne replied, “and beyond that they would have the Dew to reckon with. South, we’ve flooded the poelen nearest the canal, so they would cross it only to find a lake.”

“But the force coming on the Warlock—”

“You’ll meet them,” Anne said. “You, Kenwulf, and Cathond and his light horse. You’ll stop them, won’t you?”

“Yes, Majesty.”

“Cape Chavel?”

“Yes, Majesty?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re third in line for the Virgenyan throne?”

For a moment he just stood stupidly. Then he clasped his hands behind his back.

“Ah,” he said. “You’ve been checking up on me.”

“No,” Anne replied. “Emily let slip that your uncle is Charles. Once that was out, I made her tell me everything. She mentioned, for instance, that you actually came here to propose marriage.”

She leveled her gaze on him.

“Yes,” he replied, looking abashed. “Yes, that is the case.”

“I don’t like being deceived,” Anne said. “Explain yourself, please.”

The earl tilted his head apologetically. “My uncle sent that insulting delegation as a negotiation,” he said. “He reckoned you would be desperate, and his lack of respect would make you more so. My role was to offer a marriage in return for the troops you’ve requested.”

“So you’ve lied about several things. You didn’t come here to fight for me.”

“No,” he said, “but I decided to the moment you spoke. You were right, and my uncle was wrong. I was too ashamed of my original mission to mention it to you, and the only deception I’ve engaged in has been to prevent that shame from being exposed. I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Your Majesty.”

Anne nodded, not quite sure what she should feel.

“If you had made the proposal—and if I had accepted—would your uncle have sent troops?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, to tell you the truth.”

“Well, let’s find out,” Anne said. “Send word that you’ve made your proposal and I received it favorably. Court me, and I will discover what sort of man your uncle really is.”

“You’re going to answer one lie with another?” the earl asked.

“It’s the same lie,” Anne said. “I just want to expose the whole thing. Anyway, would it be so difficult for you to feign interest? I know I’m not the most beautiful of women, but I am the queen.”

Cape Chavel’s eyebrows went up “I have no need to feign interest, Majesty. I’ve never met a woman like you, and I’m sure I never will again. And it’s only because you are queen that I haven’t told you that. I’m dead in love with you, Queen Anne.”

As he spoke, an odd warmth suddenly spread down her limbs.

“You needn’t overdo it,” she said, suddenly not so sure of herself. “No one is listening.”

“I’m telling you the truth,” he said.

“Be careful, Cape Chavel,” Anne said. “I’ve been badly betrayed by someone who claimed to love me. I found out he was merely using me for political gain. I won’t feel like that again, ever. So be honest.” He stepped closer, and suddenly he seemed to enclose her, blotting out everything else around her. “I am honest,” he said. “I refused to court you for political reasons, remember? And I won’t pretend to court you now when you so plainly have no interest in me. So let us keep things as they are: You my queen and I one of your knights.”

Anne thought she had a reply, but she lost it somehow. She had believed she’d hit on a clever political ploy, but it was suddenly very much out of control. The earl sounded hurt. Was he really serious? “May I go, Majesty?” Cape Chavel said stiffly.

“Yes, go,” she said.

She heard his footsteps start off. “Wait,” she said.

The footfalls stopped, and she felt a giddy sort of fear.

“I never said I didn’t care for you,” she said softly.

“Do you?”

She turned slowly. “Since we’ve met, I’ve been very…busy,” she said. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.” “I know,” he said.

“And as I’ve told you, I’ve been hurt before.” She paused. “Not just once. And there is—was—someone else. I admire you, Cape Chavel. I like you very much.”

“That isn’t love.”

“I’ve no idea what love is,” Anne said. “But you’re judging me too quickly. You’re guessing. You will never know if I can love you unless you court me, and neither will I.”

He held her gaze well past the point Anne found comfortable, which amounted to around three heartbeats.

“Majesty, now I have to ask if you are serious.”

She suddenly wanted to make a joke out of the whole thing, explode the moment as she had done with Cazio and back away.

And what about Cazio? She was sure he had feelings for her. If something happened to Austra—

No, she couldn’t think like that.

And so she nodded in response to his question.

“Then I will court you,” he said softly. “And hope I do not regret it. How should I start?”

“Ideally? Long walks in the gardens, riding, picnics, flowers and poetry. But as we’re in the middle of a war and I’m sending you off to fight this afternoon, I think a kiss might be nice.”

And so there was a kiss, and it was nice, and another, which was very nice, and so they spent the rest of the morning as the boats finished burning.

4 Fend Makes an Offer

One of the wyvers folded its wings and dropped, hitting the man riding ahead of Aspar in the middle of the back with its wicked spurs. The fellow went flying over his mount’s neck, and the horse reared in terror. So did Aspar’s mount, and he cursed the loss of Ogre one more time. Ogre would rear only to attack.

Trying to control the beast with one hand, he jabbed his spear at the wyver with the other. To his satisfaction, he poked a hole right through its wing.

It screeched, hopped out of reach, and leaped skyward. The wounded wing still caught plenty of air, and in heartbeats it was up with its four brethren.

The attack had come as a surprise, because for bells the things had just been circling, following them. Fend’s eyes in the heavens.

When they reached Ermensdoon, the flying creatures broke off their attack and went even higher in their coiling paths.

“We don’t have long,” Aspar said. “They’ll be coming.”

“We almost beat them,” Emfrith muttered. His face was still tear-streaked. “If we could just find some way to kill the basil-nix. I hear Duke Artwair killed one down in Broogh, with fire.”

“Maunt they may have another fox behind their ears,” Aspar pointed out.

Emfrith nodded. “I won’t argue with you again. We’ll form up here only as long as it takes to evacuate the castle. Then we’re off, wherever you say.”

Aspar felt happier than he ought to at Emfrith’s capitulation. It was the geos again.

Aspar knelt in the brush and looked down across the fields, gritting his teeth against the ache in his leg. Leshya sighed almost silently and shook her head from side to side.

“I could have scouted alone,” she whispered.

Aspar didn’t answer. Fend and his monsters were just appearing over a low hill about ten bowshots away. He glanced at the sky, but he and the Sefry seemed to have been successful in sneaking away from the larger party without a winged escort.

There were more sedhmhari than ever. At this distance he couldn’t make out what all of them were, but it looked as if there were at least twenty.

“Well, that’s that,” Aspar said.

They made their way back over the ridge to their mounts and turned them south.

“That should convince Emfrith not to fight again,” Aspar said.

“Aspar, where are we going?” Leshya asked.

“A place in the Mountains of the Hare.”

“The Vhenkherdh?”

He nodded curtly.

“But you’ll lead Fend right to it.”

“If it’s really Fend back there. Anyway, Fend’s been there. He nearly murdered me there. It’s no secret to him.” He glanced over at her. “That’s where you wanted to go, isn’t it?”

“Yes. But…”

“What?”

“The child Winna carries is yours, yes?”

“Yah.”

“And Winna was waurm-poisoned. She nearly died of it, as I understand.”

“Yah.”

“Then you must know that what she carries probably isn’t human.”

“I cann that, too,” he snapped.

“But she doesn’t, does she? She doesn’t know what we know, and you haven’t told her.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t.”

Leshya’s eyes thinned to violet slits. “Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t,” he replied, hoping she would get it.

But she just blinked and took her horse to a trot. “We’d better catch them,” she said.

They caught up with Winna and the rest a few bells later.

“They’re half a day behind us,” Aspar told them. “They’ve also got reinforcements: twice as many beasties as before the bridge fight.”

“Sceat,” Emfrith said. “Where do they come from?”

“They’re everywhere now,” Leshya said. “He calls, and they come.”

“Why don’t we leave the road?” Emfrith suggested. “With those wagons of his, he’d have a hard time following us.”

“He’s already slower with the wagons,” Aspar said. “When we leave the road, he’ll abandon them, and then they’ll be a lot faster. So I think we stay between the ruts as long as we can.”

“Why hasn’t he already done that?” Winna asked. “The greffyns could catch us, murder us all, and be back at the wagons in a bell.”

Yes, but Fend doesn’t want all of us dead, Aspar thought. Me, maybe, but not you. If he sent the greffyns, they’d slaughter everyone.

“I can’t say what’s in Fend’s mind,” he said. “For whatever reason, he doesn’t seem to be in a big hurry. I reckon he doesn’t think we can get away.”

“My concern isn’t just for us,” Emfrith said. “There’s a village less than a league up ahead, Len-an-Wolth. We can’t lead an army of monsters through there.”

“He’s right, Aspar,” Winna said.

“Werlic,” he agreed. “We’ll go around, then. I’ll ride ahead and warn them, though. Fend’s booygshins will want to feed, and they’ll probably find the town, anyway.”

“Aspar,” Winna pleaded, “let Emfrith send someone. You just got back.”

“I’d better do it myself,” Aspar said, and kicked his horse into motion.

Every moment he spent away from Winna was a moment he didn’t have to lie to her.

As it turned out, they needn’t have worried about Len-an-Wolth; the little market town was already empty of human life, although he saw plenty of bones scattered about. What had killed them? Slinders, bandits, monsters? It didn’t matter to them, did it?

It had never been a big place. There was a smallish church, thirty or so houses, and a little tavern whose clapboard proclaimed it “Sa Plinseth Gaet.” Underneath the lettering was a picture of a goat dancing on its hind legs and holding a beer in one forehoof.

He looked inside and in a few of the houses, calling out as he did so, but there was no answer. The buildings were all fine except that a few of the roofs needed to be rethatched.

He was just getting ready to go when a familiar voice called his name.

Fend.

He put an arrow on the string and peered around the corner. It was Fend, all right, with one of his Sefry companions and three beasts that would have looked something like a combination of wolf, horse, and man if they hadn’t been scaly.

Well, sceat, he thought. I should have kissed Winna good-bye.

“There you are,” Fend said brightly. “Somehow I just knew you would have to warn the villagers. I’m glad I was right. Bareback on a wairwulf is fast, but a little rough.”

Aspar drew back for the shot, but then he felt something sharp prick him in the back.

“No,” a soft voice said.

Aspar lowered the weapon, then dropped it. In the same motion he let his palm hit the hilt of the feyknife. It was only half-drawn before another hand caught his, and then an arm came around his neck. Snarling, he stomped back with his heel, hoping to break an ankle or knee, but he was suddenly on the ground with his face pressed in the dirt, one arm twisted behind his back, and a shin on his neck. He felt the dagger slide out of its sheath and then the ax come out of his belt. Then his arm was released, and the pressure vanished.

He came back to his feet, but the fellow had backed away, carrying his arms.

“I’m not here to kill you, Aspar,” Fend said. “At least not right away. We need to talk, you and I.” “Everyone wants to talk to me today,” Aspar said, trying to keep his rage bottled so that he could think. What was Fend playing at?

“Yes, but I have to manage to talk to you without one of us killing the other, which is quite a trick.” “I don’t see what we have to talk about,” Aspar said.

“About this whole thing,” Fend replied. “There’s no reason for us to fight.”

“Really? What about that business back at the bridge?”

“Not much of a chance for talking, was there? Your friends just charged us. Didn’t you expect us to fight back?”

“You’ve been chasing me.”

“Yes and no. After the battle at the Witchhorn, I sent some of my servants out to hunt you. I wasn’t with them until just before the fight at the bridge the other day. Things have changed. I no longer mean you any harm.”

“Last time we met, you tried to bloody execute me. If it hadn’t been for Leshya, you would have. Now you expect me to trust you?”

“You and I have taken turns trying to kill each other for twenty years, Aspar. I’m sure neither of us really remembers why.”

“Sceating saints, Fend; you killed my wife.”

“Fine, I guess you do remember. But it wasn’t anything personal; I didn’t do it to spite you. I always rather liked you, Dirt.”

Aspar flinched at the old nickname but tried not to let it show.

“What do you want, Fend?” he asked.

“The same thing you want.”

“And what is that?”

“To find the Vhenkherdh and restore life to the world. To make a new Briar King.”

That was so ridiculous that Aspar felt as if he were choking. The words wouldn’t come out for a moment.

“You murdered the Briar King, you sceat!” he finally managed.

“Well, yes—but he was quite mad. He was going to bring back the forest, sure, but he was also going to kill us all. He wasn’t the Briar King we needed.”

“Oh, I wat not. What sort do we need, then?”

“Your child, Aspar. Your child can be the new Briar King—or Queen, I suppose, if it’s a girl. You’re already geosed to take her there; I’m just here to help.”

“My child?”

“I know Winna’s carrying your baby, Aspar. The witch knew it when you met her. Your child can heal the world; isn’t that what you want? To fix your precious forest?”

“I do. I just don’t believe you do. And I don’t trust the Sarnwood witch. I know where the monsters come from, Fend. I know they’re born from normal animals touched by the poison in the world, the poison your beasts spread around. Winna was sick from the woorm. Grim’s balls, the woorm you were riding. That means there’s a monster in there. Now, why would the Sarnwood witch want one of her monsters to be the new lord-o’-the-forest?”

“To heal the world. To take the poison out of it, to make it so her children are born without venom. She’s old, Aspar, very old. She kept this world a garden until the Skasloi betrayed her. It was the old Briar King that kept things this way, divided, one nature fighting against another. Your child can bring it all together, make it whole again. It won’t be a monster; it’ll be a saint, the greatest saint of all.” “If all that’s so, why did your wyver attack Winna?”

“Wyvers are stupid,” Fend replied. “It didn’t know who it was attacking!”

“What about all that business with the fanes, the murders at Cal Azroth? How does that all work in?” “That was something else,” he said. “Hespero hired me for that. That was just murder for money, really. But then he sent me to get the woorm from the Sarnwood. Don’t know what he wanted, don’t care. The witch showed me the truth, my destiny—to be the Blood Knight.”

“Yah. Then why did you try to kill me?”

“The witch didn’t tell me we would need you. Maybe she didn’t even know at the time; she’s strange like that. And, well, I hate you. You hate me. If I don’t kill you, you’ll kill me. But I’m willing to set that aside for now, and you should be, too.”

“You’re mad.”

“I feel better than I ever have in my life,” Fend said. “I’ve actually got a cause, something to fight for other than my own greed and desires. You ought to be able to understand that.”

“You’re a liar, Fend. I don’t believe anything you’ve said, and I certainly won’t ride with you.” “That’s too bad,” Fend said. “It’ll make it harder.”

“Harder to do what?”

“To protect you. There are those who will try to stop you.”

“Who?”

“I’m not sure about that. But you’ll need my help. I reckoned it would be easier if we worked this out now. I see we can’t. But the geos will take you there anyway, and I’ll follow and help you whether you like it or not.”

Fend mounted the wairwulf, which bristled but let him on. His companions got up on their beasts. “See you soon,” Fend said, taking hold of a rope that necklaced the monster.

Then they bounded off, long legs reaching with incredible swiftness, much faster than a horse. The Sefry who had Aspar’s weapons dropped them to the ground. Aspar rushed toward them, scooping up the bow and his quiver, but before he could put missile to string, they were out of sight. He limped to a stuttering run to get to where his horse was wandering, mounted, and gave her his heels, screaming at the top of his lungs as red rage tinted everything.

Whipping around one of the houses, he nearly collided with another rider and for one savage instant thought he would get his fight. But before he let the shaft fly, he realized it was Leshya.

“Fend,” he told her, trying to get his skittish mount back under control.

Leshya’s eyes were wide and her mouth was scrunched up as if she had just tasted something sour. “You’re alive,” she said.

“Yah. Surprised?”

“I just saw Fend and two of the Vaix riding hellhounds or something, so yes.”

The horse was over its panic now, and he started off again.

“You won’t catch them,” Leshya yelled after him. “And you don’t want to.”

“Oh, yah, I do,” he muttered.

Leshya was right, of course. The wairwulves were much faster than horses, and besides, his mount kept shying from their scent.

When he finally gave up, Leshya came trotting up alongside him.

“Why did you come, anyway?” he asked.

“I had a bad feeling,” she said. “I get them sometimes, and when I do, I’m usually right. What were they doing, Fend and the Vaix?”

“They were looking for me.”

“Good thing they didn’t find you.”

“Oh, they found me,” he said. “Fend offered to escort us through the King’s Forest. He thinks we’ll need his help.”

“His help with what?” Leshya asked, her tone larded with incredulity.

“I don’t know,” he replied. This time he wasn’t sure the lie wasn’t his own. It felt awfully natural. “Really?” she asked, the tone deepening. “He was trying to kill you last time you saw him.”

“That’s true. I pointed that out to him.”

“Well?”

“He said things had changed.”

“What things?”

“It’s just another of his tricks,” Aspar said. “I’m not sure what he’s up to, but it’s nothing good.” “Well, he wants you alive for something, or you wouldn’t be, right?”

“Werlic.”

She shook her head. “Why would the Blood Knight want you alive?”

“He didn’t really say.”

“Curious.”

How long was she there? he suddenly wondered. Did she hear the whole conversation? Is she testing me?

Or was she, after all, with Fend?

Either way, he should probably kill her. He reached for the feyknife casually, as if he were just going to take the reins.

5 Austra

“That’s likely it,” Cazio breathed, gesturing with his nose toward the long coil of the Old King’s Road they could see from the cobbled-together treehouse z’Acatto referred to as their “mansion.” There, a carriage with an armed escort was making its way along the ruts. The driver, Cazio could make out, wore the gold, black, and green livery of the duchess of Rovy, which was Anne’s household title. “So it’ll be a fight,” z’Acatto sighed.

Cazio was starting to ask what the old man meant when the scene suddenly shifted into finer focus. The escort wore the orange and dark blue of the knights of Lord Gravio, one of the Church’s military orders.

“She’s already been captured,” he murmured.

“There’s no proof she’s even in there,” z’Acatto said. “It may be some fat sacritor or a half dozen soldiers.”

“It might be,” Cazio agreed, “but I only see five. I’ll worry about any in the carriage later.” “Five men in full armor mounted on war steeds,” z’Acatto pointed out. “One or two would be plenty.” “Yes, I’ve learned my lesson there,” Cazio said.

“I doubt that.”

“No, I have. One doesn’t fence such men; one hits them with something heavy, yes? So what do we have that’s heavy?”

He searched for an answer to that. The mansion was nothing more than a sort of blind they had constructed where the branches of two large trees came together. It was about ten pareci off the ground. They had some empty wine carafes and a few sticks. That was about it. Given the distance, they still had a little time, but not more than a quarter of a bell.

Z’Acatto took another drink of their last bottle of Matir Mensir, and for a moment Cazio thought he was going to sleep. Instead, he sighed and wiped the back of his hand across his stubbled mouth.

“I have an idea,” he said.

As Cazio stepped into the road in front of the small cavalcade, he was still not certain that z’Acatto’s idea was a good one, but it was the only one they had.

“Halt there,” he shouted.

The knights lifted their visors, and he could see their astonishment.

“What’s the matter with you?” one of them, a fellow with a reddish mustache, asked.

“I heard knights of Lord Gravio were on this road,” he said. “I said to myself, ‘Has the knight of Gravio ever been born that I couldn’t beat wearing nothing more than my skin and a sword?’ And the answer, of course, was no. But then I wondered, ‘What if there were two or three of them? I might break a sweat.’ But I’m thinking four of you might have a chance.”

“Get out of the road, you naked idiot,” another of the knights said. “By that popinjay’s sword you wield, you’re no knight.”

“Let me get this perfectly clear,” Cazio said, leaning on Acredo. “You’re afraid to fight a naked man. You understand I was saying you can all come at me at once, right?”

“Knights of Gravio only battle knights, you slack-jawed pig sodomizer,” the mustached man said. “All others have two simple choices: stand aside or be cut down like honorless dogs.”

“I heard that about you brave, brave fellows,” Cazio said. “Heard you mostly kill women because headless lovers can’t complain of your impotence.”

“Leave him be,” one of the fellows in the back said. “He’s clearly mad.”

“There’s only so much I can hear before I must act,” Mustache gritted. “But I make allowances. Stand aside.”

Cazio stepped a little closer. “If it’s my words that are the problem, let me use a language more apt to you fellows.”

He sent an arc of urine in their direction.

That did it. Mustache howled, and two of his fellows broke after him, all drawing broadswords. Cazio turned and ran as fast as he could. That wasn’t as fast as a horse could run, of course, but he could reach his top pace first.

As he dashed around the bend that took the road into the forest, he glanced back and saw they were gathering speed, their swords held low and cocked, ready to decapitate him.

He ran another three pareci, hurtling around another curve, and then turned to get on his guard. The three horsemen thundered around the bend. Mustache had on a fierce smirk and started to shout something, but at about that time, he and his brothers hit the rope Cazio had strung between two trees. It caught Mustache right across the face and one of his companions at the gorget. The third had seen the trap and tried to bring his sword up to cut it, so he was caught by the forearm. All three went flipping backward off their mounts.

Only one of them got back up, and that was the man who had brought his arm up. Cazio didn’t wait for him to find his feet but walked up to him quickly, opened the visor that had snapped shut when he fell, and smashed Acredo into his nose. As the man screeched, Cazio lifted the helm off completely and hit him again. He went sprawling back.

“I gave you cowards a chance to fight with honor,” Cazio said. “It was more than you deserved, more than you offered me, and so here we are, with you forcing me to this.”

Then he turned and sped back toward the carriage, where he found z’Acatto standing over the fourth knight, who was prone on the ground.

“Are they dead?” z’Acatto asked.

“One of them, maybe. I didn’t stay to find out.”

“We should finish them,” the old man said.

Cazio shook his head. “I don’t murder men who can’t fight back. You know that. You taught me that.” “That’s in a duel. In war there are times you do what you have to.”

“I’m not at war,” Cazio said. “I’m only trying to save my friends.”

“You have to be practical.”

“I’ve been plenty practical enough for today,” Cazio said. “Let’s just get on with it.”

“Have it your way, then,” z’Acatto said. “I’ll just walk over and see if they have anything useful on them.” “Oh, let’s do that together,” Cazio replied.

“You don’t trust me?”

“On the contrary, I trust you to be you. Anyway, what if there are fifteen soldiers in the carriage? I’ll need your help.”

Z’Acatto shrugged and wiped his sword on the dead knight’s tabard. Then the two of them approached the carriage. The driver was gone, apparently having run off.

Each door had a little barred window, but Cazio didn’t see anyone peering through it, and his heart sank. What if they already had done away with her?

He grasped the handle and pulled, but the door remained fast.

“There’s no lock out here,” z’Acatto observed. “But there is someone in there.”

“Austra?” Cazio asked, rapping on the door. “It’s me, Cazio.”

There wasn’t any answer. He rapped again, harder. Cursing now, he started to pound on the door. “Step back,” z’Acatto said.

Cazio did so and saw that the swordmaster had the dead knight’s heavy blade.

“Careful,” Cazio cautioned.

The first swing shattered the glossy varnish, the second sent splinters flying, and the next caved in the panel. Using the tip of the weapon, z’Acatto pushed the cracked wood aside so that they could see in. Austra was there, pale, unmoving, and gagged. A fiftyish man with faded blond hair slumped next to her, eyes open but unfocused. His nose and mouth had drooled blood onto his chin.

“Austra!” Cazio shouted, reaching through the hole to locate the bolt on the inside. He found it, drew it, and yanked the door open.

He touched her face and found it warm. An angry red mark on her cheek and left eye told of a bruise to come in the next day or so. Her dark saffron gown was slashed and bloody, revealing red-smeared thighs.

“Austra!”

He put his ear to her heart and to his relief felt it beat.

“We need to go,” z’Acatto said. “The Church is all over these roads. We’ll take the carriage and hide someplace.”

“Right,” Cazio muttered, still trying to get some sort of response from Austra.

“Help me get the man out.”

Reluctantly, Cazio reached over and opened the bolt on the other door. When z’Acatto started pulling, he began to shove.

The fellow coughed, and blood spewed from his nose.

“Diuvo!” Cazio swore. “He’s alive.”

“So he is,” z’Acatto said.

Snarling, Cazio reached for Acredo.

“No,” z’Acatto said, holding up his hand. “I’ll drag him over in the woods, see if he has anything useful on him. Yes?”

Cazio balanced on his rage for a moment. He looked back at Austra. The blood on her was coming mostly from a series of shallow cuts on her thighs.

“Why don’t you do that,” he said softly.

Cazio dressed quickly and found several skins of white wine liberally mixed with water. As they bumped along in the carriage, their own horses on trotters behind them, he washed Austra’s cuts as best he could. None were particularly deep, but it looked as if the fellow had been cutting a methodical diamond pattern on her. He made another search for any deeper wounds but couldn’t find any.

He was starting on her second leg when she suddenly sucked in a huge breath, then screamed, her eyes wide open and brimming with terror.

“Austra, Austra mia errentera.”

She beat at him with her hands, still screaming, probably unable to hear him over her panic. He let her flail away until she had to pause for breath.

“Austra, it’s Cazio!” he said urgently.

The look in her eyes shifted to dazed puzzlement.

“Cazio?”

“It’s me, errentera, min loof. Porcupine.”

“Cazio!” she gasped. Then she looked down at her bare legs, and a huge sob heaved out of her, and then another. She kept gesturing at her wounds and trying to talk, but she half strangled on whatever she meant to say.

Cazio wrapped his arms around her and pulled her face onto his shoulder.

“It’s not bad,” he whispered in her ear. ‘It’s not bad. Just a few little cuts, that’s all. You’re going to be fine.”

He held her like that for a long time before she could talk.

He got the story out of her in drabs. Her carriage and guard had been set upon by knights, many more of them than Cazio and z’Acatto had dealt with. They had slain her guard to a man.

“There were two leaders,” she said. “The…the man you found in the carriage and a younger fellow with a little beard. They seemed to know who I was, or—I think they thought I was Anne.”

“Why do you say that?” Cazio asked gently.

“I don’t know. Something one of them said. Cazio, it’s hard to remember. But they had some sort of fight, and the younger man said something about the Fratrex Prismo, and that’s—” She shuddered and closed her eyes.

“What?”

“The man you found me with stabbed him in the side of the throat and laughed while he died. The other knights laughed, too. Then he got in the carriage with me, closed the door, and tied my hands behind my back. The way he looked at me. I’ve thought I was going to be raped before, and I’ve seen the look in the eyes of men when they’re thinking about it, but this was more than that.”

“How? What do you mean?”

“More. He wanted more than just to rape me; he wanted something worse. He pulled up my dress, and I didn’t do anything. I thought that if I was quiet, he wouldn’t hurt me. But then he said something about the ‘blood telling,’ and he started to cut me, and then I—” She coughed off into crying again, and he waited, stroking her hair.

“We can talk about it later.”

She shook her head. “If I wait, I won’t be able to. I know I won’t.”

“Go on, then. When you’re ready.”

“I fainted, and when I woke up, he was still cutting me. Blood was all over. I was so scared, Cazio. Everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve seen. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t take it.” “What happened?”

“I wanted to hurt him,” she said. “I wanted to reach inside of him and tear him up. I wanted it so bad, and then he screamed, and there was blood, and I don’t remember anything until you were here.” “It’s over,” he soothed. “The cuts will heal, and everything will be fine.”

“It doesn’t feel that way.”

“I know,” he said, although he reckoned he probably didn’t.

“Now I know how Anne felt,” she said softly. “I should have understood.”

“You mean when she was nearly raped?”

“No.”

Something about the timbre of the word sent a little witch shot through his chest. It was as if an infant in its crib had just looked straight at him and said something no child that age could possibly say. But quietly, almost in passing. Not showing off, not even trying to be noticed.

She looked up at him and tried to smile. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Looking for you, of course.”

“Why?”

“I got to Dunmrogh and found it full up with churchmen who wanted to skin me. I knew Anne was sending you to me, and I figured you were in danger, so z’Acatto and I hid along the road, planning to waylay every carriage until we found yours.”

“How many did you waylay?”

“Only the one, really. There aren’t many casual travelers on the road these days.”

“I’m glad,” Austra said. “I was afraid I wouldn’t see you again. I knew I wouldn’t. But I should have known. You always manage to save me somehow, even if it’s just because you saved Anne.”

“It’s all for you this time,” he said.

The carriage bumped along without any talking for a little while.

“Why did she do it, Cazio?” Austra asked finally. “Why did she send you out here?”

“I don’t know. She asked me to do something I didn’t want to do, and I don’t think it sat well with her.” Austra attempted a chuckle. “Everyone thinks she’s so different now. It’s funny.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean she used to be frivolous, and now she’s taken responsibility. She never even thought about being queen, and now she is.”

“It does sound like she’s changed.”

“Sort of. I love her, you have to understand, more than anyone. But I know her, too. She’s always been impossibly selfish, so selfish she didn’t even have a clue she was selfish. You know what I mean?” “I think so,” Cazio replied.

“She always had to have her way, whoever had to pay the cost. Did you know that when we were on our way to the coven, she decided to run away? She would have if I hadn’t caught her. Actually, she still would have done it, but I broke my leg trying to catch her. She hadn’t given a single thought to what would become of me if she went missing.

“It wasn’t that she wanted to hurt me or get me in trouble; it just never occurred to her to think about whether her actions would have repercussions for others. A stablejack back in Eslen was beaten and sent away for letting her take her horse out when her mother had forbidden it. I could go on, but the fact of the matter is, the rest of us are shadows to her, some more real than others maybe, but still shadows.” “But I think I’ve seen some change even since I’ve known her,” Cazio said.

“Yes,” Austra agreed. “Some, yes. But then she became queen.”

“Which you say she never wanted.”

“Right. Because she never thought about being queen. When we were girls, there was no chance of that ever happening. Her father didn’t get the Comven to legitimize his daughters as heirs until just before this whole mess started, and even so there were still Fastia and Elseny ahead of her.” She pushed back a little and regarded him seriously. “Now, though, she’s talked herself into believing she was forced into this new role, and true, there is something to that. But here’s the thing, Cazio: She loves it. Now she always gets her way, even if what she wants is stupid and even if everyone knows it. What queen gallivants about playing knight-errant when a serious war is threatening?”

Austra’s voice was rising as she got angrier.

“You’re right. When we were out on the road, running for our lives, she was starting to get the idea, to think about the rest of us now and then, to understand that the world wasn’t all about her, with the eyes of every foocned saint on her. But now it is all about her, isn’t it?”

“She cares about you, Austra.”

“Yes, and you. You and I are more real to her than anyone else. But it’s what we mean to her that matters: what we can do for her, how we make her feel. When we cross her, when we don’t want to do what she wants, she can’t understand it. It doesn’t make sense to her, and rather than figuring we have our own wants and reasons, she thinks we’re attacking her. You see? That’s how she sees things: Everything we do is about her.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Cazio said.

“You just said she sent you away because you wouldn’t do something she wanted.”

“Well, that’s not what she said. She said she needed someone she could trust in Dunmrogh.”

“What did she ask you to do?”

“Ah, walk the faneway of Mamres.”

Austra’s tear-reddened eyes went bigger. “Oh, saints, Cazio.” She lay back. “You see?” she sighed. “As much as she ought to know you, she doesn’t. How could she think you would sacrifice your art as a dessrator to become one of those—things?”

Cazio blinked and suddenly realized he was on the verge of tears himself.

“Ted amao,” he said, completely lost in emotion. “Edio ted amao. I love you.”

“Ecco,” she said, her voice faint but firm. “I love you too.”

He took her hand.

“Anne loves us, too, in her way,” Austra said. “I think she sent us away because we know her. We remind her that she has been better, could be better.”

The pace of the carriage suddenly picked up, and z’Acatto was shouting something up front.

“A moment,” Cazio said, and kissed Austra on the forehead. He stood and opened the little door in the ceiling and pulled himself up.

“We have friends,” z’Acatto shouted.

Cazio looked behind and saw six mounted knights, all in the colors of Lord Gravio.

Swearing, he drew Acredo, but there was nothing much to be done until the riders caught up with them, which wouldn’t be long. Then there wouldn’t be any time for tricks, just two against six.

Well, that wasn’t so bad. He had beaten more than that below the palace in Eslen. Of course, they hadn’t been as heavily armored, but the odds had been worse.

If he could reach the same state, chiado sivo, they had a chance.

So he paused, clearing his mind, trying not to think about the fight ahead, only about the symmetries of arm, foot, body, point, edge, and grip.

A moment later they passed into a wood, and Cazio began humming, because that was even better: Their horses would be less useful here, their armor more of an encumbrance. He was just about to jump to the ground and start the fight when z’Acatto cursed a saint whose name itself was a curse.

He turned to find out why in time to see footmen pouring into the road from the trees and the trap well and truly closed.

Chiado sivo. Entirely sword.

He leaped from the carriage toward the lead rider, blade straight out like a spear.

6 Brinna

Neil knelt to the masked woman.

“Majesty,” he said, trying to keep his mind still.

“Pleased to meet you, Sir Neil,” she said with a slight emphasis on “meet” that he thought he understood. Neil heard a little gasp behind him and saw that Alis had been brought in. Her eyes were founts of incredulity.

“Ah, Sister Alis,” Brinna said. “Did you know who I was?”

“Lady, I did not know,” Alis said. She seemed completely off her footing, something Neil hadn’t ever seen before. Of course, he was having a hard time keeping his own face composed.

“And now you do,” the woman he had known as both Brinna and Swanmay said. She took a step toward Alis and raised a cup of wine. “Would you like a drink?”

“No, Highness, I would rather not.”

“You admit it, then,” the inquisitor snarled. “You admit the attempt at murder.”

Alis held her head high. “My queen and this knight knew nothing of my intentions. You cannot hold them accountable.”

“Oh, it was all your idea, then?” the masked woman said.

“I’m telling the truth,” Alis said.

“I’m sure you are,” Brinna relied. “You just haven’t mentioned who actually put you up to it.” Alis didn’t reply, but Brinna’s gaze turned languidly to Neil. “That would be your Queen Anne, Sir Neil.” “I don’t believe that, Highness,” Neil said.

“Because it is untrue,” Alis added.

“Well, we shall see. Inquisitor, take Lady Berrye to the room of the waters. Don’t do anything permanent to her, do you hear? I want to talk to her myself later.”

“Very good, Highness. And the knight?”

“I wish to converse with him alone,” she replied.

The matron frowned. “That is unwise.”

“I do not think so, inquisitor. Every exit from this place is guarded, and he is unarmed. But from what I’ve heard of this man, that wouldn’t stop him any more than your continued presence would if his intention was to strangle me. What will stop him is his word. Sir Neil, will you behave yourself if left alone with me? Will you promise to make no assault on me or attempt to escape?”

“I promise not to harm your person in any way, Highness, and I won’t try to escape during our conversation. After I leave this room, I can’t make any such promise.”

“That seems fair enough to me, inquisitor.”

“Lady, it is still not appropriate.”

“I say what’s appropriate in my own house,” Brinna purred. “And there will be no gossip of it, or I will know where it came from.”

“I serve your father, not you,” Walzamerka said.

“But unless my father gives a very specific command to disobey, you will do my will.”

“Why do you want to be alone with him?”

“Because I believe you can torture Sir Neil for a thousand days and learn nothing. But a candid conversation held in private might yield some…insights.”

The inquisitor’s mouth parted, and a look very like fear passed across her features. “I see, Highness,” she said. “I didn’t understand.”

“Good.”

When she was gone and the chamber door had closed, Brinna smiled.

“Walzamerka thinks I’m going to tear your soul out.”

“Are you?”

She gestured toward a chair. “Sit, Sir Neil.”

He did so, and she stared at him for several moments with those eyes of hers, so deep blue that in any light other than sunlight they appeared almost black.

“Did you also come here to kill me, Sir Neil?”

“I swear by the saints my people swear by that I did not, Princess Brinna.”

Her lip quirked, and she poured two goblets of wine.

“This is not poisoned,” she said. “Would you have some?”

“I would.”

She handed him the goblet. He took it with numb hands.

“You’re Marcomir’s daughter,” he said at last.

“Yes,” she said. She reached up and removed the mask, revealing the strong cheekbones and contours he remembered so well. Only her gaze was different; it looked slightly unfocused.

“I don’t understand,” he said, unable to look away from her dark eyes. “When I met you—”

“Fancy a game of Fiedchese?” she interrupted.

“Fiedchese?”

“Yes.”

She rang a bell, and a moment later a young girl in braids brought a board and pieces. The board had squares of rust and bone. The girl left again through a cleverly placed door Neil was unable to see once it had closed.

“It’s the same board,” he said. “From the ship.”

“Yes, of course.” She placed the pieces in their starting positions. “This set is rather dear to me.” Her eyes shifted up. “King or raiders?”

“Raiders, I suppose,” Neil replied.

Her melancholy little smile broadened, and she made her first move. He saw now it was more than her gaze. There seemed to be something slower about her, dreamier. Not stupid, but calculating and diffident.

“I’ll answer all of your questions, Sir Neil,” she said. “I’ve nothing to hide from you anymore.” Neil made his own move mechanically, unable to concentrate on the game.

She tsked softly. “You’re better than that,” she said.

“I’m distracted.”

“As am I. I didn’t know I would be so nervous at this meeting. I’ve thought about it often.” She shifted the king a few spaces.

He remembered their kiss months before. It had been soft, inexperienced, tentative, and at the same time frighteningly sincere. It was more real at the moment than anything else in his recollection.

“No,” he said, moving another raider. “It’s not silly.”

“Now you know what tower I was trying to escape from and why I couldn’t tell you at the time.” “Yes,” Neil replied, watching her capture a double-headed ogre. “And no. Why were you fleeing your own father?”

She studied the board. “It wasn’t just my father I was running from,” she said. “It was everything. Look around you, Sir Neil. This tower has five floors. I live in the top three. Everything I need is provided for me. Attentive servants surround me. I once had friends, but since my escape, many of them are now out of my reach.”

“I’m sorry,” Neil said. “I know it was because of me. But I still don’t understand why.” He sent a lizardish monster down the board.

“I was born in this tower, Sir Neil. I have lived all of my life here except for the few months of freedom in which we met. I will die here, in this place with one window.”

“What about the rest of the castle? The city? The countryside?”

“All denied me,” she said.

“Then you are a prisoner.”

“I suppose so,” she said, moving another of the kingsmen to block Neil’s weak stratagem.

“Again, why?”

A frown pinched her brow. “I’ve been watching you, Sir Neil.”

He had the sudden feeling of the very sky growing heavy and fragile above them, a huge plate of glass pressing on the tower, crushing them and breaking under its weight.

“At the battle of the waerd,” he said. “I thought—”

“I was there,” she said. “I saw you fall. I did what I could.”

And then he knew.

“You’re the Hellrune,” he said.

“What a funny way of saying it,” she replied.

“Wait,” Neil said, closing his eyes, trying to put it all together. Anne’s insistence on his coming, Alis’ many questions about the Hansan seers.

Brinna was the enemy, the beating heart of the Hansan war beast.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Brinna said softly.

“How long have you been doing this?” he asked.

“Don’t,” she said. “Please.”

“How long?”

“They knew when I was born. They started giving me the drugs when I was two, but I was nine before I was of much use. Move, please.”

He did so, a reckless attack that she swiftly crushed.

“And how old are you now?” he asked.

She paused. “That’s an unfriendly question,” she said. Then, more softly: “I had nothing to do with your father’s death, Sir Neil. I have twenty-three winters, but you don’t imagine I was seeing for a band of Weihands.”

“And yet you know—”

“I have seen it now,” she said, “The death of your father, your first hard wounding. As I said, I have been watching you, past and present.”

“Nevertheless, in these years you have caused the deaths of many friends,” he said. “The fleet at Jeir—” “Yes, that I was responsible for,” she replied. “You understand? I will not lie to you.”

“I lost an uncle there.”

“How many uncles did you slaughter, Sir Neil? How many children did you leave fatherless? It was war. You cannot be so squeamish or judgmental.”

“This is hard, Brinna,” he managed.

“For me as well.”

“And now you’re waging war on my queen and country.”

“Yes. Because it is my duty. We discussed duty, didn’t we? You approve of it if I remember correctly.” “I did not know what your duty was then.”

“Really? And would you have advised me differently if you had? Is my duty less relevant when it conflicts with your own?”

He looked at the game he’d just lost, trying to find something to say.

“Or would you have sacrificed yourself and killed me?” she asked very softly.

“No,” he managed. “Never that.”

“Then you still consider yourself obligated to me.”

“I consider myself more than obligated,” Neil replied. “But that puts me in an impossible situation.” “I had escaped,” she said. “Do you know that? Even after the delay taking you to Paldh, we sailed through the straits of Rusimi. My father would never have found me.”

“What happened then?”

She sighed. “You.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sir Neil, I found you nearly dead, hurt to the heart by betrayal, yet still steadfast in your duty even to those who betrayed you. That grew in me. It was because of you that I returned. You and a vision.” “A vision?”

“I’ll tell you more about that later. May I tell you why I left in the first place?”

“Of course.”

“You’re beaten in two moves,” she said.

“I know. Why did you leave?”

“I have two roles in this life, Sir Neil, two obligations deeper than birth. I enjoy neither of them. One obligation is to be my father’s haliurunna. I dream and send men to death. I take drugs that allow me to see better, but days of my life vanish sometimes. There are whole months I have no recollection of. I know too much and too little all at once. But I did what I was told, dreaming one day of freedom, knowing in my heart I would never have it. I fastened myself on duty and pride in defending my father’s throne—and especially on my higher calling—and hoped that would be enough. And it might have been, but my father asked me to do something…wrong. Worse, I did it, and it ruined something in me. Soon it wrecked far more than that.”

“What was that thing?”

“I broke the law of death.”

For a moment Neil was speechless. “My queen, Muriele. She believes she did that, with a curse.” “Oh, she did the worst of the damage. But my brother Alharyi was dying, and my father always loved him best. He commanded me to stop his death, and I managed it before understanding what I had really done. Once I knew, I tried to mend the law, and I think I might have done it, because I only stopped him from his rightful death, I didn’t bring him back from it. But then Muriele made her curse and brought Robert back, and the law was well and truly breached.”

“What about your brother?”

“He went to Vitellio after Anne. His men found him chopped into many pieces—by your friend Cazio, I think. The parts were still alive. There is a ritual. The power was passed on to my cousin Hrothwulf, whom you cut into pieces.” She shrugged. “Anyway, after making my brother a nauschalk I no longer wanted any part of it. I made my escape.”

“And willingly returned. Because of me. Because of duty to Hansa.”

“Because of duty to the world,” she replied. “I am in part responsible for what is coming. I must do what I can to stop it, although I don’t think there’s much hope.”

“Stop what?”

“Your queen, Anne.”

“Why? I know your father wants Crotheny.”

“Oh, yes, he does,” Brinna said. “But I wouldn’t have returned here to feed his ambition. I wouldn’t be a part of a war waged because of an old man’s vanity.”

“Then why?”

“Because if she isn’t stopped, Anne will destroy us all.”

The forest smelled fresh, of evergreen and rain. Muriele tried to focus on that, on seeing beauty at the end of her life, trying to not have fear be her last feeling.

Everyone dies, she thought. If not now, later. There is no escape.

But that was not what her gut told her. She wanted to beg, and every moment brought it closer to the surface.

How far was it, this bog? How long did she have to live?

Berimund was resolved; she could see that. The boy in him was hidden again, replaced by the hard man he was becoming.

She wished she could see Anne once more. There were things she should have told her when she had the chance.

Had Anne foreseen this? Part of her wondered. Had her own daughter sent her to her death? Was some greater purpose being served?

She had to be brave a little while longer.

“Berimund,” she murmured. “One thing, please.”

“What’s that?”

“Let Sir Neil and Alis take my body to Liery. Give me that, at least: a resting place with my ancestors.” Berimund’s response was to look at her as if she were crazy, and her heart sank.

“You don’t think I’m actually going to kill you, do you?” he exploded.

She was afraid to understand that at first.

“But Marcomir—”

“That’s Father. He’s old, near to losing his mind. I won’t execute you on his whim. It goes against all honor and all common decency. My brothers may do his every bidding, but I will not.”

Muriele felt relief, but it was guarded. “Where are we going, then?”

“A place only my wulfbrothars and I know about,” he said. “A place we found during our roving days. You’ll be safe there until I can either calm him down or arrange passage for you back to Eslen.” “You would do that?”

Berimund nodded grimly. “I am no traitor,” he said. “Our war with Crotheny is just, holy, and right. But that means our actions have to be just, holy, and right. I will not become evil to fight evil.” “My daughter isn’t evil,” Muriele said.

“I wouldn’t expect you to believe so,” Berimund replied.

“Do you think I am evil?”

He shook his head. “I think you are in every way honorable.” He smiled. “And I’ve never heard anyone talk like that to my father. For that alone, I would spare you.”

“Then how can you imagine I would serve an evil cause?”

“Without knowing you do so,” he said.

“Couldn’t the same be said for you? Mightn’t you be serving the wrong master?”

“My father might well be the wrong master,” Berimund said. “But the holy Church is behind us.” “You think you can trust the Church?”

“Yes. But even if I couldn’t, there is someone I do trust. Someone very dear to me. And I know we have to fight your daughter.”

“Then we are enemies, Berimund.”

“Yes, we are. But we shall be civil ones, yes? We shall behave honorably.”

“You’re still hung over,” Muriele said.

“Indeed. And as soon as possible I shall cure that by being drunk.”

“And your men?”

“My wulfbrothars. I’ve known them all since childhood. Our first oaths are all to one another. None of them will betray me.”

Muriele nodded, but in her mind’s eye she saw Robert watching her being led off and the words he had mouthed at her. She hadn’t caught them then, but now with sudden clarity she knew what he had been saying:

I’ll see you soon.

7 The Commander

Acredo’s point struck the knight just below the gorget and slipped up beneath the helm. Helped by the man’s reflex of throwing his head back, the weapon lodged in his throat. Cazio let his elbow bend as the blade struck home, but the shock was still terrific. The knight flipped back out of the saddle, and Cazio, helpless to control his flight, followed him to the ground.

He hit hard on his off-weapon hand and used it to tumble head over heels, but he had too much momentum and ended up rolling four times before he could come back up on his feet. When he did, he turned unsteadily to meet his fate, Acredo still in his hand.

But the other knights weren’t paying much attention to him. The men swarming out of the woods were filling them full of arrows or stabbing at them with pikes, and that seemed to have distracted them. He recognized them then. They were what remained of the troops Anne had given him to invest Dunmrogh.

He checked the fellow he had hit and found him without breath, then watched Anne’s soldiers finish off the knights. He rubbed his shoulder, which hurt as if Lord Aita were racking it in his halls of punishment. He wondered if it was dislocated.

Z’Acatto peered up from the front of the carriage.

“What are you doing back there?” he asked.

“A lot more than I needed to, it appears,” he replied.

“Nothing new there.”

A few moments later, one of the men came over and doffed his helm, revealing a seamed face with a long white scar across the forehead and a nose that looked like it had been broken a few times. Cazio recognized him as a fellow named Jan something or other.

“That was timely,” Cazio said. “Many thanks.”

“It was at that,” Jan said, his tone cool. “We reckoned you dead, Sir Cazio.”

“I’m not a knight,” he pointed out.

“No? I reckon you’re not, are you? But we were put in your charge.”

“Yes, and look how well I did for you,” Cazio said. “I led you straight into a trap.”

Jan nodded. Some more of the men were walking up.

“Yeah, you did, didn’t you?” another of them agreed, an older, nearly bald fellow with thick features. “Near half of us are dead or missing. Playing sausage with Her Majesty don’t make you a commander, does it?”

Cazio’s hand twitched on Acredo’s hilt. “I’ll agree I’m no commander, but you’ll take that back about Queen Anne, and you’ll do it now.”

The man spit. “Pig guts, I will,” he snarled. “If you want—”

“Easy, Hemm,” Jan said. “No good dragging the queen into this.”

“She put us here as much as he did,” Hemm said.

Cazio lifted his weapon toward the guard. “Take it back.”

The men had surrounded him.

“You’ll take us all, then, with your fancy little sword?” Hemm asked.

“I’ll certainly kill you,” Cazio promised.

“And I’ll help him kill the rest of you,” z’Acatto’s voice said sharply from outside the circle. “Are you pigs or soldiers?”

Hemm looked puzzled. “Pigs or soldiers?” he repeated. Then his face lit up oddly, and he spun toward the old man. “Emrature? Cassro dachi Purcii?”

“Ah, zmierda,” z’Acatto swore.

“It is you,” Hemm said.

“Sodding saints, it is!” another gray-haired soldier agreed. “Older and uglier than ever.”

“You’re still just as stupid, Piro,” z’Acatto bit back. He pointed his sword at Hemm. “You want to fight the son of Mamercio, go right ahead, but it’ll be a fair fight, just you and him.”

Hemm glanced back at Cazio. “That’s Mamercio’s pup?” He rubbed his bearded jaw. “Yeah, I see it now.”

He turned fully back to the swordmaster. “No harm meant,” he said. “I just, well, the rumor is—” “Is wrong,” Cazio said firmly.

Hemm held his palms up and out. “Then it’s wrong. I stepped in it.”

That sounded enough like an apology, so Cazio lowered his sword.

“There’s a good lad,” Hemm said, clapping his hand on Cazio’s shoulder. “Me and your father and that old man there, we saw some times. I was sorry to hear about your papa.” He pointed at z’Acatto. “He was the finest leader a band of probucutorii ever had. He used to call us his purcii, his pigs.” “It wasn’t a term of affection,” z’Acatto said. “It’s what you smelled like.”

“Sure,” Hemm agreed. “And the worst—Whatever happened to that old sow Ospero?”

“He went into business in z’Espino,” z’Acatto said. “I saw him a few months ago.”

“Business, eh? I can imagine what kind. That’s what I should have done. Now see where I am. But it’s good to have you here, Cassro. Me and the boys here are about at our wit’s end.”

“You couldn’t have started far from there,” z’Acatto said.

“He was your leader?” Cazio asked Hemm.

“Just me and old Piro there fought in the twenty-year war,” Hemm said. “The rest of these are too young.”

“Right, but I’ve heard of him,” Jan said.

“Who hasn’t?” someone else piped up. “The battle at Cummachio Bridge? Everyone knows that story.” “I don’t,” Cazio said, sending a sharp look z’Acatto’s way.

The men just laughed and seemed to think he was kidding.

“What exactly are you men doing out here?” z’Acatto asked.

“Ask him,” Piro said, gesturing at Cazio. “The queen gave us to him to play with, and he fair broke us. The horsemen that didn’t die at Dunmrogh rode off and left us, so it’s just us infantry left. We’ve been hounded for days. Gave ’em the slip for a bit, but they’ve found us again. They’re forming up down the road to finish us off. I thought we were dog meat, but with you here I see a chance.”

“There’s nothing I can do for you that you can’t do yourselves,” z’Acatto said.

“Gone all humble on us, have you, Cassro?” Hemm asked. “Come on. We need you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“We’ve got good men here,” Piro said, “but no leader. Now the queen put the young Pachiomadio there in charge of us, didn’t she? And he got us in a bad spot. The way we see it, he should get us out of it.” “Right,” Jan said. “Help us get back to Eslen.”

“It’s where we’re going, anyway,” Cazio said.

“I only agreed to help you find Austra,” the old man said. “You’re on your own getting back to Anne. But either way, we’ll have an easier time slipping out of here alone.”

“I see how it is,” Piro said. “Can’t say I don’t understand, even though I hardly believe it coming from you, Cassro. You were never one to protect your own stang when there were them around needed you.”

“That was then,” z’Acatto said.

“Leave him be,” Hemm said. “He was man enough back then for four lifetimes. I owe him my life six times over, so when I die tomorrow, I’ll still owe him five.”

“After all, z’Acatto,” Cazio said, “you’ve got wine to drink. What’s more important?”

“Dog’s piss on the lot of you,” z’Acatto snapped. “And Cazio, you cover your fester hole when you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right,” Cazio said. “I’ve no idea what these fellows are talking about, and whose fault is that? But it doesn’t matter. I wish Anne had never put these men in my charge. I wish I had refused her. I’m a swordsman, a good one, but I’m not a soldier and certainly not a leader. But if they’re going to fight tomorrow, I have to fight with them.”

“Now,” Piro said, “that’s Mamercio’s son.”

“What about Austra?”

“What about me?” a voice said from behind. He turned to find her leaning against the carriage. “I wouldn’t have him do anything else. And I’ll be here with him, z’Acatto, and you will, too, because as much as you don’t want it in you, as much as you try to drink it away, you have a noble soul.” Z’Acatto heaved a sigh and looked around.

“Now, that was a pretty speech, lady,” Piro said.

Then all eyes turned to z’Acatto. For a moment he had the look of a caged animal, but then Cazio saw something firm up in him.

“All right, purcii,” he said. “We’re wasting time. Somebody tell me what we’re facing.”

“There’s ninety of us. Our scout’s last count of them was seventy horse, sixty heavy foot, twenty archers.”

Z’Acatto looked around at the men. “I make you at about half and half heavy and light. Does that get it?” “Yes.”

“We need a narrow field,” he said. “Forest or cliff on our flanks. Anything like that around here?” “I’ll find it,” a young rusty-haired fellow said.

“Do it, then,” z’Acatto said. “Now, someone talk to me about supplies.”

Cazio stayed with z’Acatto, trying to absorb what the old man was doing, to be what help he could, but in the end he felt rather useless. Z’Acatto and the soldiers spoke a language he didn’t understand, and it wasn’t the patois of the king’s tongue, Vitellian, and Almannish but something deeper, rooted in common experience. He said as much to Austra that night when he went to check on her.

“You’ve marched with soldiers before,” she pointed out.

“We marched alongside them,” he said. “But I never fought as a soldier. In fact, tomorrow I’ve no idea what I’ll do. I’m not a pikeman, I can’t shoot a bow, and a rapier isn’t much use in a battle formation.” “Did you have any idea? About z’Acatto?”

“There were hints, I guess. Ospero called him ‘Emrature’ once, and I knew my father and he fought in the wars, but he wouldn’t talk about it. I never imagined that soldiers somewhere were still telling stories about him.”

“Well, it sounds like they trust him to lead them,” Austra said. “And they know more about what we’re up against than we do.”

“They have no choice, though. You remember the army we fought at Langraeth? They were all infantry, like these men. Anne’s horse destroyed them. It’s hard to fight cavalry.”

Austra leaned up and kissed him. “We’ve been in a lot tighter spots than this.”

“True,” Cazio said. “But those were situations where being a swordsman counted for something.” “You’ll always count, Cazio,” Austra said. “The saints love you as much as I do.”

He smiled. “Errenda gave me you, so I know she loves me. I’m pretty sure Fiussa has a soft spot for me.”

“Courting two female saints? That could lead to trouble.”

He felt a guilty little start and then another at the novel feeling of guilt.

“I don’t think I’ll be courting any other women, saints or no,” he said, suddenly feeling very out of sorts. “I was just joking, Cazio.”

“I’m not,” he heard himself say. “In fact, I hope that you’ll agree to marry me.”

She frowned. “Look, don’t joke,” she said.

“I’m not. I can’t offer you much more than you see, but I’ll give you that.”

She just stared at him. “You really do think we’re about to be killed, don’t you?”

“That’s not it,” he said. “I love you, Austra. I’ve just figured out how much, and I feel foolish for not knowing it earlier, for not marrying you the day we set foot in Eslen. I hope you’ll forgive me for that.” “I really do,” she said, her eyes watering. She kissed him, and it lasted a long time.

“Just another reason we have to go to Eslen,” he said, stroking her hair. “I have to ask Anne’s permission to steal you away.”

“She’s already given it,” Austra said. “She told me before she sent me away. She said she’s going to create you a duke or something and give me leave to marry you.”

“Duke?” Cazio said.

“Or some title. Lord Dunmrogh, maybe.”

“I have a title already,” he said. “It’s not much of one, but I was born with it.”

“You can have more than one, you know.”

“Hmm. Duke Cazio. Duoco Cazio. That doesn’t sound half-bad.”

Something rustled outside, and then there was a tap on the carriage door. He opened it, and found Jan standing there.

“Aeken found a place,” the soldier informed them. The Emrature wants us there before sunup, so gangen we now.”

The march took them about a league east to an old levee on the Saint Sephod River, and once there they went to work quickly, cutting stakes and digging trenches. The latter was easy, because the field the embankment looked down on had been plowed that spring and the soil was loose, without roots or other hindrances to the spade.

Z’Acatto paced about with more sustained energy than Cazio had ever seen in him. He wasn’t even sure if the old man was drunk.

Taking a break from digging, Cazio went up on the levee to see how things were forming up.

On his right the field gave way to low, swampy forest, but on the left it was relatively unbounded. The carriage and the two remaining wagons of their supply train were drawn up as barriers there, but Cazio didn’t imagine they would offer much protection. The dirt in front of the levee now had three wide toothy grins of stakes and trenches.

Z’Acatto joined him.

“Had enough of digging?” he asked.

“I’ll go back to it in a moment,” Cazio said. He gestured at the field. “Why have you backed us against a river? We can’t retreat.”

“That’s a funny thing for you to say,” z’Acatto replied. “I’ve never heard you talk about retreating before.”

“It’s not just me here.”

The old man nodded. “Right. That’s what I hate about it. You see?”

“I’m starting to,” Cazio said. “But I wish you had told me more.”

“I’ve just been trying to forget all that,” the old man said. “I never meant for you to have anything to do with this sort of business.”

“It’s not your fault. My own choices led me here.”

“I’m not disputing that,” z’Acatto replied.

“So why no retreat?”

Z’Acatto shrugged. “They have greater numbers, and we don’t have enough pikes to make an effective battle square. We need our backs and flanks safe.”

“The left flank looks pretty open.”

“It’ll slow a cavalry charge,” z’Acatto said. “It’s the best we can do, given the time we have. Anyway, retreat isn’t an option. We have to win. If we don’t, we’re done.”

“What if they bring more men than we think?”

“Our scouts are pretty good. They might pick up another man or two, but for some reason the bulk of Hespero’s forces seem to be going east.”

“East? What’s east?”

“I’ve no idea, nor do I care. We’ve problems enough here.”

“Can we win?”

Z’Acatto lifted his hands but didn’t answer in words.

“What’s my part in all of this?”

“I’m putting half the archers on the field and half strung through the forest, there. They won’t send horse at the forest, but they will probably detach infantry. You’ll protect the archers.”

Cazio nodded, relieved. He’d imagined himself in the press, holding a pike, and didn’t care for the image. Z’Acatto’s gaze shifted.

“There they are,” he said.

The horsemen formed a block in the center, and the footmen were lined up behind them with archers on their wings. Cazio had seen the formation before; it was essentially a cavalry hammer, ready to smash them. When the smashing was done, the foot would come in and clean up.

What he had never seen before, however, was the formation in which z’Acatto had put his men.

They stood tightly packed in columns five deep, with the ten columns arranged in a sort of hollow wedge open to the river. Z’Acatto called it a “hedgehog,” and with their pikes bristling out, it resembled one. The men had the pikes braced at their feet and set at various angles from low to high so that anyone charging in had to deal with at least five wicked levels of sharpness.

The bowmen who weren’t with Cazio in the woods had formed in ranks, too, out in front of the hedgehog.

No one had come out to offer terms, and it didn’t look like they would. They just kept coming closer, the horses and the metal-clad men on them looking bigger and bigger.

The archers began firing into the horsemen both from the field and from the trees. The enemy archers returned fire, targeting those visible on the field, but after a moment, as predicted, a line of about thirty spearmen with large, heavy shields broke away from the enemy foot and started plodding toward them. Concentrating on their progress, Cazio missed the start of the charge, but he heard the shouts and turned to see it begin.

Ignoring the approaching spearmen, the archers around him concentrated their fire on the cavalry, as did those on the field, and the effect was astonishing. Five or six of the lead horses and their riders went down, followed immediately by another ten or so tripping over the fallen. The hedgehog archers poured shafts into the confusion, creating further havoc. The charge slowed to a crawl under the deadly rain, but the forty or so horsemen who remained mounted quickly re-formed and charged at the archers. They were slowed by the stakes, however, and several dismounted and began uprooting them, giving the archers plenty of time to retreat behind the battle wedge and take their places on the levee, where they could send more darts down on the enemy line.

While half the bowmen in the woods were still helping to riddle the cavalry, the other half had begun firing at the approaching infantrymen, who were now only about thirty kingsyards away, moving their shield wall along with good discipline.

There had been sporadic fire from the enemy archers, but Cazio didn’t see any more of them.

“Move back,” Cazio said, echoing z’Acatto’s orders. “They won’t be able to keep that shield wall in the woods.”

As ordered, the bowmen started backing into the swamp, continuing to fire at the infantry, whose shields were now pretty well feathered. Seven of them had already dropped out of formation, either dead or too gravely wounded to keep on, but that left the numbers pretty even, and although the archers had swords with them, they didn’t have shields or spears.

The cavalry was charging again, and this time there was nothing between them and the hedgehog. The massed horsemen looked unstoppable.

Mirroring the horse, the infantry advancing on Cazio’s archers sent up a hoarse cry and charged. Cazio drew Acredo.

“Run,” he told the archers. “Back to the wedge.”

Although, glancing that way, he wondered if there would be anything to retreat to.

8 The Way of Power

The grass rippled, shifting to trees and hills as Anne unraveled herself and moved like a cloud. She had been afraid at first of discorporation, but in the sedos realm, the body was more illusion than anything else. Once that deception was put behind, there was much fun to be had. She could twine like grapevines through massive forests or flow like rainwater down a hillside. She could choose another illusory body. She had played at being a horse, an eagle, a porpoise, a spider, a creeping lizard. They felt more welcome in her thoughts now, too, more easy. The more she used her power, the more secure her identity seemed to become.

She had to remind herself sometimes that she wasn’t there just for simple enjoyment. She never wanted to leave and returned more and more often whether or not there was anything particular she was looking for.

In fact, sometimes she forgot what she was looking for.

But not today. Today she drifted back days and toward the south.

She saw the army of the Church massed in the thousands at Teremené. That was nothing new, and already half of her army was marching to meet them. Looking at them now, she felt a coldness in her belly. Crotheny was caught in a vise; the Hansans were being held at Poelscild, but to attack with enough force to drive them back would mean letting the Church come to her gates, and the south was poorly defended. She had seen, too, a new fleet of strange copper-skinned men sailing down from the north, from Rakh Fadh, in the company of tow-headed Weihand raiders. That sailing hadn’t happened yet, and the results of it seemed inaugurable.

And in the south the future was also unclear. Sometimes she saw massive carnage, sometimes an unhindered march, sometimes nothing.

None of this was new, nor did it long hold her attention. She was looking for her friends.

She already had seen Cazio, captured by the Church. She knew there was something missing, someone he had talked to that she could not focus on. But she also knew he and z’Acatto were free again. Austra had been the hardest to find.

She imagined her friend’s face, her laugh, and the chagrined pucker of her forehead when she was afraid Anne was about to get them both into trouble.

And there was something, a reflection, a flicker in the distance of leagues and also time. But as Anne moved toward it to peek up from the sedos like a groundhog from the earth, a current of sickening power caught and twisted her misty form, a massive flow against which she could not struggle. It slammed her into something, submerged her in pain and horror, and congealed her back into human form. Someone was cutting her. She smelled the blood, felt the pain. His stinking breath was in her ear, and she saw her legs all exposed and smeared red. She felt the fear, sheer panic, the certain horrible knowledge that she was going to die, the animal need to tear away and run and the impossibility of doing so. She couldn’t even think. She couldn’t scream. She could only watch as the knife peeled her white skin. Fight! she tried to scream. Stop him!

When the echo came back, she suddenly understood that this wasn’t happening to her. The body being tortured was Austra’s.

Fight, Austra, for the love of the saints! I can’t lose you!

Something turned then, and Anne was yanked back out into the currents. For the first time she saw Austra’s face, her empty, horrified gaze, and then she was dwindling away, gone.

Anne went frantically back, racing up and down, back and forth, but there was no longer any trace of her friend, and now she couldn’t locate Cazio again. But she didn’t give up; she had to find them. She had the power to find them, to bring them back from the dead if need be, and by all the saints, she would do so.

She woke shivering and shaking, wondering who she was, where she was, the sense of losing herself as bad as ever. She was weeping helplessly, and although she eventually understood that it was Emily who had awakened her, she wasn’t able to respond. Only after Nerenai brought some of her tea was she able to muster the coherence to listen.

“Again, Emily,” she murmured.

“Majesty,” Emily said. “The army of Hansa.”

She opened her eyes and saw the girl kneeling next to her.

“What about them?”

“You’ve been…gone for two days. We could not rouse you.”

“What’s happened?”

“Fifteen thousand more of the enemy arrived two nights ago. They attacked yesterday morning. They’ve just breached the canal and are surrounding the keep.”

The keep surrounded. Austra and Cazio dead. The Church, the fleet from the north…

Too much. Too much.

“Where’s Artwair?”

“Outside.”

“Get my dressing gown.”

She heard a lot of clattering in the hall. When she emerged to meet Artwair, she saw that it was filled with her Craftsmen and Sefry.

“What’s all this?” she asked.

“Just a precaution, Majesty,” he said. “There is a chance the keep will fall. We’ll want to get you out of it.”

She nodded. Let Artwair take over. Get Faster, ride away, and never look back. Find Cazio; he may still live…

She felt everything in her buckling. She didn’t want this. She thought of Austra, of the horror of her torture, of how someone could do that to her friend, and was sickened. Was Austra dead? Probably. And now death was coming for her.

But where would she ride? Where would she be safe?

“No,” she said. “Wait.”

“There isn’t much time, Majesty. They’re already in the city.”

“I said wait.”

“Majesty,” he replied stiffly.

She fought down the claustrophobia seeking to swallow her. “Take me where I can see what’s going on and explain it as we go.”

“Majesty—”

But he saw her glance and cut himself off.

So they made their way to the now-familiar tower.

The sun was just a hemisphere in the east, and mist lay heavy on the earth. The air had the cool scent of autumn that brought feelings of nostalgia even when one was ten years old.

The keep was indeed surrounded except for the area around the southern gates, where a wall of pikes kept the Hansans back. It looked like an island in a stormy sea.

“That’s where I’m supposed to make my great escape?” she asked.

“It’s your best chance,” Artwair replied.

“So the keep will fall.”

“If we can hold out for two days, reinforcements will arrive.”

“Two days. Can we do it?”

“I don’t think so.”

It seemed to Anne there was a bit of a reproof in his tone.

I was trying to find my friends, she wanted to protest. But she knew what his answer to that would be, whether he had the nerve to say it out loud or not.

“I can’t see everything in advance, you know,” she told him. “There is so much to keep my eye on.” But her negligence was all around her now, and she knew that if Hansa won, she would never live to claim the sedos throne. She could never set things right, free Crotheny from terror, avenge Austra, extinguish the Hansan threat for all time.

Her hubris had doomed her.

No.

“Step away from me,” she said. “Get below, all of you but Nerenai.”

When they were all gone but the Sefry, Anne closed her eyes.

“You can do it, Majesty,” Nerenai said.

“If I don’t, we’ll all die.”

“That’s not how to think, Majesty. Fear and worry will only hinder you. You must be confident. You must be strong for strength’s sake, not to achieve an end.”

“I’ll try,” Anne replied, swallowing. Her mouth was bone dry.

She felt at the moment very much the girl. Why was this her burden? Why had the saints laid this on her when all she wanted was to ride her horse, drink wine, gossip with Austra, maybe fall in love? Why was she denied all of that?

I miss you, Austra. I’m so sorry.

Thinking that brought the anger she needed, and Anne slipped into otherwhere.

Arilac.

At first no answer came, but then a shadow lifted from the green and wavered like smoke before her, grudgingly forming into the pale image of a woman.

“I need your help,” Anne said.

“I’m nearly consumed,” the arilac replied in dissipated tones. “I may not be of much help.”

“What’s consuming you?”

“You are,” the arilac replied. “This is how it is.”

“Who are you?” Anne demanded.

“You’ve asked that before.”

“Yes, and you’ve never answered. Who are you?”

“What was. What will be. I was never merely a living person. I was born here, created here.”

“Who created you?”

The arilac smiled wanly. “You did.”

And with those two words, Anne suddenly understood, and everything fell into place, and she was ready. “Good-bye,” she said.

And the arilac was gone, and her limbs pulsed with power, and the power remembered itself in her. She stepped halfway so that otherwhere shimmered around her, but so did Newland and Andemuer, the keep and the host of Hansa.

She looked over the teeming thousands bent on her destruction, the enemies who had ripped her out of the life she wanted and made her this, and felt a cold, determined hatred rise up in her that she never had known before.

She liked it, and the power in her had felt that hatred before many times, and it knew what to do.

Artwair was still pale bells later when he came to see her.

“You’re not going to vomit again, are you?” she asked.

“No, Majesty,” he replied. “I’ve nothing left in my stomach.”

“I’m surprised at you,” she replied. “With all you’ve seen.”

He closed his eyes and nodded. She saw the apple in his throat bob a few times.

“There were a few survivors,” he said. “What will Your Majesty have done with them?”

She thought about it for a moment. “How many?”

“About a thousand.”

“So many,” she said.

“There were fifty thousand this morning, Majesty.”

“Well, kill them, I suppose. I want Hansa to understand that if they attack us, they can expect no quarter.”

“May I remind you that your mother is their hostage?”

“Yes, and Marcomir has given the order for her execution. What more can I do but show him the price he pays for affronting us? How else can I save her?”

“May I make a suggestion, Majesty?”

“Of course.”

“Show mercy. Let them return to Hansa and tell what they saw here. What army will attack us when they know what could happen to them?”

There was something in his tone that it took her a moment to understand.

“You feel sorry for them,” she accused.

“Saints, yes,” Artwair said.

“They would have killed all of us,” she pointed out.

“Auy.” His face was as if cast in iron.

“I don’t want to be cruel,” she finally said. It seemed the thing to say. “Do you really think letting them go is the right thing? Or is this just sentiment talking?”

“Majesty, for me this morning was all confusion. But the Hansan survivors speak of the sun blotting out, of blood and serpents raining from the sky. They saw their comrades’ steaming entrails writhe out of their bellies like boiling eels. I think that story from a thousand lips will be more valuable than their deaths.” “Very well,” she sighed. “See to it, then. And now that we’re done here, I should like Copenwis back.” “That shouldn’t be a problem now,” Artwair said. “Will Your Majesty be accompanying us?”

“No,” she said. “I think you might do this with the army, Artwair. I should like to return to Eslen for a time. But rest assured that when we march on Hansa, I will be with you.”

“March on Hansa, Majesty?”

“I don’t see any reason to let them try this again, ever. Do you?”

“I—no, Majesty,”

“Right. Tell my bodyguard I’ll ride to Eslen in two bells. And send word to Cape Chavel that I want him to join me there when he’s done with the army coming down the Dew.”

“There’s still the army of the Church in the south,” Artwair said.

“They have already withdrawn,” Anne said. “I’m not sure why. But send a few of the Hansan captives to them. Tell them that if they cross our border again, I’ll come do the same to them.”

Artwair nodded, bowed, and left.

Riding to Eslen, she met cheering crowds, but in the first few leagues it seemed to her there was an uneasiness in their plaudits, as if they feared she would kill them if they did not cheer. The nearer she got to Eslen, however, and the farther she got from the charnel fields around Poelscild, the less ambiguous the applause seemed. By the time she entered the city, she felt their joy and enthusiasm as absolutely genuine. Some were shouting “Saint Queen Anne,” and others were calling her “Virgenya II.”

She bathed and rested and the next morning took her breakfast with John in her solar, where he rattled off various household matters and gave her a sheaf of documents for her seal. He then sat back, looking a bit uncomfortable.

“What is it, John?” she asked.

“You’ve received a number of letters, Majesty, some important, most not. But there is one that I believe needs your immediate attention.”

“Really? Who is it from?”

“Our former praifec, Marché Hespero.”

She stopped with a scone halfway to her mouth. “You’re kidding,” she said.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Let me see it, then.”

He handed her the folded paper with the seal of Crotheny’s praifectur.

“Took it with him, I see,” she said. Then she opened the letter. It was written in a beautiful flowing hand. To Your Majesty Anne I, Queen of Crotheny,

I hope this letter finds you well and in good keeping with the saints.

Time is pressing, so I must be blunt. I know I have been implicated in certain matters and that a general order for my arrest has been issued. I will not here argue the charges against me—I will save that for a later time. What I will tell you is that I have information you need. It concerns the power you no doubt feel growing in you, and most particularly it has to do with the emergence of a certain throne you may have heard of.

I also believe that it is important that there be peace between the Church and Crotheny, and healing. By the time you read this, you will find Church forces have all withdrawn beyond the Teremené. I await the pleasure of meeting with you personally. I am prepared to come to Eslen with as few companions as you name, or alone if that is your command.

Marché Hespero

Anne fingered the page, wondering if it might be impregnated with poison. But no, John had handled it before her.

“When did this arrive?” she asked.

“Yesterday, else I would have had it sent to you.”

She studied the words again, trying to figure out what was going on.

She had trusted Hespero growing up, had gone to him for lustration and advice. He had seemed wise, not particularly kind but not unkind, either. Even when her father had gone against him in naming Anne and her sisters heirs to the throne, he had remained polite and nice to her.

But then she had learned things. She had seen a letter from him that made him responsible for the unholy slaughter in Dunmrogh. He had colluded with Robert against her mother and tortured Cavaor Ackenzal, the court composwer, nearly to death. He’d left Eslen before Anne’s forces had recaptured it and hadn’t been seen or heard from since.

And now he wanted to talk. It didn’t make sense. The Church had turned its bloody resacaratum into a holy war against her, and now suddenly Hespero wanted to be friends and help her claim the power the Church so vehemently named shinecraft?

She closed her eyes and tried to find Hespero out in the sedos realm, to see where he was and what he was about, to find some inkling of the consequences of meeting him.

But as with the Hellrune, all she found was a quiet, dark place.

And then she knew.

“It’s him,” she told Nerenai later that day. The Sefry was weaving a shawl, and Anne was pacing in her quarters.

“The man who attacked me in the wood of the Faiths, the one who threatens me. It was Hespero all along.”

“How can you be sure?”

“He has power like me, like the Hellrune. Only someone with art like that can go within the sedos unsummoned. Who else could it be? I thought once it might be the Briar King, but from everything I’ve heard about him, I no longer believe so.”

“What will you do? Will you see him?”

“He tried to attack me,” Anne said. “I’m certain he was at least partly responsible for the murders of my sisters and father and the other attempts on me. Yes, I will see him, and I will find out what he knows, and then he will pay.”

9 Two Reasons

Neil stared at Brinna for a long few breaths before responding. He felt as if he were somehow outside of the world, looking in from a great distance away.

“Why would you say that?” he finally managed.

“The world is poisoned, Sir Neil,” she said. “Poisoned by two thousand years of unchecked use of the sedoi. That’s what ultimately made breaking the law of death possible. Were the world in better health…” She looked away. “But it wasn’t. The monsters—the greffyns and such—those are all symptoms of that coming death, of a very ancient being trying to reclaim the world, but without the power to heal it. Then there is—was—the Briar King, who did have the power to restore it but who is now dead. That leaves your queen and two others to fight over the sedos power, to take it when it reaches its peak. But that power, you see, can’t be used to mend anything. It can only corrupt. And in this moment coming very soon, the sedos power will be so strong that all other puissance in the world will fail before it. Life and death will cease to have meaning, as will chaos and order. It will all become the dream—the Black Mary—of the one who takes the power.”

“Anne won’t misuse it.”

“She does so already. She drains the life from our warriors. She boils them in their skins. Soon she will do far worse. And of the three who seek the sedos throne, she is favored to win. And so my people fight and die, and I use my visions as best I can to help them. But I am too far away now, and she has become too strong. To be of any use I need to leave here, but that isn’t allowed. It’s never been allowed, and after my earlier escape, my father is doubly committed to the ancient way. He doesn’t really understand what’s going on. He twists what I tell him and tells his men that Anne is evil, that our war is just and holy.”

“Isn’t that what you just told me?”

“No. I chose to take the fight to Anne because I know where she is. The others I cannot find. But they must seek her out, too, and they will, because they cannot see each other. Anne is queen of Crotheny—she is in Crotheny. Prescience can’t find her, but spies can. She’s visible every day.” “But if Anne knew,” Neil said. “If she knew, she would not do—not seize this throne you speak of.” “She won’t have a choice when the time comes. She will have to take the power or die. I do not think she will choose to die. Nonetheless, I have tried to contact her. I’ve sent coven-trained, first to tell her these things, later to assassinate her. None ever made it near her. She has a great many protectors who have no wish to see her refuse this power.”

“The Sefry.”

“Them, yes. But there are others, with different goals.”

“But you must have sent your brother to Saint Cer. He and his men tried to murder Anne then.” She shook her head. “I had nothing to do with that. The Dunmrogh boy betrayed her there to your uncle, who was in fact working with my father.”

“Is Robert here?”

“Yes.”

He digested that for a moment. “Is my queen safe?”

“You mean Muriele now. Yes and no. Safe for the moment. But safe here, in Hansa? Not remotely.” She held Neil’s gaze so long that his scalp began to prickle, but she finally looked away again. “We’ve spoken enough for now,” she said. “A longer talk will raise suspicions, and to be frank, I haven’t decided what to do with you.” She picked up her mask. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you better accommodations, but that, too, would attract attention.”

“I have to try to help my queen,” he said. “You know that.”

“I do,” she said softly. “I’ll do what I can to help Muriele.”

“And Anne?”

But Brinna didn’t reply. She just replaced the mask on her face.

“Why do you wear that?” he asked.

“I spoke of a higher calling,” she murmured. “Perhaps I will tell you about that one day.”

She turned and left through the same concealed panel, and a few moments later guards appeared and returned him to his cell.

Muriele sipped wine and leaned on the timeworn balustrade of a stone balcony. Below her, a stream coursed noisily through a narrow white-walled gorge very pleasantly grown in hemlock, spruce, and everic. The balcony supporting her was carved from the living rock of the ravine.

“Who made this place?” she asked Berimund as he joined her.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I’m told that the style of the carving resembles that of the Unselthiuzangardis, the, ah, ‘Wicked Kingdoms.’”

“That was during what we called the Warlock Wars.”

“That’s right,” he said. “Anyway, I believe it was probably the refuge of a sorcerer or perhaps the secret dwelling of his mistress. My wulfbrothars and I found it when we were in farunya.”

“Farunya? That’s this province?”

He looked at her blankly a minute, then laughed. “No,” he said. “Farunya—that’s when boys who are almost old enough to be men band together and wander, hunt outlaws, pick fights with hill tribes. My wulfbrothars and I went out for years, went all the way into Zhuzhturi. When we returned—those of us who returned—we were made men and warriors. Any boy who hopes to fight in a hansa must go in farunya first.”

“You lost friends?”

“There were forty of us to start with. Thirty-two came back. Not bad considering some of the fights we got into.” He grinned. “Those were good times. And that’s how I know my brothers won’t betray me. We were forged into men together. It’s a strong bond.”

The thing about betrayal, Muriele thought, is that only someone you trust can really betray you. She didn’t say it, though. If Berimund was wrong, he was wrong. Her saying something wouldn’t serve any purpose.

“So, this place,” the prince went on. “We spotted it from down there. Took us five days to find the entrance above. We came back later and furnished it. We swore to keep its location secret.”

“That’s why you blindfolded me.”

“Jah. Even then, I had to put it to a vote with my men.”

“I’m flattered they allowed it.” She let her gaze drift back down to the river. “So what now?” “We wait for my father to calm down,” he said.

“And if he doesn’t?”

“In that case, we’ll have to wait until he dies, I think.”

“Well,” Muriele said, “at least there’s wine.”

Neil lay in the dark, wondering if he was going mad, wondering how long he had been there. He thought he probably slept a lot, but the distinction between sleep and waking was starting to blur. His only indication of the time was when they brought his food, but he was always a little hungry, so he wasn’t sure if he was being fed twice a day, once a day, or once every two days.

He tried to think about mountain pasture and wide blue sky, but instead his mind kept replaying just a few things.

Had the entire embassy really been a sham, a disguise for assassination? Would Anne really have ordered that? Would Muriele have been part of it?

Maybe, maybe. Queens were forced to do that sometimes, weren’t they? It was childish to think otherwise.

But Anne had insisted he go along. Did she know? Know that he knew Brinna? Did she think that he would kill her if Alis failed?

Should he, if he got the chance? Could he, if it was his queen’s wish? After all, it was his fault that Hansa even had a Hellrune.

And the thing that kept burning up through everything else was the memory of his kiss with her out in the marshes around Paldh, the touch of her lips and the sweet gift of her against him.

Someone was humming a weird little song. Fingers traced along Neil’s bare spine, up to his shoulder, along his ruined sword arm, back up around the edge of his ear. He smiled and rolled that way. Hazel eyes gazed down from a delicate face framed in dark tresses. She had a sad little smile on her lips. “Fastia,” he gasped, his heart thundering.

“I know you,” the ghost sighed. “I remember you.”

Neil tried to sit up but found that he couldn’t. His body seemed impossibly tired and heavy.

“I kissed you once, too.”

“I’m sorry, Fastia,” he whispered.

“Why? For kissing?”

“No.”

“I’m almost gone,” she said. “The river is taking me. Whoever you are, I’ve almost forgotten you. If you ever wronged me, it’s in the water now.”

“I love you.”

“You love her.”

“Yes,” he said, miserably.

She stroked his cheek. “No need for that,” she said.

“Did she bring you here?” he asked.

“No. She’s like a doorway, and through her I saw you. You drew me here.”

“I do love you.”

“I’m glad I was loved,” she said. She closed her eyes. “Something is coming,” she said. “You need to go back. I wanted to tell you that.”

She bent and brought her lips to his, and he felt a tickle. Then she began singing in a language he didn’t know. He found himself wanting to sing it as well, to leave his flesh and join Fastia. But the song faded, and her with it, until she was gone.

He started and was awake.

Footsteps. Someone was coming. It didn’t sound like the jailer.

It wasn’t; it was four guards. They didn’t say anything, and he didn’t ask them anything; he just let them lead him out of the hole and back up into the halls. They took him back to the chamber where he’d seen Brinna and left him there alone.

He was wondering what to do, when the small door opened and the girl came in with a pitcher and filled an alabaster washbasin.

“My lady asks that you bathe yourself,” she said in Hanzish. Her eyes were darting, fearful, not like the last time.

“I’m to leave you alone while you do so. Fresh clothes are there.” She pointed to some garments folded on the chair he’d sat in before, then exited the way she had come.

He stripped off his filthy weeds and scrubbed himself from head to toe. A bath would have been better, but when he was done, he felt so much more human that it was shocking. When he was dry, he slipped on the hose, breeches, and shirt that had been provided and stood waiting, enjoying the ability to straighten his limbs, back, and neck all at the same time.

The girl stuck her head in a bit later, and a few moments after that Brinna entered, wearing the same, or an identical, black gown. She did not, however, have the mask with her.

Her expression didn’t tell him much, and for a little while that was all he got. Then she walked over and took her place in her armchair.

“Please sit,” she said.

He complied.

“Things are complicated,” she said. “I wouldn’t have had you stay in that place if they weren’t.” “I appreciate the sentiment,” he muttered.

“I doubt that, but that’s not this discussion.”

She looked down and cleared her throat softly.

“There are three reasons you’re here and not dead or still imprisoned,” she said. “The first is that I believe you are not an assassin. The second is that I think we can help each other without you breaching your real duty.”

She paused and settled her shoulders. “The third isn’t important right now.”

“I’m glad you don’t believe I’m an assassin,” he said.

She nodded and placed her hands on her knees. “I want you to help me escape again.”

“What?”

“Anne has destroyed a third of our army,” she said.

“This is war,” he said gently.

“You needn’t condescend to me, sir,” she said. “I know what war is.”

“Sorry.”

“Understand, it was not the army of Crotheny that killed our men. It was Anne herself.”

“Oh,” he said, frowning, trying to understand. He’d been with Anne a few times when she had used her gifts. But even on the march to Eslen, she had never been able to affect more than a dozen or so people and never actually had killed more than one or two. Even so, it had made him a little sick.

“How many?” he asked.

“Forty-eight thousand.”

“Forty…” It didn’t make any sense.

“It has begun, Sir Neil. She is coming into her strength. My father will keep sending his men against her, and they will continue to die.”

“What do you intend to do?” he asked.

“Anne is beyond me. There is nothing I can do directly. But I think I might undo the damage I myself did. I might help mend the law of death, and if that is done, everything changes. All visions of the future, all prophecy becomes moot. On that, if nothing else, I ask you to trust me.”

“But why must I help you escape?”

“I have to reach Newland,” she said. “That’s where I must be, and in a short time.”

“It’s impossible for me to promise that,” Neil said.

“I realize that,” she replied. “I just wanted you to know what I’m about. I need to talk to Queen Muriele, clearly. Only she can make the decision to take me to Newland. I just want your permission first, since she is in your charge.”

“That means having her brought up here?”

“If I could do that, I would have already done so,” she replied.

“What do you mean?”

“She went hunting with Berimund, yes?”

“Yes, the day after we arrived. Just before I was seized.”

“My father isn’t a stable man. He condemned your lady to death and ordered my brother to carry out that charge.”

Neil stood so violently that the chair went clattering to the floor. “You saw this?”

She sucked in a breath and flinched back.

“Did you?” he asked more softly.

“No. I have spies, as well. But I have seen where my brother took her.”

“To murder her, you mean?”

Her eyes focused outward and seemed to glaze. “Berimund won’t do that,” she said, her voice a bit singsong. “He’s taken her someplace to hide. He doesn’t know he’s been followed.”

“Followed? By your father?”

She shook her head. “No. Robert Dare.”

Without thinking, Neil put his hand up to his head, where the usurper had struck him with a bottle. “I have to get to her,” he said. “Can you help me do that?”

“I need her, too, and I need her alive,” Brinna said. “Alis has agreed to aid me, but I need you, too.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll help you escape,” he said. “But after we find the queen, I must obey her orders.”

“Even if they are to slay me?”

“Any order but that,” he said.

Something bright flitted behind her face but quickly vanished.

“Well,” Brinna said. “Are we agreed?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good,” she said. “Because we’ve already begun, I’m afraid. The interrogator insisted on being with me in this interview, and she got my father to put it in writing that she would be.”

“Where is she, then?”

“In the next room, dead. I poisoned her. The men who brought you have also been dealt with. Or at least I hope so.”

“They’ve been dealt with,” a quiet voice said.

Neil started and found Alis standing behind him, clad in a dark blue gown. She held something bundled in a cloak.

“I think this hauberk will fit you, Sir Neil,” she said. “And you’ve your pick of these swords.” “I’m sure you would prefer your own,” Brinna said. “But those are beyond my reach. I hope one of these is suitable. You’re going to need it very soon.”

10 An Old Friend

Aspar had begun to draw the knife before he realized he was losing his mind, that the geos had taken his sense without him even knowing it.

Leshya saw his expression and raised her eyebrows.

Fighting down the paranoia, Aspar pushed the eldritch blade back in, unhooked the scabbard, and held it out toward her.

“This is yours,” he said. “I should have given it back to you days ago.”

“You make better use of it than I would,” she said.

“I don’t like it,” he said.

“Neither do I,” the Sefry replied. “It’s a sedos thing.”

Aspar proffered it for another few breaths, but she didn’t reach for it, so he hooked the sheath back on his belt.

“Let’s keep Fend’s offer to help us quiet for now,” Aspar said. “Until we cann what he’s up to.” “It could confuse things more than they already are,” she said.

He couldn’t tell if it was a question. “Yah.”

They found Emfrith’s bunch setting up camp in a field not too far from the road. Winna came running up as they passed the watchmen. She was flushed, and though she seemed excited, it was hard to tell if it was from a good or a bad cause.

“He found us,” she said. That sounded happy.

“Stephen?”

Her expression fell, and then she shook her head.

“Ehawk.”

Aspar felt a slight lift of his shoulders. “Really? Where is he?”

“Sleeping. He was nearly falling out of his saddle. I don’t think he’s rested in days.”

“Well, I reckon I’ll talk to him later, then.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“I’m glad the lad’s alive,” he said. “But I reckoned wherever he was, he was all right. Ehawk can take care of himself. Not like—” He stopped.

“Not like Stephen,” she said softly.

“Stephen’s fine, too,” he said gruffly. “Probably holed up in a scriftorium someplace.”

“Right,” Winna agreed. “Probably.”

Early the next morning, Aspar found Ehawk crouched around the coals of the fire. The young Watau grinned when he saw Aspar.

“You were hard to find,” he said. “Like tracking a ghost. Lost you before the cold river up there.” “The Welph.”

“I don’t like those trees. It’s like always being at the snow line in the mountains.”

“Yah,” Aspar said. “Different. Anyway, you should have just waited like Winna. I would have just come to you.”

“I couldn’t do that,” the Watau boy replied. “Winna didn’t wait, either. She made Emfrith look for you, but once her belly started swelling, he wouldn’t go far.” He stirred the embers with a stick. “He didn’t want to find you, anyway.”

“Yah, I conth that,” he said.

Ehawk nodded and pushed back his pitch-dark hair. His face looked leaner, older. His body was catching up with the man inside.

“So where are we going?” he asked.

“Mountains of the Hare. The western ranges, near Sa Ceth ag Sa’Nem.”

“Ah.” The boy shook his head. “You’re seeking the Segachau, then.”

“What?”

“The reed-water-place,” the young man said. “The well of life. The hole everything came out of at the beginning of time.”

“Grim’s eye,” Aspar swore. “You know something about it?”

“My people have lived in the mountains for a long time,” the Watau replied. “That’s a real old legend.” “What do they say?” Aspar asked.

“It gets pretty complicated,” Ehawk said. “Lots of tribes and clan names. But really, when you simple it, the story spells that in the ancient times everything lived beneath the earth: people, animals, plants. There was also a race of demons under there that kept everything penned up. They ate us. So one day a certain man got out of his pen and found a reed that went up into the sky. He climbed it and came out here, in this world. He went back down and led everyone else up here, too. That man became the Etthoroam, the Mosslord—him you call the Briar King. He stopped the demons from following, and he made the sacred forest. When he was done, he went to sleep, and he told the people to worship the forest and keep it from harm or he would wake and take his revenge. And the place where he came up is called Segachau. They say you can’t always find it.”

Aspar scratched his chin, wondering what Stephen would make of that story. The Watau didn’t have writing or libraries. They didn’t follow the ways of the Church any more than his father’s Ingorn people did.

And yet in two ways at least, Ehawk’s story agreed with Leshya’s tale of the Vhenkherdh. Both said the Briar King came from it, and both agreed it was the source of life.

Other than that, though, the Watau story was very different from the Sefry’s, and that made him feel suddenly better about the whole thing. He’d learned from Stephen just how twisted time could make the truth; maybe no one, not even the Sarnwood witch, had all the facts. Maybe when he got there, Aspar could find some way to surprise everyone. Come to think of it, he probably knew at least one thing no one except maybe Winna did.

“It’s good to have you back, Ehawk,” he said, patting him on the shoulder.

“’Tis good to be back, master holter.”

Aspar’s improved mood didn’t last long.

Another two days brought them to the Then River, and the land was starting to warn Aspar what to expect on the road ahead.

Green fields gave way to sickly yellow weeds, and the only birds they saw were high overhead. At the banks of the Then, some tough marsh grass still clung to life, just barely.

But across the stream what once had been rich prairie was brittle and brown, dead for a month or more. There was no birdsong, no buzz of crickets, nothing. It was wasteland.

The villages were dead, too. They found no one alive, and the bones that remained were gnawed and crushed as no natural beast could manage.

The next day, the edge of the King’s Forest appeared, and Aspar prepared himself for the worst. Winna, who hadn’t been talking much to him lately, rode up beside him.

“It’ll be bad, won’t it?” she said.

“Yah.” He already could see how wrong the tree line was.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know how it hurts you.”

“I’m the holter,” he said. “I’m supposed to protect it.”

“You’ve done your best,” she said.

“No,” he replied harshly. “No, I haven’t.”

“Aspar,” she said gently, “you have to talk to me. I need to know why we’re coming here, where everything is dead except for monsters. I trust you, but you usually tell me what’s going on. Fend’s not even trying to catch us, and Emfrith is starting to question our direction, too. He’s wondering what happens when we run out of supplies.”

“Emfrith can ask me himself,” Aspar snapped.

“I don’t think this is about taking me someplace safe,” Winna said.

The geos stung him, but he held his ground against it, because now the only way to convince Winna that they should be doing this entailed telling her part of the truth.

It was such a relief, he almost felt like crying.

“Listen,” he said softly. “I learned some things from the Sarnwood witch, from my trip into the Bairghs. What you see here—what we’ll see ahead—it’s not stopping with the King’s Forest. It’ll keep spreading until everything is dead, until there are no woods or fields anywhere. There’s nowhere I can take you where you and the child will be safe, not for long.”

“What are you telling me?”

“I’m spellin’ that our only chance is to stop this somehow.”

“Stop it?”

He explained in brief about the Vhenkherdh and the possibility of “summoning” a new Briar King. He didn’t tell her how Leshya had come by her knowledge, and of course he made no mention of Fend’s assertion that her unborn child was to be the sacrifice that would save the world. He still wasn’t sure he believed that himself. When he was done, she looked at him strangely.

“What?”

“There’s still something I don’t understand,” she said. “I accept it’s true that there’s no place where this rot won’t eventually reach me. But there are places that will be safe from it for a while longer. The Aspar I know wouldn’t have wanted me along for this…attempt, not in my condition. He would have had Emfrith take me as far from the King’s Forest as possible while he went to fight and maybe die. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you didn’t do that.”

“I think Fend’s after you, too,” he said.

“Then why doesn’t he send an utin for me?”

“The wyver attacked you, remember?”

She nodded uneasily. “Is that the only reason?”

“When I saw Fend last, he told me as much,” Aspar said.

“But why?”

“You were his captive for nearly a month. What do you think? Fend hates me, he’s barking mad, I love you. How much reason do you maunt he needs?”

“Right,” she said. “Right. It’s just—something doesn’t feel right.”

“Nothing is right,” Aspar replied.

“I know,” she said calmly. “But we’re going to fix it, werlic. So our child can grow up.”

“Yah,” he said, his voice tight.

“I’ve thought of names,” she said.

“The Ingorn don’t name children until they’re two years old,” Aspar said roughly.

“Why not?”

“Because most don’t live,” he said. “If you don’t name them, they can try to be born again. Them with names die true deaths.”

“That’s stupid,” Winna said. “Why name anyone, ever?”

“Because eventually our names find us, just like our deaths.”

“This child isn’t going to die, Aspar. I know that in my heart. I don’t know why you would try to—” Her voice cracked.

They rode along for a moment.

“What names?” he asked.

“Never mind,” she answered.

He glanced over at her. “I always thought Armann was a good name,” he said.

She frowned, and at first he thought the conversation really was over. But then she nodded. “Yes,” she allowed. “My father would like that.”

“And if it’s a girl?”

“I like Emmer,” she said. “Or Sally.”

A bell later the wind shifted to blow from the woods, and the scent of corruption was so strong that Aspar gagged and lost his breakfast, then lay over his horse’s neck dry-heaving.

“For the saints, Asp, what’s wrong?” Winna asked.

“The smell.”

“Smell?” She sniffed at the air. “I smell something a little rotten,” she said. “Nothing to be sick over. Are you all right?”

“Yah,” he said.

But he wasn’t. When they got nearer, he saw some others wrinkling their noses, but to him the stench was so overpowering that he could hardly think. He wanted anger to hold him up, get him through it, but mostly he felt sick, tired, and sad. Something deep in his chest told him it was time to lie down and die, along with the forest he had known.

Because it was gone.

Every natural tree had rotted into viscous black slime, and growing from their putrefied corpses were the triumphant black thorns he first had seen growing from the footprints of the Briar King.

But it wasn’t just the vines now. They had been joined by trees with long saw-toothed leaves, barrel-shaped plants that resembled giant club moss, leafless, scaly bushes. He recognized some of them as being like those he had seen in the Sarnwood, but although unnatural, those had seemed healthy. These were not; like the ironoak, yew, poplar, and pine they had sprung from, these plants were dying, too.

So were the beasts. They came across the corpses of a greffyn and an utin. It looked like the first had killed the second, started to eat it, and then died of its own wounds.

Later they came across other sedhmhari that appeared simply to have dropped dead, perhaps of hunger. There were no birds at all, no sounds except those they and their horses made. And for Aspar the smell only got worse and worse as they climbed up into the Lean Gable Hills and then back down along the edge of what once had been the Foxing Marshes but were now noisome meres infested with the giant scabby mosslike plants. There were things still moving in the water, big things, but none came close enough to see.

“This is insane,” Emfrith said as darkness started to settle in and Aspar hunted for a campsite. “What could have done this?”

Aspar didn’t feel like answering and didn’t, but the knight persisted.

“And what refuge do you hope to find in this desert? And where will we find supplies? We don’t have that much food or wine left, and I wouldn’t drink from any of the springs we’ve seen. There’s nothing to hunt.”

“I know a place where we might find supplies,” Aspar said. “We can be there by tomorrow.”

“And then what?”

“Then we head into the mountains.”

“You think they won’t be like this?”

No, Aspar thought. They’ll be worse.

They reached the White Warlock the next morning, crossing the ancient Brew Bridge, a narrow span of pitted black stone. The river was no longer the clear stream that had inspired its name but ran black as tar.

When they were halfway across, something exploded out of it.

As his horse reared, Aspar had the impression of something that married snake and frog. Its immense greenish-black bulk rose up above them and showed a mouth topful of yellow needles that was reared to strike down toward them.

But it stopped suddenly, swaying there. Aspar saw that its eyes had pupils like a toad’s, and weird gills opened and closed on the sides of its massy neck. He saw no limbs; the sinuous neck—or body—continued deep into the water.

He started to put an arrow to his bow, but the beast suddenly turned its head, looked back the way Aspar and his companions had come, and vented a forlorn croak. Then it withdrew into the river as quickly as it had risen.

“Sceat,” Aspar breathed.

“It didn’t attack us,” Emfrith wondered.

“No,” Aspar agreed. Fend told it not to.

After the lowlands around the river, they again began to climb up into the Brogh y Stradh, where wild cattle once grazed in pleasant meadows and periwinkle finches came to breed and lay their eggs. Traveling through the forest wasn’t the discovery of a loved one lost; it was a fresh loss around every corner, a new corpse every league.

Toward dusk they reached Tor Scath.

Unlike the forest around it, Tor Scath was unchanged. The last time he’d been there had been with Stephen Darige. He’d just rescued the lad from bandits, and he remembered with muffled amusement the way the boy had gone on and on about things that at the time seemed absurd.

But time told, and in the end he had been more of a fool than Stephen, hadn’t he? Stephen, with his knowledge of the ancient past, had been more ready to face what was coming than Aspar, despite the lad’s sheltered upbringing.

“That’s an odd-looking place,” Emfrith said, breaking Aspar’s chain of thought.

Aspar nodded, taking the place in once again. It was as if someone had taken a small, perfectly reasonable keep and tried to cram as many weird towers onto it as possible. There was actually one tower that had another one starting from it halfway up.

“Yah,” he agreed. “They say it was built by a madman.”

“Does anyone live here? It hardly seems defensible.”

“It’s lately a royal hunting lodge,” Aspar replied. “Kept by a knight named Sir Symen Rookswald. I doubt that anyone is here now.”

“Surely Sir Symen left in time,” Winna murmured.

“I’m sure he did,” Aspar said. “He was onto the danger before I was.”

He said it, but he didn’t really believe it. Sir Symen took his duty seriously despite his morose character. Human bones lay in a thick scatter outside the walls.

“The people of the keep?” Emfrith asked.

Aspar shook his head. “I maun Tor Scath is more defensible than you think. These died trying to get in.” “Slinders,” Winna reckoned.

“Yah.”

“So Sir Symen stayed and fought.”

“For a while, anyway.”

“What are slinders?” Emfrith asked.

“Tribespeople from the hills, driven mad by the Briar King. They were like locusts. They would pull down and eat anything before them.”

“Eat?” the knight asked incredulously. “I heard rumors like that, but I never believed ’em.”

“No, they ate people, all right,” Aspar said. “Without salt, even. Now keep aware. We don’t know what lives in here now.”

The keep’s entrance was as odd as the rest of it, a smallish gate at the base of a narrow tower. Aspar tested it and found it barred from the other side, but that triggered a sudden baying and barking from within.

“There are dogs in there,” Emfrith said. “How is that possible?”

A few moments later the gate opened, revealing a hulk of a man on the other side.

“Isarn?” Aspar said, not believing it.

“Master White,” the fellow replied. “It’s good to see you.”

But Aspar was looking around, astonished. There were not only dogs in the yard but chickens and geese. There were even a few green weeds and what looked like a plot of turnips.

“Sir Symen? Is he here?” Aspar asked.

The giant nodded. “In the hall. He’ll be glad to see you. Let me show you where to put the horses.”

Symen’s long hair and beard were more unkempt than ever, lending him the appearance of an old lion on the verge of starvation, but he smiled and came shakily to his feet when Aspar entered. Winna rushed to him and gave him a hug.

“Aspar,” the old man said. “What a pretty gift you bring me.” He frowned. “Is this little Winna?” “It’s me, Sir Symen,” she confirmed.

“Oh, sweet girl, how you’ve grown. It’s been too long since I went to Colbaely.” He glanced at her belly but politely didn’t say anything.

“Have you heard anything about the town?”

“Your father left, I know that; headed over the mountains toward Virgenya. Most others fled or died when the slinders came.”

He turned to clasp Aspar’s arm. He felt no more substantial than a straw.

“I told you, didn’t I, Aspar? Hardheaded man you are.”

He nodded. “You were more right than wrong,” he admitted. “What happened here?”

“Sit,” Sir Symen said. “I still have wine. We’ll have a drink.”

He signed, and a young boy who had been sitting on a stool in the corner got up and went off down the hall.

“Anfalthy?” Aspar asked.

“I sent her to relatives in Hornladh,” he replied. “Along with the other women. This is no place for them now.”

The boy returned with a jug of wine. Mazers were already scattered about the table, and he set about filling them.

Symen took a long quaff. “It’s good to have visitors to drink with,” he said. “We don’t have much company these days.”

“You never did,” Aspar replied.

“No, that’s true,” the knight allowed. He trailed a glance at Emfrith and his men. “Who are your friends?” Aspar made the introductions, trying not to let his impatience show. When that was all settled, Symen finally got around to the holter’s question.

“The slinders came,” he said. “But they couldn’t breach the walls, and they soon left. They came several times, but it was always the same. They were terrifying if you met them in the forest, but against a keep—even such a poor keep as this one—they had no weapons. They couldn’t chew their way through stone, could they? So we stayed put, and when they were distant, I sent men to help the villagers and to lay up meat for a siege.

“Then the monsters started to show, but it seems mad King Gault wasn’t so mad after all. He built this place to keep the alvs and booyghs out, and damned if it doesn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“They can’t or won’t come in. I can only imagine some enchantment keeps them out.”

“Grim,” Aspar murmured. “That’s a turn of weird.”

“But a fortunate one for us,” Symen replied.

“Yah.”

“So they came and went, and then the forest began to die. Then slinders returned, hundreds of them, and greffyns and manticores and all manner of beasts, and they killed each other outside the walls, and what was left starved. We waited inside here, and now here you are.”

“But that’s wonderful,” Emfrith said. “Holter, this is the place. This is where Winna can have her child.” The geos was still finding a lie for Aspar to tell when Isarn suddenly burst into the hall.

“Sir Symen,” he shouted. “There’s an army coming, not two leagues away. Henne saw it.”

“From the north?” Aspar said. “Yah, that’ll be Fend.”

“And he’ll be helpless,” Emfrith said. “His beasts can’t harm us here. They’ll starve like the others.” “He still has men,” Aspar pointed out. “They can come in, and probably the Sefry, too.”

“This army is marching from the west,” Isarn replied. “Men and horses, maybe five hundred.”

“Not Fend, then,” Winna said.

“Relief from Eslen, perhaps?”

“Perhaps,” Aspar said. But he remembered what Fend had told him, and in his heart he didn’t think there was any relief in sight.

11 Drinking with Warriors

The arrow felt like liquid fire in Cazio’s arm, and he went all knee-weak. Dodging arrows, he had decided, was not his forte. That was too bad, because he could see that the man who had shot him was drawing back another shaft as another fellow with ax and shield was bearing down on him hard.

He stepped to put the axman between him and the archer and raised Acredo, glad he’d been hit in the left arm. The arrow was still there, like a little tree sprouting from his bicep. His balance felt off. He speared at the axman’s face, but the fellow lifted his shield, turned his blade with it, and stepped in with a hard cut. Cazio jerked his blade to parry in a high prismo, with his hand above his head and the blade slanting from right to left across his body. It met the ax just below the hilt, deflecting it a fingers-breadth from hitting him.

With his point down and standing belly to shield with the other man, Cazio did the only thing he could think of: He sprang straight up, tilting his hand out so that the earth-pointing blade came down on the other side of the enemy’s shield and stabbed him in the neck just above the breastbone. Encountering no bone, Acredo slipped right down into the man’s lungs.

When Cazio’s feet hit the ground again, his legs wouldn’t hear of standing, so he went on down while the axman stumbled off, trying for a little while to pull Acredo back out of his body before fetching against a tree.

That left the archer, who was advancing cautiously toward him. Desperately, Cazio began crawling for cover, glancing back often. The man looked grim now and stepped up his pace. Cazio wondered if the axman had been his friend.

But then the fellow sat down hard and dropped his bow. Cazio saw that he had an arrow in his belly. “Ah, sceat,” he heard the man say. “I knew it.” He sat that way for a moment and then used his bow to push himself to his feet. He looked around, then cast another glance at Cazio.

“Sceat on this,” he said, and began hobbling off into the woods.

“Good luck,” Cazio called after him.

“Fooce-thu, coonten,” the man called back.

“Right,” Cazio breathed, trying to stand. It was absolutely astonishing how much blood was on him. Should he try to get the arrow out?

He took hold of it, the sun exploded, and the next thing he knew, someone was looking down at him. He hoped it was a friend.

“This is going to hurt,” z’Acatto said later that evening.

“You’ve never lied to me before,” Cazio said sarcastically. “I—” But he forgot whatever he meant to say as his vision went white with pain and his capacity for speech was reduced to a series of ragged gasps. “Told you,” the old man said.

“Yes,” was the cleverest response Cazio could manage.

“You’ll be fine if the fever doesn’t get you.”

“What a relief,” Cazio replied, wiping tears of pain from his eyes with his good hand.

A glance at Austra’s concerned face, and he felt suddenly a bit ashamed. He’d only had an arrow in the meat of his arm. What had been done to her was far worse.

He drank something z’Acatto handed him. It tasted like fire stirred with the sweat of a drunk. He took another drink, and as z’Acatto plugged and bandaged the wound, he got the broad strokes of what had happened. Shortly put, they had won. The hedgehog had held back the attackers so that the archers could keep putting arrows in them.

“Then the Cassro orders us forward,” Jan told him. “Against what’s left of the horse. At first they can’t believe it; they reckon we’re a defensive formation. But we advance with pike a step at a time, braced together like old times, and they got their infantry behind ’em. Even charging they couldn’t break us, and now we’re startin’ to tickle ’em with our pikes, and they’ve no room to charge. Before you can say Jaq Long-wick, they turn and cut their way through their own infantry.”

He jerked his chin toward the swordmaster. “That’s a man who knows a thing or two about fighting,” Jan said.

“I’m sorry I missed it,” Cazio said.

“Ah, you did your part. Here, have another drink with me.”

“Pleased to,” Cazio said.

“One more,” Austra said from behind him. “Then he’s mine, boys. The sun’s going down.”

They’d set up a tent for her, and once inside, he took her gently by the shoulders and kissed her. She had alcohol on her breath, too, and her eyes were troubled, showing more need than desire.

He pulled her closer, and need suddenly was replaced by what looked like panic. He felt her go rigid and released his grip.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“No need for that,” he replied, stroking her head. “You’ve been through a lot.”

She kissed the shoulder of his wounded arm. “So have you.”

He bussed her forehead, then sidled around behind her. This time when he pulled her close, she didn’t tense up. He kissed the back of her neck, and she sighed.

Gently, gently, he undressed her, and soon they were spooned flesh to flesh. He reached around and stroked her forehead, then down her ribs and hip.

“Is this enough for this evening?” she asked softly.

“More than enough,” he replied. “Kingdoms more. Empires more.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ll heal,” he told her. “I’ll heal, and we’ll both be better. But we’re fine now. We’re alive, and we have each other.”

“That’s true, isn’t it?” she murmured.

He woke a few bells later. It was cold, and he made sure Austra was well covered in her blanket. Then he pulled on his pants and shirt and went outside. His arm throbbed as if a demon were in it, and the liquor had gone thin as milk in his veins.

About half the men were still awake, singing and laughing by the fire.

He found z’Acatto alone, up on the wagon.

“Is it time for the wine yet, old man?” he asked.

He could just make out his mestro’s face in the distant firelight. It looked like he was smiling a little. “No, not yet.”

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this? I mean, I know we have our quarrels, but you’re almost my father.” “I’m not your father,” z’Acatto snapped. Then, more softly: “I could never be that.”

“No? But you took on the role. Why?”

“I couldn’t think of anything better to do,” he said.

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“Doesn’t look like I’m going to, does it?”

Cazio sighed. “Don’t you ever get bored with this bickering?”

Z’Acatto was silent for a moment, and then he chuckled. “Easier than talking,” he said.

“Exactly. For me, too.”

“Fine,” z’Acatto said. “I never wanted you involved in this sort of thing. Your father made me promise to teach you the sword, but he never asked me to make you a soldier. I don’t think he wanted that for you, and I damned sure didn’t. So I didn’t fill your head with tales of our exploits.”

“Maybe if you had, I wouldn’t be involved in all of this now.”

Z’Acatto laughed again. “Right, that’s funny. No matter how bad I made it out to be, it would have sounded exciting to you. And because your father did it, and maybe because I did—”

“You were both famous.”

“Yes. All the more reason you would have wanted to follow in our footsteps.”

Cazio nodded. “You’re probably right. I was a little hardheaded when I was younger.”

“When you were younger? Your head gets harder every day. And a good thing, because you get hit on it more often all the time.”

He handed a bottle down. It was a not very good wine. Cazio took a swallow.

“What now?” he asked.

“You seem to have that worked out,” z’Acatto said.

“You’re the Emrature,” Cazio replied.

Z’Acatto took the bottle and had another drink.

“I guess I am,” he finally said. “Most of these fellows want to go back to Eslen and fight for Anne. I’ve never seen the place, and I guess I should.”

“Well, it’s something to see,” Cazio said, yawning.

They finished the bottle and started another one before exhaustion overcame the ache in his arm. “Back to bed for me,” he said, clapping his mentor on the back.

“We move early,” z’Acatto told him.

“Yes, sir, Cassro,” Cazio replied.

He went back to the wagon and found Austra just as he’d left her. He lay against her, relaxing against the warmth of her body.

He woke the next morning in exactly the same position. Austra was still quiet, so he thought to rise and help break camp without waking her.

But as he sat up, he noticed that her eyes were open.

“Morning, love,” he said, and kissed her on the cheek.

She didn’t move, and her eyes were glassy. He shook her, and she didn’t respond. He shook her harder.

12 Depositions

Anne stretched her limbs and closed her eyes as a cool zephyr ruffled the grass. Faster snuffled nearby, and a lute sounded in the distance.

Something tickled against her lips, and with a smile she parted them and gently bit down, filling her mouth with the tart juice of a grape.

“You didn’t peel it,” she murmured.

“Oh, I see where I stand now,” the earl of Cape Chavel said. “One day a suitor, the next a Hadamish serving girl.”

“You can be both,” Anne said, lazily opening her eyes.

Gulls fluttered overhead in the sea breeze.

“This is a nice place,” the earl said.

“One of my favorites, Cape Chavel,” she replied.

“Really?” he said. “Can’t you see your way clear to call me Tam?”

“Can you see your way clear to peeling a grape?”

He tugged at the sleeve of her dress. “If that’s a manner of speaking.”

“You’re too bold, sir,” she said.

“I wonder if your legs are freckled,” he replied.

“Huh. I wonder if they are.”

“There you go.” He pressed another grape to her lips. This time it was peeled.

“Very good, Cape Chavel,” she said. “You’re learning.”

“But we still aren’t on a first-name basis?”

“I think we should be after a few more years of courting. Are you in a rush?”

“No,” he said. His voice became a bit more serious. “It hardly seems necessary now.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve beaten back the army of Hansa. The Church has withdrawn and is suing for peace.”

“Who told you that?” she asked, pushing up on her elbows.

“I guess—well, that’s the word going around.”

“I’ve no idea what Hespero wants,” she said, “but I doubt very much that it is peace. He’s foolish even to come here, given the crimes he’s implicated in.”

“I stand corrected, then.”

“Continue to recline instead,” Anne said.

“As you wish.”

“Are you saying you no longer wish to court me?”

“I’m not saying that at all. But if our courting is pretense to encourage Virgenya to send troops, well, you don’t seem to need them.”

“I don’t, do I?” Anne replied. “But I’m going to get them anyway. And not by any pretense.”

“What do you mean?”

“Charles slighted me, and he slighted the empire. What sort of empress would I be if I allowed my subject kings to treat me like that? No, I think we will change the head beneath that crown.” She cocked an eye at him and reached to stroke his hair. “I think it would sit well right here,” she told him. The earl blinked, and his mouth opened. Then he smiled as if he’d just understood a joke.

“Your Majesty is in a jesting mood.”

“No,” she said. “I’m quite serious.”

A troubled look turned his features.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“I hope Your Majesty doesn’t think—You can’t imagine I had this aim when we began our friendship.” She shrugged. “I don’t care if you did. Loyalty is good, but so is intelligence. When you cast your lot with me, I wasn’t the dog favored to win this fight. You took a risk with me, and I won’t forget that.” “I’m not sure what to say, Majesty.”

“I don’t require you to say anything,” she said. “Just don’t pass the news around. I expect your uncle may put up a bit of a fight when you go to claim his hat, and right now we still need our army here. It’s not over yet. Even now Hansa is sending another army, larger than the first.”

“You’ll crush it as easily.”

“It will be easier,” she agreed, “now that I know how to do it.”

“I think you overestimate my uncle’s bravery,” he said. “When he really comes to understand your power, he won’t stand against you. I doubt that any army from anywhere would.”

“Well,” Anne said in a speculative tone, “I was very ill treated in Vitellio and Tero Gallé. I’ve half a mind to add them to the empire. Certainly z’Irbina must be taught a lesson.”

He was staring at her again.

“Don’t be so serious,” she said. “Let’s just come back to this. Our courting is now pretense only for you to kiss me, and I would prefer you start on that now.”

And so he did. His lips were familiar with her neck and shoulder, her hands, the hollow beneath her throat. His hands were acquainted with the broader territory of her body and made themselves languidly busy there. He was not sneaky or apologetic, as Roderick had been. He didn’t pretend to have brushed her breast accidentally but went there with confident deliberation.

And if he explored where he was not allowed, he could tell, and he accepted it, and that was that. It didn’t seem to bother him or hurt his feelings or make him seem weak.

But by the saints he kindled her, found the slow fire in her belly and stroked it out to every inch of her, until all she wanted was for more of her flesh to press his, to feel what two unclothed bodies were like together.

But not here, where anyone could see. They could go back to the castle, though…

“Enough,” she said faintly. “Enough, Cape Chavel.”

“Is something wrong?” he whispered.

“Yes,” she replied. “I want you. That’s what’s wrong.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” he replied. “I want you, too. You’ve no idea.”

“No,” she said. “I think I have some idea. But we can’t. I can’t. I’m queen. I have to be responsible. What if I got pregnant, for saints’ sake?”

She was surprised to hear herself say it, but there it was.

“I understand,” he said. “It doesn’t make me want you any less.”

She stroked his face. “You’re dangerous,” she said. “Another few moments and you might have convinced me.”

He smiled halfheartedly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I would not make a mistress of you.”

She nodded.

“I would make you wife, though, if you would say yes.”

She started to make a joke of that, but then, with a bit of a shock, she understood the look in his eyes. “Let’s not get in a hurry, Cape Chavel,” she said.

“I love you.”

“There’s no need to say that,” she whispered. “Just hush.”

He nodded but looked a little hurt.

Saints, he’s serious, she realized.

Things felt turned around all of a sudden. She hadn’t understood until this moment that she was the one in control of the situation.

“I’m not closing the door,” she said. “When I was younger, it was my dream to marry for love. My mother, my sister—everyone—tried to make me understand that a princess didn’t have that option, but I refused to believe it. Now I am queen, and I begin to understand. Marriage isn’t something I can choose because my heart or body wants it. You have become dear to me in a very short time, and I am tempted to rush. I can’t. Please bear with me, court me, be my friend. I never took you for a man easily discouraged. I hope I wasn’t wrong about that.”

He smiled, and this time it looked more sincere. “You weren’t.”

“Good.” She kissed him again, lightly this time. “And now I’m afraid I must return to the castle. Thank you for a pleasant morning. And welcome back. I’m very well pleased you didn’t get yourself killed.”

The morning left her with a pleasant tingle that lasted well into the evening. Emily seemed to be grinning a lot, and Anne was pretty certain the girl had made it her business to watch at least a little of what was going on through the hedges. Anne couldn’t really bring herself to care.

That afternoon she prepared to meet Hespero. After a little consideration, she chose to wear the habit and wimple of a sister of Saint Cer. Then she went to the Red Hall. They were to meet late, after the dinner hour, around ninth bell.

She made him wait until the eleventh.

He didn’t seem particularly disturbed when she entered alone. He was dressed in the simple black robe and square hat she was accustomed to seeing him in as praifec. He still had the mustache and barb, too. “Majesty,” he said, bowing.

“I didn’t know your grace accepted me as queen,” Anne said. Her heart was beating a little too fast, and she realized that now that he was here, she was nervous.

She couldn’t let that show.

“It has been difficult for me, I admit,” he said. “But I thought to start on a note of conciliation.” “Well, that’s promising,” Anne said. “Speak on.”

“News has spread of your rather impressive powers. Would you be surprised to learn that it was not unexpected?”

“No,” Anne said. “I believe you expected it. I believe you did your level best to stop it—stop me—before I realized the extent of them.”

“You can’t mean that,” Hespero replied. “Why would you think that?”

Anne waved aside his protest. “Never mind that now. Why have you come here?”

“To make an offer.”

“And that offer is…?”

“Your Majesty, I can train you. I can school you in the use of energies which, I assure you, are not done revealing themselves. You will soon face others whose gifts are a match for yours, who also wish to control the emerging sedos throne. Do you know what I mean?”

“I do,” Anne said. “And the fact that I cannot seek you out in vision suggests to me that you are one of them.”

“I have power,” he admitted. “I am the Fratrex Prismo of the holy Church, and the faneway one walks to ascend to that position carries…authority. But it isn’t me you should be concerned about. It’s the other. The one they used to call the Black Jester.”

“The Black Jester? You mean from the histories?”

“Yes—and no. It’s complicated. Suffice to say that he wouldn’t be the most pleasant fellow to sit the sedos throne.”

“You’d rather have me, then.”

He pursed his lips. “When I was quite a young man, I had an attish in the Bairghs, and there I discovered some very ancient prophecies that led me to very strange places. One of the strangest was here, below Eslen castle, where a certain prisoner was once kept. I think you know which one I mean.”

“Yes.”

“Those of us steeped in the sedos power have difficulty seeing one another, as you mentioned. But the Kept has no such constraints; the source of his power is not the same. And I extracted a vision or visions from him. He showed me, in effect, some of the results of what will soon happen. Now, as you also know, the future feeds back to the present. The thing each of us is to become beckons us to become it. You had a guide, a tutor, did you not?”

“Yes,” she said.

“She is in part what was you in the past, but she is also Anne Dare after taking the sedos throne.” “That’s absurd,” Anne said, knowing as she said it that it wasn’t.

“Not at all.”

“So you’re saying I will take the throne, then?”

“Maybe. Or maybe he will.”

“And that would be bad.”

“I’m not sure. That’s not what I saw, but I imagine that yes, it would be bad. But what I’ve seen is you.” “Really? And what did you see?”

“A demon queen, bruising the world beneath her heel for the thousand years it will take it to utterly die.” Anne had a sudden, vivid vision of her arilac, the first time she had seen her, a demon without mercy, a thing of pure malevolence. Was that her? What she would become?

No.

“That’s the most insane thing I’ve ever heard,” she said.

“Without my help, that’s what will happen.”

“And what sort of help are you prepared to give me? The kind you gave my father and sisters? The kind you gave the sisters of Saint Cer? Will you help me as you helped those at the sedos in Dunmrogh? Be aware I have a letter in your own hand implicating you.”

“Anne,” Hespero said, his voice tinged with desperation. “The world teeters at the edge of collapse. Almost all futures lead to ruin. I can help you. Do you understand?”

“No,” she snapped. “No, I don’t. I can’t imagine what is behind your contemptible lie or why you chose to deliver yourself to me, but hear me now: Fratrex Prismo or not, you will answer for your crimes.” “Do not make an unwise decision here,” Hespero said. “Don’t you understand? We must mend matters between us and move forward.”

“I’ll hear no more of this. You’re a murderer, a torturer, and worse.” She nodded at her guards. “Take him.”

“I’m sorry,” Hespero said. “Sleep, everyone.”

Anne felt something warm brush her face. The guards collapsed in midstep.

“What are you doing?” Anne said.

“What I must,” he replied. “What I probably would have had to do in the end, anyway.” He stepped toward her.

“Stop,” she said.

He shook his head.

Her fury boiled up, and she sent her will at him. His step faltered, but he came on. She couldn’t quite feel him, couldn’t boil his blood. Anxiously she pushed deeper, finally sensing something softer, something she could attack. And at least his gifts didn’t seem to affect her; she could feel them flailing uselessly about her like butterfly wings.

But he was standing right next to her. She felt a sharp blow just under her ribs.

“No!” she said, pushing away, staring at her habit and the dark stain spreading there, at the knife in Hespero’s hand.

Then he caught her by the hair, and she felt it draw across her throat. She felt air blow through her head. She had to do something, stop him, stop him before it was too late…

But she couldn’t think or feel him at all anymore.

Or anything.

Hespero knew he had to work quickly, while Anne’s blood was still pumping. Holding his hand to her head, he closed his eyes, opened himself to otherwhere, and searched for her life to catch hold of it before the dark river took it away. There he would find the attunements he needed to use her gifts. He would need them to face the Black Jester alone. To win the throne.

But there was nothing draining from her, no memories or sensations, no power—no gifts.

He opened his eyes. The blood still was pulsing from her carotid, which meant her heart was still beating. She was still alive despite her empty gaze.

He’d killed her too fast, knocked the life out of her instead of draining it. He’d been in too much of a hurry. But she’d almost had him. Another few seconds would have been enough, and it would have been him, not her, lying there dead.

The blood stopped. With a sigh, he stood and looked down at her pale corpse.

“You were always foolish,” he said. “You never minded your lessons.”

He hesitated, looking around at the sleeping courtiers. Could he keep them all thus until his army arrived and he could rule safely here?

Not without Anne’s gifts. He was going to have to leave, come back, and fight his way in. How annoying, when he was already here.

Ever pragmatic, Hespero turned and left the room, the castle, and Eslen. Time was short, and he had leagues to travel and much to do.

13 Leaving

Muriele lifted pen from paper and turned her head; she’d thought she’d heard a distant strain of music. She went to the balcony but didn’t hear anything other than birdsong in the valley. She glanced at what she’d been writing and found she wasn’t in a hurry to get it done. It was just something she was doing to pass the time.

There was a lot of time. Berimund had left men to serve and protect her, but he had departed more than a nineday ago. Her Hanzish wasn’t really good enough to have a decent conversation with any of her guards, not that any of them seemed all that interesting.

She wished she had Alis with her, but she had to face the fact that Alis and Neil were probably dead or at least imprisoned. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but she thought it best that she keep her feet on the ground from here on.

So she spent her time playing card games with herself, writing letters to Anne that she had no way to deliver, trying to puzzle through the few books available—all in Hanzish except one, a book of meditations on Saint Uni, which was in Church Vitellian.

She was still shocked at how wrong it had all gone. Was it her fault? Was it her own mouth that had condemned her? Maybe, but it seemed to her that Marcomir would have found an excuse even if she’d stayed as quiet as a mouse. No, it was the embassy itself that had been the mistake.

But the man at the table always knows what the cook should have done, and there was no going back. Maybe Alis had at least had time to find the Hellrune and do whatever Anne intended. That seemed to have been the actual point of the delegation, for Anne, at least. But even that seemed terribly unlikely. It was true the girl had gifts—she could even render herself unseen in the right circumstances—but to make her way through an unknown castle to find an opponent who could see the future seemed as dubious as her own mission of peace.

She sighed and patted her belly, thinking it needed filling. Someone eventually would bring her something, she knew, but she had a taste for cheese and wine. She had the run of the pantry and nothing better to do, especially treading the same regrets and worries over and over again.

She went to the stairs and started up, as the balcony room was the lowest in the underearth structure. She found the pantry and cellar and cut a slice of hard white cheese, poured herself some wine, and sat alone in the kitchen, eating and idly studying the hearth, marveling again at the craft involved in building this place. The kitchen was still some ten kingsyards beneath the surface, which meant a chimney must have been cut down to the fireplace, which drew perfectly.

That led her to muse about the possibility of cooking something for the evening meal. She hadn’t cooked in twenty years, but once she had rather enjoyed the alchemy of it.

She got up and started going through the pantry and was imagining what she might make from pork confit, pickled radishes, spelt flour, dried cod, and prunes, when she heard voices. She ignored them at first but noticed eventually that the language didn’t have the cadence of Hanzish. It sounded more like the king’s tongue.

She abandoned her exploration of dried goods and made her way down a short corridor that brought her to the great hall, a lovely chamber that must have been partly natural, for it had stone teeth depending from the ceiling, as she had heard existed in caves.

But the chamber didn’t hold her attention at the moment.

The many dead men on the floor did.

And Robert, talking to a fellow in a black jerkin. Robert, who now waved at her and smiled.

“We were just wondering where you were,” he said.

In the gray of almost dawn, Neil gauged the distance and wasn’t happy with what he thought.

“Is this the only way?” he asked.

“The only other way is down,” Brinna said. “There are twenty guardsmen between us and freedom there, and even at the peak of your fighting ability, I doubt you could manage that much killing.”

He nodded absently. He was standing on the casement of the only window in Brinna’s suite, which faced another tower and another window. The second building was perhaps three kingsyards away, the window around a yard lower than the one on which he stood. He was being asked to jump from one to the other.

Other towers jutted up all around, a virtual forest of them.

“Where are we?” he asked. “This doesn’t look like anyplace I saw in the city.”

“This is Kaithbaurg-of-Shadows,” she said.

“You live in the city of the dead?”

“I get my visions from the dead,” she said, “so it is convenient. Besides, haliurunnae are considered to be more dead than alive. Many people feel polluted by our presence.”

“That’s terrible,” he said.

“Can you jump that far?” she asked, passing the issue back into wherever seldom spoken of things belonged.

“Why not just lower us down to the ground?”

“The rope isn’t that long,” she said. “I took it from the boat, thinking I might have need of it one day, but I was only able to manage so much without it being noticed in my things.”

“Well,” Neil said, “I’ll jump it, then.”

He tossed the hauberk and sword first, worried at the echoing sound of their impact, and then flexed his knees.

He knew he wouldn’t manage to land on his feet, and he didn’t. He hit the bottom of the window with his breastbone and caught his arms over the edge. His left arm cramped up in a ball, and the right went weak, but he managed to get one elbow up, then the other, so that he could squirm through.

Alis tossed him the rope, and he tied his end on a roof beam above the window.

He waited impatiently as Alis tied off their end, then showed Brinna how to hang on the rope by her hands and knees. Even though it was a downward slope, he could see the princess was having trouble. Although she didn’t make a sound, tears were running from her eyes by the time Neil received her on his end.

He was astonished at the lightness of her body as he drew her in, at the feel of her. For an instant their gazes locked, and he wanted to brush the water that had collected on her cheeks.

He set her down instead and followed her gaze as she looked at her hands. They were bleeding, and he suddenly understood that she almost hadn’t made it, that what he thought of as a minor physical effort was at the further limits of her ability. Living one’s life in a tower didn’t do much to toughen the body. Courage, he reflected, was a relative thing.

Alis came across as quickly and surely as a spider while Neil armed and armored himself.

They had no choice but to untie their end of the rope and let it dangle on the other side to inform pursuers of where they had gone. Not that there was anywhere else to go, really.

Alis had brought a lantern, which she unshuttered to reveal three rickety chairs and rotting tapestries on the walls.

“Down,” Brinna said.

They had to cross the next room to continue, and there they were greeted by a skeleton in a rotted gown looking very relaxed in an armchair.

“My great-grandmother,” Brinna informed them. “When we die, our rooms are sealed off, and we remain in them.”

That seal was their next obstacle; a wall obstructed the stairs; fortunately, it was of rather desiccated wood rather than brick or stone. Neil was able to smash through it with the hilt of the broadsword he had chosen, and they continued down through the crypt until they reached the lowest level, which was sealed by an iron portal that, also fortunately, was not locked.

The northern wall of Kaithbaurg loomed a few kingsyards away, casting a permanent shadow on the bases of the cluster of fifteen towers that formed the heart of the shadow city. Moss was thick and springy underfoot, jeweled with colorful mushrooms.

“Quickly,” Brinna whispered.

They set off north on a path paved in lead brick, through the mansions of the dead that crowded up to the Hellrune towers, into the meaner dwellings beyond, and finally to the tombs of the poor, mass graves with nothing more than dilapidated wooden huts to act as shrines. It began to rain, and the path, no longer paved, quickly turned to viscous mud.

They came at last to a large iron gate flanked by stone towers in a wall that enclosed the necropolis and went around to join the one guarding Kaithbaurg.

A man in lord’s plate stepped from the gatehouse, raising his visor so that Neil could see the aged features within. His breastplate bore the hammer of Saint Under, marking him as a Scathoman, a guardian of the dead.

“Majesty,” the knight said, his voice formal and quavered by the rain. “What brings you here?” “Sir Safrax,” Brinna said. “It’s raining. I’m cold. Open the gate.”

“You know I can’t do that,” he said apologetically.

“I know you will,” she replied.

He shook his head. “Princess you may be, but my holy task is to see to the dead and keep you where you belong.”

Neil drew his sword. It was heavier than Battlehound.

He didn’t insult the older knight by saying anything. He just took a stance.

“Alarm!” the knight shouted, then drew his weapon and came at Neil.

They circled for a moment before Neil took the first swing, stepping in and cutting hard toward the juncture of neck and shoulder. Safrax turned so that the blow glanced from his armored shoulder and cut back. Neil ducked that and went under his arm and behind him. His arms already were aching, so he spun and hammered the blade into the back of the other knight’s helm, sending him down to his knees. Two more strokes ended it.

But by then three more knights had come clattering out of the tower, and he heard a horn blowing to broaden the alarm.

Robert smiled and gestured toward an armchair.

“Have a seat, my dear,” he said. “We should chat, you and I.”

Muriele took a step back, then another.

“I don’t believe I will,” she said. Every fiber of her wanted to run, but she knew that she would only sacrifice her dignity if she did so. Robert would catch her.

She tightened her belly and stood her ground.

“I don’t know how Hansa has put up with you this long,” she said, “but now you’ve killed your host’s men. I think you’ve worn out your welcome.”

“I’m going to sit,” Robert said. “Join me if you wish.”

He folded his lean frame into a second armchair. “There are a few things wrong with your supposition,” he said. “The first is that anyone will ever find these bodies. The whole point of this place is that it is secret, yes? And if Berimund returns—and that is itself a very large if because his father is quite mad with rage at him—there is no reason for him to suspect my hand in this. But a much more profound trouble with your reasoning is the fact that I’m leaving Hansa anyway. It proved a useful haven, but I’m not so foolish as to believe that Marcomir would put me on the throne.”

“What are you up to, then? Where could you possibly go?”

“Crotheny. I have one small thing in Newland to tidy up, and then I’ll be on to Eslen.”

“Anne will execute you.”

“You know I can’t die. You tested it with my own knife.”

“True. So your head will live after it’s struck off. Perhaps Anne will keep it in a cage as an amusement.” “She might, but I don’t think so. Obviously, or I wouldn’t go back there. It’s all about to happen, Muriele. I’ve no idea how things will turn out, but I have nothing to lose and everything to gain.” “What’s happening?” Muriele asked. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing for you to worry about,” he said. “I didn’t really come here to drag you back into politics. I’m here to bring you a gift.”

“A gift?”

“A musical gift from your own court composer.”

Music started then, a soft chord growing louder, and she saw that Robert’s companion was playing a small thaurnharp.

Neil sighed and backed toward the gate, hoping to keep from being surrounded.

“Lady Berrye,” he said softly. “I can only hold them for a moment. Do what you can.”

“I will, Sir Neil,” she said.

“Do not die cheaply, Sir Neil,” Brinna said. “A little time should help.”

“It will be very little,” Neil said.

Alis laid her arm on the princess, and they suddenly became difficult to look at. He couldn’t put his gaze on them, but that was just as well, because he had a lot to pay attention to.

The lead knight cut at him, and Neil dodged to the side so that the weapon scraped through the metal bars of the gate. Neil hit the outstretched arm with his off-weapon hand, forcing him to lose his grip on the sword. With his weapon hand he cut at the knee of the knight to his right and felt it shear through the joint, setting the man—quite understandably—to screaming. Neil suppressed a shriek of his own as his arm shot with the pain of the blow, and his fingers loosened their grip. Gasping, he lunged at the third knight, wrapped his arms around the knight’s knees, lifted him and dumped him on his head. He fell, too, rolled, and came back up. The first man had recovered his sword and was advancing on him.

He heard horses blowing behind him and the thump of hooves.

He hoped that Alis had gotten Brinna away.

But then something odd happened. The knight straightened and looked past him.

“Put that away,” a voice said. “I command here.”

Neil turned and found Prince Berimund and about ten riders behind him. The gate was being raised. “But my Prince, this man was—”

“My sister is in my care now,” Berimund said. “And so is that woman and this man.”

“The king—”

“You may take this up with me now or with my father later. You will not have the chance to do both.” The knight hesitated and then bowed. “Yes, Majesty.”

“Come along, Sir Neil,” Berimund said. “Your queen has been asking after you.”

They rode west into country that quickly became rugged and verdant. Berimund and his men seemed to know their way, moving through the dense forest as if they had been born there. Neil reflected that he never would have imagined this Berimund from the one he’d met on the road. This Hansan prince was more in his element, freed of the fetters of court and the restraints upon honor they created. He and his men seemed almost to be able to hear one another’s thoughts, to be the band of brothers they claimed to be in name.

Kaithbaurg wasn’t a black fortress, and the prince of Hansa was a man with a history, friends, and scruples. He was still, of course, an enemy, but an enemy Neil would gladly call a friend if the times changed, and one he could kill or die by the hand of with a warrior’s dignity.

Brinna he was having trouble even thinking about. She was still very much the woman he had met on the Lier Sea whose voice and expression had haunted him since he’d first opened his eyes to her. But there was something cold in her center he’d only sensed then, the thing that allowed her to poison someone and speak of it as if she had put a cat out the door.

But if she was cold, why did she seem like white fire from the corner of his eye? Why could he still feel the heat on his hands from touching her, even through the steady drizzle of rain?

He glanced at her and found her studying him, or thought he did. It was too dark to see her eyes beneath the eaves of the hat her brother had given her to keep the rain off.

They rode through the day as the rain grew steadily colder and more miserable. Mists lay heavy in the trees, dying dragons dragging themselves off to watery graveyards. Berimund’s men lit torches that hissed and sputtered and trailed noxious, oily fumes but still burned, until at last they reached a stone face concealed by a sort of wickerwork grown over with vines, which Berimund shifted to reveal a stout wooden door. He stood looking at it for several long moments.

“What’s wrong?” Neil asked.

“It ought to be locked,” he said. “It isn’t even closed.”

Neil was off his horse before the thought to dismount was even conscious. He drew his stolen weapon and stalked toward the door.

“You’ll follow us, Sir Neil,” Berimund insisted. “We know this place, and you do not.”

Two of his scouts went ahead, and then they all dismounted, tying the horses near the entrance. Stairs carved in living rock took them down.

Not much later they debouched into a large chamber carved in antique style but furnished much like Berimund’s hall in Kaithbaurg.

The floor was littered with the dead. He heard a sudden, sharp sob from Berimund, who flung himself at the corpses, lifting their heads, kissing them, moving from one to the next in the vain hope that one still breathed.

Then Alis pushed past him and flew across the floor, the muddy hem of her dress dragging a snail’s trail behind her.

Neil saw then, too, and ran after her, knowing his heart would fail.

Muriele did not look like she was sleeping. Her lips were almost black, and even in torchlight he could make out the bluish tinge of her skin. Alis had the queen’s head cradled in her arms. Her eyes were open, her features twisted into a look of utter and desolate despair such as he had never seen.

Something lay on the floor beside her. In a daze he reached for it and found that it was a half-withered rose.

He rose up, choking back tears but letting the rage rise up, each breath filling him with red light. He stepped toward Berimund, who still knelt with his own, and stepped again, nearly treading on a dead man staring up at him with the same forsaken expression as Muriele.

Berimund hadn’t done this. Berimund hadn’t known about it. But Berimund was the only enemy before him, and by the saints, the floor was going to be red.

“No,” Brinna said. “Stop there, Neil.”

It arrested him. He hadn’t seen her enter the chamber or follow him to Muriele’s body. Her tear-jeweled eyes caught him like iron bands.

“Why would you cry for my queen?” he snapped.

“I’m not,” she said. “I’m crying for you.”

His hand trembled on the sword. “Why didn’t you see this?” he asked. “You said Robert was coming…”

“I didn’t see this part,” she said. “I was occupied with other things.”

“Like your own escape? You knew Berimund would be at the gate.”

“There was nothing eldritch about that,” she said. “I heard he was in the city. I sent a message telling him of my plans. Besides you, Berimund is the only one I trust.”

“Was it Robert?”

“I can see your queen,” she said, her voice suddenly dreamier. “I see a man, hear a music…” She trailed off, her breath quickening, her eyes rolling back.

“Make her stop,” Alis said. “Sir Neil, make her stop.”

Brinna was trembling now as if an invisible giant had taken her in his hand and was shaking her. He gripped her by the shoulders.

“Brinna,” he said. “Wake up. Stop seeing.”

She didn’t appear to hear him, so he shook her harder.

“Brinna!”

“What are you doing to my sister?” Berimund’s raging voice shouted from across the room.

“Brinna!”

Blood began running from her nose.

“Swanmay,” Neil cried in desperation. “Swanmay, return!”

She went rigid and suddenly sighed, collapsing against him, her heart beating weakly.

He felt the tip of a sword prick his neck.

“Put her down,” the prince commanded.

Neil cut his eye toward the prince but kept Brinna bundled against him, feeling her heart strengthen. “Do as I say!” Berimund exploded, pushing hard enough that Neil felt blood start on his neck.

“No.” Brinna’s hand came up and rested on the blade. “He saved me, Baur.” She gently pushed down on the weapon and then reached for her brother. He tugged her away from Neil and wrapped her in both arms.

Neil just stood there, his knees feeling weak.

Alis took his elbow and got under his arm to support him.

“Robert did this,” she said. “I’m certain of it.”

Neil walked back to Muriele and sank slowly to his knees, understanding finally reaching his grieving brain.

She’s gone. He couldn’t protect her anymore. There was nothing else he could do.

Except find Robert and cut him into so many pieces that it wouldn’t matter if he was alive or not.