Prince of Dogs (Crown of Stars 2)

“Hush, children,” said Rosvita.

“… Sapientia has become fond of her Eagle,” Hugh was saying, “and I fear it would upset her at this delicate time to send the young woman away. If another Eagle could be found to ride …” He smiled gently.

The king’s Eagle, Hathui, now leaned forward. “Your Majesty. You have not gotten a report from the Eagle who rode in yesterday.”

The king nodded. Hathui gestured and a young woman walked forward from the back of the hall to kneel before the king.

“Give your report,” said Hathui to her.

The young Eagle bowed her head respectfully. “Your Majesty, I am Hanna, daughter of Birta and Hansal, out of Heart’s Rest.”

Heart’s Rest! Rosvita stared at the young woman but could see no resemblance to any person she recalled from her childhood; it had been so many years since she had visited her home and her father’s hall. Perhaps her brother Ivar knew the family—but it was unlikely unless Count Harl had himself brought the young woman to the notice of the Eagles.

“You sent me south with Wolfhere, escorting Biscop Antonia, late last spring after the battle of Kassel.”

“I remember.”

“I bring grave news, Your Majesty. While in the Alfar Mountains, a storm hit St. Servitius’ Monastery, where we took shelter for the night.” She described a rockfall and the destruction of the monastery infirmary. “Wolfhere believes it was no natural storm. He believes Antonia and her cleric escaped.”

“He found no bodies?”

“None could be found, Your Majesty. The rocks were too unstable to move.”

“Where is Wolfhere now?”

“He went on to Darre to bring the charges against Biscop Antonia before the skopos. He does not believe she is dead, Your Majesty.”

“So you have said.”

At this, she looked up directly at him. “And so I will say again, Your Majesty, and again, until you believe me.”

He smiled suddenly, the first smile Rosvita had seen since their return from the hunt yesterday into the chaos attendant on the disastrous fire. “You believe Wolfhere is correct?”

She hesitated, bit her lip, then went on. “I myself witnessed such sights that night… I saw things, Your Majesty, creatures in the storm such as I have never seen before and hope never to see again! They were not any creatures that walk on earth unless called from—other places, dark places.”

Now he leaned forward. She had caught his interest. “Sorcery?”

“What else could it be? We saw the guivre, such as only a magi could capture and control. But these were not even creatures of flesh and blood. Wolfhere called them galla.”

Every person in the hall shuddered reflexively when the word came out of her mouth. Rosvita had never heard of such a thing, and yet some tone, some intonation, made her flinch instinctively. But as she glanced round the room she saw Father Hugh look up sharply, eyes widening—with interest? Or with distaste?

“I have no reason,” said the king wryly, “to distrust Wolfhere in such matters. Well, then, Eagle, if this happened while crossing the Alfar Mountains in the summer, why has it taken you until winter to reach me?”

She lifted a hand. “If I may, Your Majesty?”

Curious, he assented.

She gestured behind, and three Lions walked forward and knelt beside her, heads bowed. They, too, looked travel-worn, tabards and armor much mended; one had a newly healed cut on his left cheek. “These Lions were my escort, and they will witness that all that I say is true. When we turned back from the monastery, we found the pass was closed, blocked by another avalanche. Therefore we had to keep going south into the borderlands of Karrone until we could link up with the road that led back north through the Julier Pass. But here, too, we could not get through.”

“Another storm?” demanded Villam, and Father Hugh leaned forward as if he feared the Eagle’s answer would be too faint for him to hear.

“No, my lord. Duke Conrad closed the pass.”

Henry stood up, and immediately any persons in the hall who were sitting scrambled to their feet as well, including poor Brother Fortunatus, who had sprained his knee in the conflagration yesterday. “Duke Conrad has closed the pass? On whose authority?”

“I do not know the particulars, Your Majesty, only what I could learn from the border guards. It seems there is a dispute about borders between Queen Marozia and Duke Conrad, and neither will back down. So to spite her, Duke Conrad refused to let any traffic through the pass.”

“To spite himself,” muttered Villam. “That pass links the duchy of Wayland to Karrone and to Aosta.” He shook his head, looking disgusted.