by Greg Keyes
"That's very dramatic," Sir Roger replied. "In fact, the Fratrex Prismo makes similar claims about what will happen if you do reach the valley. Imagine who I believe. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to oversee this. I promise you, I will spare whoever I can."
"Harm any of them and I'll send you straight to Grim," Aspar said.
"Grim? How quaint. A mountain heretic."
"I'm serious," Aspar said. "I'll kill you."
"Well that is as may be," the knight replied. "I'll trust you to think about the method."
They tied him up and put him under guard, leaving him to continue contemplating his mistake. He knew that there were monks who could hear a butterfly's wing against the breeze; Stephen had been one such. But when he'd been able to slip into camp, apparently unnoticed, he'd reckoned this bunch didn't have any of those.
And maybe they didn't. Leshya seemed to have escaped without being seen.
Maybe part of him wanted to be caught. This way, at least, the Sarnwood witch wouldn't get her way.
But what if Fend was right?
It was hard to even consider that. It was also moot; it no longer mattered what he thought.
A bell or so before dawn, the monks broke down the tent and lashed him over the back of a horse, then set off at a fast trot. There was a lot of shouting about formations and such, so Aspar figured that Emfrith must be giving better than Harriot had imagined he would. He wished they would set him upright so that he could see.
They reached a ridge top, and the horsemen started forming ranks.
Aspar smelled autumn leaves.
A sudden marrow-scraping scream went up, and he tried to lift his head higher. Then something knocked the horse out from under him. Blood came down like hot rain, and he had to blink it out of his eyes to see.
Gasping, he tucked his legs up and brought his bound hands from behind, cursing at the pain, eyes searching wildly for the source of the horse's disembowelment. But all he saw were the stamping hooves of other horses, and all he heard were screams of pain, terror, and defiance.
He got his hands under his boots and pulled forward, then started working at the knots keeping his feet together.
As he did that, the fighting moved away from him. By the time he could stand up, it was well down the ridge, leaving only carnage behind. Almost twenty horses were down, and nearly as many men. He took a dirk from one of the corpses and whittled through what remained of his bonds. He found a throwing ax on a headless body and stuck it in his belt.
From his vantage, he could see two battles being fought. One was up on the ridge with him, albeit farther down. He could see only part of it, but he could make out a couple of greffyns and an utin tearing at what remained of Harriot's rear guard.
Most of the rest of the army of the Church lay dead in the valley below, sprawled side by side with dozens of dead and dying sedhmhari. Only a few dozen men remained, and he recognized some of them as Emfrith's horsemen.
That was his fight, then. He started down the slope as quickly as he dared and as his legs allowed him.
He picked his way through the corpses, and by the time he reached the knot of men, only half a dozen of Emfrith's men were still on their feet. They faced about ten churchmen, three of them still mounted. Of Winna there was no sign.
One of the knights saw him and wheeled his way but was unable to come to a full charge because of the heaped bodies. Aspar took the ax out of his belt and hurled it from four kingsyards away. It smacked into the knight's visor, and his head popped back. Aspar followed close behind the missile, grabbing the man's arm, hauling him out of the saddle, and slamming him to the ground. Then he stabbed the dirk up under the helm and though his neck.
With bleak purpose he turned to the next man, and then the next…
When it was over, Aspar, Emfrith, and two of his warriors were all that remained.
But Emfrith didn't have long. He had been stabbed through the lungs, and blood was choking out with his breath.
"Holter," he managed to gasp. "You have a berry for this?" He was trying to sound brave, but Aspar could see the terror on his face.
He shook his head. "I'm afraid not, lad," he said. "Do you know what happened to Winna?"
"Leshya took her before the fighting started. Said you had sent for her."
"I sent for her?"
Emfrith nodded. "Some of the knights broke off and went north. I think they may have gone after them."
"Maybe. I'll find her."
"I wish I could help."
"You've helped plenty," Aspar said.
"Be good to her," Emfrith said. "You don't deserve her. You're a damned fine man, but you don't deserve her."
"I know," Aspar said.
"It's a good death, isn't it?"
"It's a good death," Aspar agreed. "I'm proud of you. Your father will be, too."
"Don't you tell him. He'll hang you."
Aspar nodded. "I've got to go," he said. "You understand?"
"Yes."
Aspar rose and collected the ax. He found a bow and a few arrows, a dirk, then a horse. Emfrith's men stayed with him.
He wondered where Ehawk was. He hoped he was with Leshya but didn't have time to search the dead.
The battle on the ridge seemed to be over, too. At least he didn't see anything moving up there anymore.
He rode south, along the valley bottom.
Fend was waiting for him.
CHAPTER FOUR
OVER BLUFF AND DOWN SLOUGH
NEIL'S STEED stumbled, tried to catch her stride, then stopped and tossed her head, blowing. Her coat was slick with foam, and her withers trembled. Neil leaned forward and stroked her neck, speaking to her in his native language.
"It'll be fine, girl," he told her. "The prince says we'll be giving you a rest in less than a league. But I need you to go now, yes? Let's do it."
He gave her a gentle nudge, and she started gamely forward, finally working up to match the canter of the others.
"It's a beautiful evening," he told the mare. "Look at the sun there, on the water."
Three days of hard riding had brought them to an old coastal trail that wound over bluff and down slough. The sun was going home, and Saltmark Sound was skinned copper.
Part of him yearned toward that water, those islands, to be adrift in those terrible and familiar waters. He had been too long landlocked.
But he had things to do, didn't he? What his heart wanted was no matter at all.
That sent him glancing ahead to where Brinna rode behind her brother, looking paler and less well than he had ever seen her. She had never ridden a horse, much less endured the tortures of a hard ride of many days. He was sore to the bone; he couldn't imagine how she must feel. To even remain mounted she had to be belted to Berimund. He feared in his bones she wouldn't survive.
As the sun touched the water, they came to an old castle on a little spit of stone sticking out into the sea. Barnacles up its walls showed that during the highest tides it must be cut off entirely from land. The tide was rising now but was far from high enough to cover the causeway, so they rode in to change their horses, the third time they had done so since starting their push for Crotheny. Berimund was being careful. The first of his friends he had visited had told him his father had put a price on his head and on the head of every man who aided him.
So they traveled ways less straight and warded than the great Vitellian Way.
They didn't stop for long. Neil kissed the mare on her soaking forehead as they led her away and met his new mount, Friufahs, a roan gelding. He was introducing himself when he heard Brinna say something he couldn't make out.
"It's not seemly," he heard Berimund answer.
"Nevertheless," Brinna replied, "it is my wish."
His gaze attracted by the conversation, Neil saw Berimund looking at him.
The Hansan walked over. "You have been alone with my sister on more than one occasion."
"That's true," Neil said.
"Have you b
een improper with her?"
Neil straightened. "I understand you might doubt me, but why would you cast such aspersions on your sister, sir?"
"My sister is both very wise and very naive. She has not known many men, Sir Neil. I'm only asking you for the truth."
"Nothing inappropriate happened," Neil said. "Not when we were alone. When she set me off her ship in Paldh, I did kiss her. I did not mean to dishonor her in any way."
"She told me about that. She told me she asked you to kiss her."
He nodded.
"You did not think that part worth telling, although not doing so would put you in my ill graces?"
"It is her business," Neil said, "and not my place to make excuses."
"You admit, then, that you should have refused her?"
"I should have. I can't say I'm sorry I didn't."
"I see."
He looked out at the half-vanished sun. "She wants to ride with you for a while," he said. "I don't think it's right, but she is my sister, and I love her. Do not take undue advantage, sir."
He returned to Brinna and helped her over and up behind Neil. He felt her there, taut as a cord, as Berimund strapped them together. Her arms went awkwardly around his waist, as if she were trying somehow to hold on to him without touching him.
Resupplied and rehorsed, they continued on along the coast. Small, scallop-winged silhouettes appeared and fluttered against the bedimmed sky, and a chill breeze came off the waves. Far out at sea he made out the lantern on the prow of a lonely ship. Inland, a nightjar churred.
"I'm sorry about your queen," Brinna said. "I wish I could have met her."
"I wish you could have, too," Neil replied. "I wish I could have saved her."
"You're thinking if you hadn't been in our prison, you might have."
"Maybe."
"I can't say. But I couldn't act until Berimund came, and I wouldn't have been able to find where she was without him. Neither could you have."
He nodded but didn't answer.
"He thought she was safe. He intended to keep her safe."
"I know," Neil said. "I don't blame you."
"You blame yourself."
"I shouldn't have let her come."
"How would you have stopped her?"
He didn't have anything to reply to that, so they rode on tacitly for a bit. "It sounds so easy in the stories, riding a horse," Brinna finally ventured.
"It's not so bad when you're used to it," he said. "How are you doing?"
"Parts of me are on fire, and others feel dead," she said.
"Then let's rest for a day or so," he urged. "Let's get you out of the saddle."
"We can't," she murmured. "We have to reach her before Robert does."
"Anne?"
"Not Anne. A little girl. She's in Haundwarpen with a man and a woman. There is music all around them, some terrible, some beautiful, some both."
"That sounds familiar," Neil said.
"The man and woman are newly wed. The child is not theirs."
"There was a composer named Ackenzal," Neil said. "A favorite of-of the queen's. She attended the wedding, and I went with her. She and his wife have a girl in their care: Mery, the daughter of Lady Gramme."
"Yes. And half sister to Anne, yes?"
"So they say."
"You can guide us when we're near?"
"What has this to do with mending the law of death?" Neil asked.
"Everything," she replied. "And if Robert knows that, she is in terrible danger."
"How should Robert know it?"
"I don't know. But I see him there." She paused for a moment. "I know what killed Queen Muriele and Berimund's wulfbrothars."
"It nearly killed you, too."
"Yes. It's music, horrible and yet somehow lovely. Once you begin listening, it is very difficult to stop. If you hadn't stopped me, if you hadn't called that other name, I would be gone now."
"The name from the ship."
"Yes," she whispered. He wished he could turn and see her face. "The ship, when I wasn't me and you weren't you."
"But now we are who we are."
"Yes," she replied. "We are who we are."
He thought she paused, as if meaning to go on, but she didn't, at least following from that thought.
"I told you I had a higher purpose," she finally said.
"You did."
Again she seemed to feud with herself for a moment before going on.
"I once had three sisters," she said. "We were called by many names, but in Crotheny and Liery we were most often known as the Faiths."
"As in the stories? The four queens of Tier na Seid?"
"Yes and no. There are many stories. I am what is real."
"I don't understand."
"There were Faiths before me who wore my masks. Many of them, going back to the hard days after Virgenya Dare vanished. We were known as Vhatii then. Time changes tongues and twists names. We have lived, some of us hiding in the open, others secluded in distant places. We're not real sisters, you understand, but women born with the gift. When we grow old, when our powers fail and even the drugs no longer open our vision, we find our replacements."
"But what do you do?"
"It's hard to explain. We are very much creatures of two natures. Here, we are human; we eat and breathe, live and die. But in the Ambhitus, the Not World, we are the sum of all who have gone before us-more and less than human. And we see need. Until recently our visions were rarely specific; we reacted as plants bend toward the sun. But since the law of death has been broken, our visions have become more like true prescience. My sisters and I worked for years to assure that Anne would take the throne, and in one terrible, clear moment I saw how mistaken we were to do so.
"My sisters would not believe me, and so they died, along with the order we founded, or at least most of them. Your Alis was once one of ours."
"She knew who you were."
"When she saw me, yes. Not before."
"How did your sisters die?"
"That's complicated, too. Anne killed them, in a way-the Anne that was and will be, not the one you know. The one she is becoming."
"How did you escape?"
"I withdrew from the Ambhitus and hid. I abandoned my role as a Faith and dedicated myself to correcting our mistake."
"And now?"
"As I said, Anne is beyond me. But I have a chance to mend the law of death. The girl, Mery-we've been watching her. She has a strange and wonderful power-like mine in ways but also unlike anything that has ever been. Before she died, one of my sisters planted the seed in the composer so that he and Mery could undo the damage to the law. I must now see that to fruition."
"If the law of death is mended-"
"Yes. Robert will die."
"Let's do that, then," he muttered.
The moon set, and stars jeweled the sky. They moved from canter to trot and back to delay wearing out their mounts.
Brinna, shivering from fatigue, sagged into him and then straightened.
"Hold on or you'll fall off," he said.
"I wish…" she sighed.
"What?" He managed to croak, though he knew he shouldn't.
She didn't answer, and behind him she felt even more rigid than when she first had been placed there.
"I said there were three reasons I risked having you brought up from the dungeons," she murmured.
"Yes. You said the third didn't matter."
"I said it didn't matter then," she said. "I never meant it didn't matter. Do you remember the first two reasons?"
"You said that you didn't believe I could be an assassin and that you thought we could help each other."
"You have to understand my world," she said. "The way I lived. Four attempts that I know of were made on my life; one was by one of my own cousins, who was afraid I would see that he was cuckolding my father. A coven-trained assassin sent from Crotheny when I was ten. I don't know who sent her. A Black Talon killer from the dark forests of Vestrana ca
me closest. He actually had the dagger to my throat. I want you to understand all of that because although I didn't want to think you would kill me, part of me still thought you might."
"Then why? What was the third reason?"
"The third reason was that I was willing to risk death to touch you again."
The horse thunked along in silence as a great bloody moon sank toward the dark sea.
"I love you," he said.
He felt her soften, then mold against his back, and her arms were suddenly comfortable and familiar around his waist. He couldn't, didn't dare turn around to kiss her, but it didn't matter. It was the best thing he had ever felt in his life, and for the next few bells nothing, not his failure, not his grief, not even his thirst for revenge, could distract him from the woman who had her arms around him, from the mystery and wonder of her.
CHAPTER FIVE
ACMEMENO
CAZIO STROKED Austra's face, then gently prized open her lips and dribbled some watered wine between them. After a moment her throat worked, and the liquid went down.
He regarded her still features, trying not to let the strange panic rise.
She's still alive, and so there's hope, he thought.
"Anne will have chirgeons who can cure you," he assured the sleeping girl. "This always turns out well in the stories, doesn't it? Although there it's usually the kiss of the handsome prince. Am I not handsome or princely enough?"
The carriage rumbled on for a moment.
"We might not even have to go all the way to Eslen," he told her. "We'll be at Glenchest by this afternoon. Probably the duchess can help us."
Austra, of course, said nothing.
They ran into a knight and his retainers about half a league from Glenchest, one Sir William, a servant of the duchess. He escorted them back to the rather baroque and defenseless mansion. The duchess did not meet them, which was rather uncharacteristic, but after the men were settled in quarters in the village, Cazio received an invitation to dine with her. He took z'Acatto and Austra in the carriage.
Elyoner Dare was a petite woman whose demure composure gave little immediate hint of her deep satisfaction in the pursuit of vice. One usually discovered her pleasantly wicked nature early in conversation, but this day she was very different from the last time he had seen her. She wore a black dress and a black net on her hair, and her courtiers and servants, usually quite colorfully attired, were also dressed in muted tones.