Prince of Dogs (Crown of Stars 2)

She who named herself Caput Draconis answered. “She came to St. Valeria Convent because she suspects sorcery. But that she suspects our brother—I doubt it, just as I doubt Mother Rothgard suspects that her faithful gatekeeper is in fact our ally. We are not known, Brother Marcus. Do not trouble yourself on that score.”

He bent his head in submission to her words. “As you say, Caput Draconis. What of this suspected sorcerer, then, whom Princess Theophanu wishes to make known to Mother Rothgard?”

“She is precipitate, this princess,” said the caput draconis. “How can we be sure that the young folk in question did not simply see what they wished in their eagerness and mistake branches for antlers and mist for the flash of a deer’s body? That is what the king suggested, is it not?”

“What of the burning arrows?” asked Sister Zoë. “Taken separately, I would put little credence in either incident. Taken together, I become suspicious.”

It was dusk, but not chill, for it was never chilly here in this valley. The gold torque worn by the caput draconis winked and dazzled in the firelight. The woman’s face remained calm; she alone Antonia could not put an age to. This difficulty puzzled her and made her fret at odd moments, waking at night, wondering, as she did about so many other things.

Above, the sun sank behind the mountains and the night stars emerged, brilliant fires burning beyond the seventh sphere, lamps lighting the way to the Chamber of Light. The stars and constellations had names and attributes. Like any educated cleric, she knew a bit of the astrologus’ knowledge, but if she had learned one thing in the last six months, it was this: She knew nothing about the knowledge of the stars compared to her new companions. She and Heribert had come to rest in a nest of mathematici, the most dangerous of sorcerers. Antonia had learned more about the stars and the heavens in the last six months than she had ever before imagined existed.

She had thought to teach them, for had not the caput draconis admitted that she—Antonia—had a natural gift for compulsion? But her early demonstrations had not impressed her audience. Hers had been a study of magics used to bring people into her power, magics born from the earth, from ancient and fell creatures that waited, hidden, in the earth or in the deep crevices of the soul or of the land itself. Such creatures and spirits were eager to serve, if commanded boldly and given the right payment, usually in blood.

“Anyone can spill blood,” Brother Severus had said contemptuously, “or read bones, like a savage.” After that she had confined her study of such magics to times when she was alone.

Though she resented him for speaking such words out loud, even she had to admit—grudgingly—that he was right. Another power arched above all this, and her companions had studied long and fruitfully to master a sorcery which she had only now taken the first and tiniest steps toward understanding.

Why was it that spring lay always in the air here in this valley while winter’s sky wheeled above them? How old, truly, was the caput draconis, who carried herself with the gravity of a woman of great wisdom and age and yet to judge by her face and hair might be any age between twenty and forty?

“The burning arrows,” mused the caput draconis. “Our Brother Lupus brought the one we seek closer to us but not into our hands, as we had hoped. We have been patient so far, but this news of burning arrows makes me wonder if it is time to act.”

“Act in what way, Sister?” Brother Severus raised an eyebrow in muted surprise. Even at night, he wore only the one thin robe, and he never wore shoes. His bare feet reminded Antonia at times of poor Brother Agius, whose heretical notions had led him in the end to the unfortunate death that had proved most inconvenient for her. But God, no doubt, would forgive him his error. God were merciful to the weak.

“It is time to investigate,” said their leader. “There are gentler ways of persuasion, now that no obstacle but distance lies between us and that which we seek. Brother Marcus, you will journey to Darre to be our eyes and ears in the presbyters’ palace once our brother must leave to return north. Meanwhile, I, too, must venture out into the world to see what I can learn there.”

“Is that safe?” demanded Antonia.

“Why should it not be safe, Sister Venia?” asked Sister Meriam, speaking at last.

A good question, it was one Antonia could not answer.

“I do not suggest you go, Sister,” continued the caput draconis. “You must not leave here yet. But I am under no such constraints. I can walk in anonymity, as I have pledged to do.”

“A prince is no prince without a retinue,” said Antonia snappishly, indicating the gold torque the other woman wore.

ho named herself Caput Draconis answered. “She came to St. Valeria Convent because she suspects sorcery. But that she suspects our brother—I doubt it, just as I doubt Mother Rothgard suspects that her faithful gatekeeper is in fact our ally. We are not known, Brother Marcus. Do not trouble yourself on that score.”

He bent his head in submission to her words. “As you say, Caput Draconis. What of this suspected sorcerer, then, whom Princess Theophanu wishes to make known to Mother Rothgard?”

“She is precipitate, this princess,” said the caput draconis. “How can we be sure that the young folk in question did not simply see what they wished in their eagerness and mistake branches for antlers and mist for the flash of a deer’s body? That is what the king suggested, is it not?”

“What of the burning arrows?” asked Sister Zoë. “Taken separately, I would put little credence in either incident. Taken together, I become suspicious.”

It was dusk, but not chill, for it was never chilly here in this valley. The gold torque worn by the caput draconis winked and dazzled in the firelight. The woman’s face remained calm; she alone Antonia could not put an age to. This difficulty puzzled her and made her fret at odd moments, waking at night, wondering, as she did about so many other things.

Above, the sun sank behind the mountains and the night stars emerged, brilliant fires burning beyond the seventh sphere, lamps lighting the way to the Chamber of Light. The stars and constellations had names and attributes. Like any educated cleric, she knew a bit of the astrologus’ knowledge, but if she had learned one thing in the last six months, it was this: She knew nothing about the knowledge of the stars compared to her new companions. She and Heribert had come to rest in a nest of mathematici, the most dangerous of sorcerers. Antonia had learned more about the stars and the heavens in the last six months than she had ever before imagined existed.

She had thought to teach them, for had not the caput draconis admitted that she—Antonia—had a natural gift for compulsion? But her early demonstrations had not impressed her audience. Hers had been a study of magics used to bring people into her power, magics born from the earth, from ancient and fell creatures that waited, hidden, in the earth or in the deep crevices of the soul or of the land itself. Such creatures and spirits were eager to serve, if commanded boldly and given the right payment, usually in blood.

“Anyone can spill blood,” Brother Severus had said contemptuously, “or read bones, like a savage.” After that she had confined her study of such magics to times when she was alone.

Though she resented him for speaking such words out loud, even she had to admit—grudgingly—that he was right. Another power arched above all this, and her companions had studied long and fruitfully to master a sorcery which she had only now taken the first and tiniest steps toward understanding.

Why was it that spring lay always in the air here in this valley while winter’s sky wheeled above them? How old, truly, was the caput draconis, who carried herself with the gravity of a woman of great wisdom and age and yet to judge by her face and hair might be any age between twenty and forty?

“The burning arrows,” mused the caput draconis. “Our Brother Lupus brought the one we seek closer to us but not into our hands, as we had hoped. We have been patient so far, but this news of burning arrows makes me wonder if it is time to act.”

“Act in what way, Sister?” Brother Severus raised an eyebrow in muted surprise. Even at night, he wore only the one thin robe, and he never wore shoes. His bare feet reminded Antonia at times of poor Brother Agius, whose heretical notions had led him in the end to the unfortunate death that had proved most inconvenient for her. But God, no doubt, would forgive him his error. God were merciful to the weak.