Unlike the young soldier, Federco felt calm. It was a trait that had marked his first military enlistment, and it had also come in handy during the high-stakes business negotiations of his middle age. Now, as a commander of a squadron of untested recruits, Federco once again relied on his uncanny ability to keep a cool head. “Remain in your positions until I give the signal to attack,” he said.
The soldier nodded, though a disconcerted look crossed his face. “But, sir . . . shouldn’t we move our men down from the ridgeline? We have only a few archers here. We can’t defend this little knob without reinforcements.”
“I’ll call for them when necessary,” Federco replied crisply. “Prepare your archers. Be ready to shoot on my command.”
The soldier saluted and moved off.
Federco watched the Rovers draw near. They were traveling through a narrow vale with steep snow-covered mountain flanks on either side. It was the perfect location for the plan Federco had in mind. The enemy was on foot, forty warriors armed with battle-axes, swords, and spears. A few weeks earlier they had raided an Ulmbartian village, killing all the men and carrying off the young women and boys. Federco felt sick at what those unfortunate captives had endured since the raid. Give me victory, mighty Deus, he prayed, for he was secretly a Knight of the Cross. Then help me find the prisoners!
When the Rovers entered an open snowfield Federco raised his bugle to his lips. He took a deep breath and sounded the attack. The Ulmbartian archers rose from their hiding places on the rocky outcrop. Down below in the open area, the Rovers bunched together and drew their weapons. Though the barbarians were still a quarter-league away, Federco’s archers raised their bows to the sky and sent their arrows arcing toward the enemy. Little damage was done, but the volley kept the warriors from advancing any farther. They jeered at the Ulmbartian soldiers, yet hesitated to charge for fear of the deadly missiles.
Now Federco blew another blast on his bugle. “Remain in position!” he yelled to the archers, who looked around in confusion. They did not know the meaning of the second bugle call because it wasn’t intended for them. It was a signal to the troops stationed on the mountainside above the Rovers.
Before the bugle’s echo died away, an answering call resounded from the top of a steep white slope. The notes were low and sustained, for they weren’t played on bugles but on long alpenhorns taken from a herder’s barn. While some of the soldiers blew the deep-throated horns, others began to dislodge huge boulders and vibrate ropes stretched in the snow. Federco could see his men like tiny black dots moving along a snowfield that was exposed to the afternoon sun. It was an avalanche zone if ever there was one.
The Rovers turned around and began shouting and pointing up the slope. The danger to them was clear, yet so was the risk of advancing inside the archers’ range.
A jagged line materialized across the head of the snow slope, then the mountain itself seemed to crumble. Though Federco knew his men were deployed along the slope’s upper edge, when the snow began to move he offered a quick prayer that they had all scrambled high enough. A huge slab broke off, sending swirls of powder curling into the air. The leading edge of the avalanche began to speed down the slope like a wolf streaking toward its prey. As the snow raced into the valley, it picked up other streams until it formed an implacable wall of white death.
Now the terrified Rovers charged toward Federco’s archers. Though several fell to arrows, the rest pressed on. But the oncoming snow was moving much faster than a man could run. It whooshed into the valley, billowing and roiling as it engulfed the Rovers in its freezing embrace. Even Federco’s archers, who stood on high ground, were so intimidated by the spectacle that they scurried back from their positions.
At last the avalanche’s force was spent. The valley was now a jumbled expanse of churned-up snow. Nothing moved in the awful hush.
Federco stood up from the ledge that was his vantage point. He knew the Rovers’ camp must be within a few hours’ march. The Ulmbartian captives would be there, lightly guarded now that the forty warriors were gone. It was a great victory.
The lieutenant approached Count Federco, visibly shaken. “I’m f-from the plains,” he stammered. “I’ve never seen anything like that! Danger lurks everywhere in these mountains!”
Federco stood with his hands on his hips, appraising the young recruit. He was a good man, though inexperienced and in need of courageous leadership. The count gave a hearty laugh.
“Well, get used to it, soldier,” he said. “Our next assignment is to capture Eagle Pass.”
Ana stood on a grassy bank with the sparkling Tooner Sea behind her. It was high summer, so the fields were awash with bright red poppies. Teo faced her, handsome and smiling. A lock of his tousled hair hung over his forehead. He wore the Royal Guard’s dress uniform, and his boots were polished to a shine. Ana smoothed her white gown as the march began to play. All eyes were on her: Father, Mother, Lina, Aunt Rosetta . . .
A black alpine chough circled in the sky. Suddenly it folded its wings and dived. Its yellow beak was razor-sharp. It pecked at Ana, seeking her eyes. She covered her face, crying, “Teo! Help me! Get it off!” But Teo did not come.
The bird seized her eyeball and plucked it out, then flew to the Iron Shield and landed on his shoulder. He stood there laughing at her.
“Give it back!” Ana demanded.
The warrior held out his hand. In his palm was a glass eye like a cat’s. “A gift for you, my love,” he said.
Ana inhaled a huge breath and bolted upright in her bed.
The room was dark. Her heart raced. Pain stabbed her eye. She grasped her eyelid and pulled it down by the lashes to produce tears. Wiping her eye with the heel of her hand, she blinked furiously until the eyelash or whatever had caused the irritation washed free.
Ana slowed her breathing and collected herself in her bedroom at the little convent by the sea. Eventually the nightmare receded. A wedding? Ana lay back on her pillow and considered that. Like every girl, she had daydreamed about her wedding before. Now that she and Teo had acknowledged their love, she thought about it quite often. But tonight’s dream was much more vivid than those fantasies. She felt as if she had actually experienced the emotions of her wedding day. Ana smiled at how thunderstruck Teo had looked as she walked toward him . . .
Abruptly the wisps of the dream that lingered in Ana’s mind vanished, and the real world rushed to take its place. Sadness filled Ana’s heart as she realized how far she was from an idyllic wedding in Chiveis with her family and friends. Physical distance from her homeland was only part of the problem. So many other things had to change if this particular dream was to come true. I’m a condemned criminal, Ana recalled. And Teo is across an ocean! He had not come home for the winter, and the seas were just now beginning to open again.
She glanced over to the second bed. Vanita was there, a sleepyhead who rarely awakened at night. Ana, in contrast, often found herself sleepless. Now wide awake, she decided to visit the chapel to seek the face of Deu. Grabbing her shawl, she tiptoed from the room.
The convent was quiet. Ana clutched the shawl close to her neck, glad for its warmth over her thin nightshift. Now that it was the third month, the daytime temperatures had begun to warm up, but the nights along Roma’s coast were still cool.
She reached the staircase and descended to the main floor. The chapel door creaked as she pushed it open. The moon was new, so no light filtered through the clerestory windows. Ana lit a couple of tapers in a candelabra by the door, then carried one of them with her as she walked down the dark nave. The table at the front was set for the Meal that the sisters celebrated. Ana had never partaken of that solemnity because she had not yet undergone the Washing. After setting the taper in a candlestick on the table, she retrieved the Sacred Writing from the reading pulpit. She was about to open it when something caught her eye. High above, through the window of the apse, a bright light gleamed against the night sky: the morning star.
Ana shi
vered. A memory rushed through her mind of the time she had fled from a chapel much like this one as a demon pursued her. Was that real or just a hallucination? Ana didn’t know, though she certainly believed in evil spirits. They masqueraded as gods for men to worship, sharing their power with their most devoted followers. According to the fourteenth chapter of Isaias, the morning star was the symbol of Astrebril: “Behold, you are fallen from heaven, Brilliant Star, son of the dawn!” Teo had told Ana that the words for “brilliant star” in the original Fluid Tongue were Astre Brillant.
And yet, as Ana considered the pinpoint of light glistening through the window, a new testimony came to her mind. She opened the Sacred Writing and flipped the pages by the steady light of the candle on the table. At last she found the passage she sought in the book of the Apocalypse, the twenty-second chapter: “I, Iesus, have sent my angel to declare these things to you in the churches. I am the root and descendant of David, the bright Morning Star.”
Iesus is the true Morning Star!
It made sense, for the star signaled the coming of sunrise. Though Astrebril posed as a dawn god, it was Iesus alone who provided new life. The glory of the morning—light triumphing over darkness—belonged to the one who had defeated death. Ana felt glad to be joined to the new life of Iesus, though it angered her that Astrebril sought to usurp his glory. She pointed her finger at the star. “Impostor!” she accused. “I see you for what you are! I’m not afraid of you!”
“You should be, Anastasia.”
Who said that? Ana spun around, but no one was in the chapel. Was it a voice in my head? It sounded so real!
The door to the chapel began to ease shut, creaking as it moved.
Leave me alone!
Ana hurried to the door, wanting to catch it before it closed and locked her inside, but she couldn’t reach it in time. A gust of wind swirled about the room, extinguishing the candles and plunging the chapel into darkness. Then the door slammed shut.
Ana’s heart thrummed in her chest, but she forced herself to remain calm. That was normal, she decided. Doors often move when air pressures are altered, like when someone opens a window . . .
A window?
What’s going on here?
Ana reached for the knob and was relieved to feel it turn in her hand. She peeked into the hallway. A cold breeze stirred her nightshift against her calves.
Behind her something cackled.
The sound made Ana cry out. She whirled, terrified of what she would see. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Gooseflesh broke out across her forearms.
But the chapel was dark and silent.
Ana backed through the doorway into the corridor. Her legs felt shaky. A sense of foreboding weighed on her. She knew something terrible was about to happen.
The door to the chapel started to move again, groaning on its hinges. Ana had seen enough. She started to flee to her room—but what she saw when she turned caused fear to convulse her body. At the end of the corridor, a tall shadow darted from one door to the next.
Ana staggered, terrified by the strange presence in the convent. This time her legs gave way, and she collapsed to the floor. Her shawl fell from her shoulders.
Who’s there?
Though she wanted to scream, no words would form in her mouth. All her senses were on high alert. Perspiration beaded on her brow. Her hands trembled like leaves in the wind.
Someone is sneaking around the convent!
Ana had no weapon. She felt naked and exposed. The overwhelming urge to get behind a locked door propelled her to stand. She sprinted down the corridor, her bare feet padding against the cold stones. The stairwell to her second-floor room was only a few paces away. She was almost there . . .
And then the shadow stepped in front of her.
Ana shrieked as she collided with the figure. Cruel arms seized her by the shoulders. Fingernails dug into her skin. She wrestled with her assailant, yelling for help. The man cuffed her across the head, hard enough to stun her. Ana stopped shouting and drooped in her enemy’s grasp. A hand grabbed her by the throat and began to squeeze. Ana clawed at the hand but couldn’t loosen the iron grip. Dizziness made her head swim.
“Let go of her!”
The voice was like the roar of an enraged bear. A huge shape exploded from the stairwell and sent Ana’s attacker flying. She fell to her hands and knees, gasping for breath while two men careened back and forth, slamming against the walls of the corridor. Curses and grunts resounded in the narrow space.
Several of the sisters arrived, followed by the housemother with a flaming torch. She thrust it at Ana’s assailant. “Get out of here!”
“Arrrgh!” A scream of terrible pain filled the hallway.
Then everything fell still.
Ana stood up, breathing hard. Her nightshift was ripped, but she held it close to cover herself.
“He’s gone,” shouted the housemother from an adjacent room. “He went out through a window and took off down the beach.”
“Help him!” squealed one of the sisters, pointing.
Ana looked to the floor. A giant man was slumped against the wall, his eyes squeezed shut. A grimace contorted his bearded face.
Liber!
Ana ran to her friend. “Stasia . . . ” he moaned. His arm was nestled against his side. The place was slick with glossy blood.
Carefully lifting Liber’s arm, Ana inspected his injury. The hilt of a knife protruded from his side. It had been thrust into the fatty tissue of his belly just above his hip bone. Ana was relieved. Though it was a deep flesh wound, no internal organs would be affected.
The housemother turned to the gaping nuns. “Bring hot water—quick! And fetch Sister Deidre at once!”
“It hurts, Stasia,” Liber said, whimpering.
“I know. But the sisters are going to take good care of you.”
Liber searched Ana’s face. “Will you take care of me?”
Ana intertwined her fingers with Liber’s. Holding his fist to her chest, she patted it with her other hand. “Liber—it’s you who takes care of me.”
A smile spread across the big man’s face despite his pain.
“I love you, Stasia,” he said.
Teo stared at the note written on a scrap of parchment:
DANGER TO THE CHRISTIANI! IMPORTANT INFORMATION AT CASSEE.
He had left the tavern’s common room to use the outhouse. When he returned, the note was protruding from underneath his empty breakfast plate. The letters were nondescript, and there was no signature. He glanced around. All the patrons were going about their business. No one was looking his way. Teo put the slip in his pocket and waved the barmaid over.
“Did somebody stop by my table while I was out?”
The barmaid shook her head. “Didn’t see nobody.”
Teo turned and caught the attention of a sailor sitting nearby with a bowl of porridge. “You see anyone at my table in the past few minutes?”
“Lots of people passing by. The place is crowded.”
“No one stopped though?”
“Not that I saw.”
Teo frowned and turned back to the barmaid. “How much do I owe you?”
“Two livre.”
“Here you go.” Teo handed her three coins, then put his cloak around his shoulders and left the tavern.
The Midnight Glider was anchored at the far end of Marsay’s Old Port. Teo walked down the pier until he reached the ship. “Hail, pirate!” he called up to Marco.
Marco grimaced and held his finger to his lips. “Shh! Don’t let my secret out!” He chuckled, then beckoned Teo to come aboard.
Brother Thomas was standing with Marco when Teo climbed the gangplank. The friar had become something of a fixture in Teo’s life over the winter. They had spent long hours discussing the meaning of the holy writings. Teo’s command of spoken Fransais had grown much stronger, while Brother Thomas’s new insights into Christianism had deepened his nascent faith. The friar clearly had the inclinati
ons of a reformer, but Odo controlled the knights at Castle d’If and marginalized anyone who proposed changes.
“You’ll be happy to know I’ve started to provision the ship,” Marco said as Teo approached. “Give me a few more days and we’ll shove off. It’s earlier than I’d like, but the weather has been mild, so I think we can risk a voyage.”
“Just say the word and I’ll be the first to cast off the hawsers.” Teo reached into his pocket and pulled out the parchment. “What do you make of this? Somebody put it on my table when I wasn’t looking.”
Marco and Brother Thomas examined the slip. “What danger is it referring to?” Marco asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“It’s written in Talyano,” Brother Thomas pointed out. “Other than a few of the knights, nobody around here speaks that language.”
“I know. It makes me suspicious.”
“Of the knights?”
“No. I suspect this involves foreigners. I just can’t figure out who would want to warn me about danger.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Obviously I’m going to have to check it out.”
Brother Thomas frowned. “It could be a trap.”
“I know. I’ve learned to be careful with things like this. But I’m not backing down.”
“Somehow I thought you might say that,” Marco said with a knowing smile.
Teo turned to Brother Thomas. “Any idea where Cassee is?”
“It’s a little fishing village about twenty-five leagues from here. Technically it’s outside the jurisdiction of the Republic of Marsay. You can get there in four hours if you’ll let me show you the way.”
“Alright. Let’s go.”
“Want me to come along?” Marco asked.
“You focus on the ship,” Teo replied. “We can handle this. We’ll be back late tonight.”
The ride to Cassee took closer to five hours—not only because the best rental horses were a couple of swaybacked mares past their prime, but also because of the rough terrain. In the time of the Ancients, the city of Marsay had been much larger than its current size. The Great War of Destruction had vaporized the city’s center in a giant conflagration, but many ruins remained on the outskirts. Eventually the two travelers left the tangled urbanized area and reached a land of rugged hills covered in scrub oak and aleppo pine. A winding trail brought them to the village of Cassee, a seaside community with a splendid view of a headland whose cliffs plunged into the ocean.
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