The Gathering Storm

by Kate Elliott

  “There remains one thing more, Holy One,” he said, unable to bear her silence and knowing that if Liath had a chance to speak he would weaken. He gestured toward the wagon.

  “What of my daughter?”

  Li’at’dano waited, and waited, but Liath neither spoke or opened her eyes. Tears wet her cheeks, but she made no sound, only sat there, rigid and suffering.

  At last, the shaman inclined her head to Sanglant with a touch of disdain, yet just perhaps in the manner of a teacher acknowledging a pupil’s apt question. “I have pondered deeply about the child. It may be I have thought of a way that will give us time to save her.”

  3

  ALTHOUGH Anna was busy making ready to go, Matto still found time to pester her.

  “Later, in the night, we could sneak out into the grass.”

  “And be eaten by the griffins?”

  “The prince did it. Out in the grass.”

  She looked at him, and he flushed, shamefaced, and hoisted a chest into the back of one of the wagons.

  Thiemo stalked over. “Are you bothering her?”

  “Is it any of your business?”

  They both seemed to have puffed themselves up with air, trying to look bigger and bulkier than they were, although indisputably Matto had the broader shoulders while Thiemo stood half a hand taller.

  “Stop it!” said Anna. “Does it matter that you’re jealous of each other? What will happen to us? Did you think of that? Will we abandon Blessing, or will we ask to stay with her?”

  Stay with her. Out in this God-forsaken place, separated, perhaps forever, from their homeland.

  She burst into tears. Matto and Thiemo shied away from her as she brushed past them, returning to the empty tent. Blessing had lain in the wagon all morning; no one wanted to disturb her, except for the healer who at intervals squeezed a bit of liquid down her throat through the reed.

  What did it matter? Blessing was to be handed over to the centaurs, and the rest of them would journey back across the interminable steppe. It didn’t bear thinking of. She began rolling up the traveling pallets, the last thing to go.

  “I will not abandon her. But I don’t want to stay here. I don’t want to stay.”

  So it went with those who served. Yet she hadn’t fared any better before the Eika invaded Gent, when she had lived under her uncle’s harsh care. The Eika invasion had freed her from her uncle’s house, but hiding in Gent had not made her and Matthias more comfortable. Quite the contrary. Matthias had been eager to apprentice himself out as soon as he was given the opportunity; he saw the worth of an orderly existence, with the promise of a meal every day and shelter over his head at night. War and plague and famine might afflict him—there was no defense against acts of God—but being a member of Mistress Suzanne’s household gave him a measure of security.

  Hadn’t God wanted her to go with Blessing? Why else would she have got her voice back just then? Whatever power earthly nobles held over her, it was but a feather on the wind compared to God’s power.

  “Anna?”

  “Go away, Matto.”

  “Nay, Anna, we’ll not go. We’ve talked it over.” Thiemo pushed in next to him, and they both knelt beside her where she was rolling up the last pallet. Everyone else had left the tent; after this tent came down, they would march.

  “We’ve talked it over, Anna. We’ll stay with you, both of us. No matter what. We won’t leave Princess Blessing. Or you.”

  She couldn’t speak because of the lump choking her throat. She tied up the pallet and picked up another, while Thiemo and Matto did the same. In silence they carried everything out to the wagon while soldiers dismantled the tent.

  They traveled all afternoon, first overland to the river and then upstream through tall grass. That night she slept restlessly under the wagon while Thiemo and Matto kept watch. She woke to hear footfalls rustling in grass as they paced; the wagon creaked as the healer sat the unconscious girl up and forced a precious bit of fluid into her, enough to keep her alive one day more.

  That was all they could hope for.

  She rolled over but could not go back to sleep. The constant irritation of breathing grass all day made her throat raw and painful. The wind had turned cold, and she shivered in her blankets, wishing she had a warm body to share them with. But whatever she did, whichever man she chose, the other would be angry and jealous. How could she balance one with the other? What if they lived for years out here, alone together among a foreign people? How was it possible that Matto and Thiemo would not, in the end, come to blows? Or worse? What if they decided that neither of them wanted her?

  She waited until they converged on the opposite side of the wagon and wriggled out, got to her feet, and dashed into the grass, bent over so they would not see her. Although she met no sentries, she didn’t go too far; she could not get the iron stink of the griffin out of her head. The hooded griffin paced along at the head of the procession, obedient to its master, and the big female flew overhead but circled down at night to curl up beside its mate.

  She heard them before she saw them, their muted voices whispering, and she stopped at the verge of a stand of stunted poplars growing just beyond the river’s edge. Through furled leaves budding on the trees she saw an amorphous beast perched on a rock overlooking the river. She froze, heart racing, knowing how foolish she had been to leave the safety of camp. If she did not move, perhaps the beast would lumber off without noticing her.

  Its murmured laugh made her shudder until, too late, she realized that she watched no beast at all but the prince romancing his wife, huddled close against her with a cloak thrown over their shoulders. How would it feel to sit with his arm tight around her, to feel his lips pressed close, to hear the murmuring of his voice as soft as the caress of the wind?

  She sidled closer.

  “Why didn’t you speak to me before? Why wait until the council, if you planned it all along?”

  “If I’d discussed it with you when we were alone, you’d have persuaded me otherwise. I couldn’t have done it. This way, there is no going back.”

  “Ai, God. I can’t bear to think of leaving you when we might never … If I die, Sanglant—”

  “Hush. Hush.”

  They hushed for a time, but eventually the lady composed herself. “I’ll need perhaps fifty troops to protect me. That should be enough to move swiftly, enough to provide a real shield, but not so many that they’ll be at risk when they cross through the crowns.”

  “Yes, twenty-five men and horses and twenty-five of the centaurs, and a few pack animals. You must take Breschius. For a captain … Wichman is daring and bold.”

  “Scarcely better than a savage!”

  “Then which other?”

  “Bertha seems competent and even-tempered.”

  “She’s not even-tempered, but she knows when to stay cool.”

  “And won’t be raping every comely girl her retinue passes by, I should think.”

  He chuckled. “As to that, if rumor is true, I can’t say.”

  Liath made a sharp, disgusted sound and there was a flurry of movement beneath the cloak. “It’s nothing to laugh over. How can you think it funny?”

  “Forgive me, my love. You’re right. Wichman’s behavior is nothing to make light of.” He bent his head and for a while, as Anna stared, knowing she ought not to, he kissed his wife. She couldn’t really see them clearly; there wasn’t enough moon, but she could see shapes and she could feel that kiss through the air, as though it were a live thing nudging against her body.

  After a while they disentangled, if not by much, and Liath spoke cautious words as delicately as if she were walking on ice.

  “I know you were alone for many years, yet it chafes me, a betrayal.”

  “Who betrayed whom first?”

  “I did not abandon you! I had no choice.”

  He was silent. The night lightened as the gibbous moon drifted free of clouds. Its silver ran on the waters.

  “How many
lovers?” Liath asked.

  “How many? Ah.” He hesitated, then sighed. “Well, first—”

  “Nay, I didn’t mean you must detail each one.”

  “Then why did you ask?” He got up, leaving her wrapped in the cloak, and paced to the river, where he scrabbled among the stones on the shore for a rock to toss into the rushing water. The plop of its splash was heard, not seen. “Not enough. Too many. And none of them were you. I hated you for leaving me.”

  And well you should have! Anna wanted to shout.

  What woman could bear to abandon such a man? It was all very well to prate about necessity and duty, but if you really cared for a person that much, you would never leave them behind, no matter what.

  Not unless they asked you to.

  “Ai, God, Liath. This hurts more than any injury I’ve ever suffered. I can’t bear to leave you again.”

  “I know. I know. But what choice have we, my love? We are prisoners of power. If we survive, we will be reunited. Now come. Don’t stand so far from me.”

  “Hsst! Anna!” The whisper made her leap right off the ground because it came so unexpectedly and from directly behind her. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I beg pardon, Captain Fulk! Just, um, just coming out to pee.”

  “If you’re finished, you might want to go back into camp. It isn’t wise for anyone to walk beyond the sentry line.”

  He pointedly did not look toward the river or the two figures now embracing. He waited until she sighed, and turned, and followed him back into camp.

  The stone circle stood on what had been an island before the river had eaten a new channel. Now it lay on a point with one flank washed by the flowing waters. The old secondary channel had filled in at one end, creating a rock-strewn earthen bridge between the land and the low hill where the crown was erected. Soldiers led the horses to drink by turns in the Slough while the prince, his wife, and the old shaman investigated the stone crown together with a dozen attendants.

  There were few trees in this part of the world, and even the brushy scrub along the riverbanks was scoured low by the winter winds and heavy snow, so the crown was easy to see. The stones shone golden where the weltering sunlight washed across them; a few glinted, light catching in crystals embedded deep, as if the stones were chiseled from granite or marble. There were nine in all, arranged not quite in a circle but in a figure that bore more resemblance to an oval. Two of the stones listed, and one stone stood perilously near a low bluff where the current wore away the earth. The grass between the stones had been trampled, revealing a hummock in the center.

  “I’ve never seen a crown all standing in place, like that one,” murmured Thiemo, shifting from one foot to the other as he, too, watched from beside Blessing’s wagon.

  “It makes me feel prickly all over,” agreed Matto. The two youths shared a look that, all at once, made Anna feel left out.

  Then they both glanced at her and the momentary camaraderie vanished as they turned away, hands clenching, backs stiff.

  No one moved to pitch camp. Like Anna they waited anxiously, not sure what would happen next. The bulk of the army formed up farther out on the grass, separate from the small party that would accompany Liath. Farthest back, a dozen soldiers stood guard over the hooded griffin.

  “What will happen?” asked Matto, unable to stand the suspense any longer.

  “Look,” said Anna. “They’re coming back.”

  A strong, cold wind started blowing from the north, and the healer rose from her seat at Blessing’s side to sniff at the air. With a frown, she shook her head.

  “Snow,” she said when Thiemo looked at her questioningly.

  As the prince and his entourage clambered up to the waiting army, Captain Fulk hurried away to talk to a cavalcade of sergeants awaiting his orders. The powerful centaur attending the old shaman trotted away to her own group, and, as Anna watched, the two lines began integrating, units of centaurs lining up between mounted horsemen, with Kerayit bowmen in the van and Fulk commanding the rear guard. Only Bertha and her two dozen soldiers stood their ground, together with a dozen centaurs, the wagon belonging to the witchwoman, and her Kerayit attendants.

  The prince strode up to the open wagon where Blessing lay. He leaned over the side, reaching out to touch his daughter’s pale face. Blessing breathed softly, but it was clear that it might well be only hours before her soul left her body. Liath came to stand beside him. A few tears glistened on her cheeks, and she wiped them away impatiently.

  “We do what we must,” she said.

  “I know.” He, too, was weeping, but he made no attempt to erase his tears. He stood there for a bit with his eyes shut and a hand resting on the girl’s sunken, hollow cheek. Liath said nothing. Maybe, Anna thought uncharitably, she was heartless; she didn’t seem as upset as she ought to be. Or maybe, just maybe, what she showed on her face wasn’t the mirror of her heart.

  Maybe.

  At last the prince sighed deeply and withdrew his hand. His gaze ranged over Blessing’s attendants. He seemed to be counting them off.

  “Well, then,” he said. “This task I will command none of you to accept, but I offer it in any case. One chance we have to save her—that she be placed in the barrow at the center of the crown in the hope that the spell woven by my wife will capture her in a kind of sleep.”

  “Until when?” asked Heribert, stepping forward to stare broodingly at the girl.

  Sanglant shrugged. “Until the crown of stars crowns the heavens. That is what we hope for. This is all we have. Otherwise, she will be dead by morning.” He had to stop because of the tears, but he mastered himself. “The Holy One tells us that for the spell to work there must be seven. That means we need six to attend her. I cannot promise you life, or death. It may be that nothing will happen, and that after Liath departs you emerge unscathed. In that case you will march west with us. You may die. Or you may wake in a year and a half out in this God-forsaken wilderness. If that comes to pass, then the Holy One has given us her word that some of her people will be here to rescue you. So.”

  “I’ll go,” said Heribert instantly. The terrible expression on his face made Anna want to weep, but it was hard enough to listen without running away in fear. It was hard, knowing what she must do and yet fearing to do it.

  “I go,” said the healer in her broken Wendish. “The Holy One command me.”

  Gyasi stepped forward. “We serve the blessing through life and into death. My nephews and I will go.”

  “Nay, you I have need of, Gyasi. I need you as a guide and to interpret and persuade the Quman. You serve her better if you help me win the war.”

  “Then take of my nephews as many as you need, lord prince.”

  Sanglant nodded. “So I shall.”

  “I will go, my lord prince.” Anna’s voice shook as she said the words. She had never been so frightened in her life, not even when Bulkezu had taken her as a hostage.

  “And I,” said Matto.

  “I will, too,” said Thiemo, not to be shown up.

  Sanglant nodded, his frown so deep that it looked likely to scar his face. “One of your nephews I’ll need, Gyasi. One who can fight.”

  The shaman nodded.

  Matto was white and Thiemo standing so rigid that he looked awkward. They said nothing, and looked not at each other nor at her, as if the merest meeting of eyes would shatter their resolve.

  “She’ll have to be carried in,” said Liath. “They may as well take a few things.”

  “Like a burial,” murmured Sanglant hoarsely. “In the old days they buried queens and kings in this manner, stowed with their treasures.” He shook himself and pushed away from the wagon. “Let it be done, then. I can bear this no longer.”

  “I’ll carry her,” said Matto.

  “I will!” insisted Thiemo.

  “Nay, neither of you,” said Sanglant sharply. “I’ll carry her.”

  They made a ragged little procession, laden with bundles, as the
y crossed what had once been a sandbar thrown up by the way the current had dredged into the earth. No one called after them, bidding them safe passage. Anna kicked stones rubbed round by the tumble of the water and left high and dry when the current shifted and this channel turned into a backwater. Once they reached the old island, she slogged up a gentle slope through low scrub. Gnats and tiny flies swarmed, and she batted them away and was relieved, really, to step past the stones into the ring because, for a miracle, no gnats or flies passed that invisible line.

  The hummock revealed itself to be a barrow constructed in a way familiar to Anna from ones left behind by the ancient ones along the river north of Gent. It was larger than it had seemed from the mainland. A passage grave made by stones had been covered by turf, now overgrown with grass, yellow violets, and, to her surprise, a rash of variegated irises. The spray of flowers reminded her of funeral wreaths placed on the coffins of the dead, but she only gripped her bundle of clothes and oddments tightly and kept marching. She glanced back once toward the army, forming up into a tight marching line, units close together and some of the wagons abandoned and rolled to one side, including the one in which Blessing had lain. Bertha’s troop moved up behind them onto the sandbar, and halted.

  “Let me kiss her now,” said Liath. She kissed her daughter on the brow, then drew an arrow from her quiver and retreated out of the stone circle, stopping at a sandy patch of ground that faced east, so close to the bluff that one more step backward would send her tumbling into the river.

  As she might deserve to, thought Anna, then squelched the thought, afraid that such feelings would doom her. She had to pray, to focus her thoughts on her dying mistress, but her hands did shake so that the bundle seemed likely to drop right out of her grasp even though it was loosely swaddled and easy to grip.

  “Anna?” Matto sidled close up against her.

  “Nay, you just leave her alone,” muttered Thiemo.

  “Stop it!”

  Heads turned at her tone, but the solemn proceedings captured their attention again.