King's Dragon (Crown of Stars 1)

“We can’t wait.”

“There she is!” called Dorit. Hanna came running along the road, a leather sack thrown over her back.

Hugh urged his gelding forward. A soldier leaped up into the wagon, and Lars jumped back as the cart horses started forward. The wagon jolted under Liath and began to roll. The three other soldiers, one still leading the mare, fell in behind. They eyed Liath and her single possession—the old leather book—surreptitiously but otherwise kept silent. Their path met Hanna’s, and she swung in beside the wagon.

“You’ll walk,” said Hugh from the front. Then added, as if an afterthought, “but you may rest the sack in with the rest.”

Hanna tossed her sack into the back beside Liath and trudged alongside.

“What happened?” Hanna asked in an undertone. “He looks in a passion.”

“I don’t know. But he gave me the book, Hanna.”

Hanna said nothing, and by that Liath realized the bitter truth. Hugh let her hold the book because he knew he could take it back any time he wanted. Behind them, the church receded. Dorit and Lars stood by the great front doors, watching the party head away back into the village, to the road that led south. They traveled in silence until, reaching sight of the village and the inn, Hugh cursed suddenly.

Liath raised herself up and looked around.

Four riders—an unusual sight on any day—waited in front of the inn. She recognized Marshal Liudolf. The other three wore the scarlet-trimmed cloaks and brass badges embossed with an eagle that marked riders in service to the king: the King’s Eagles. Two were young, one man and one woman. The eldest was a grizzled, weather-beaten man who looked strangely familiar, but she could not place him.

“That’s the traveler who rode through last autumn,” said Hanna in a whisper. “He asked about you, Liath.”

“Keep moving.” Hugh’s order was sharp.

“Frater Hugh!” Marshal Liudolf raised a hand. “If you will, a word.”

Liath could see by the set of Hugh’s back that he wanted to ignore this summons. That he wanted to keep riding. But he reined the bay aside. The soldier driving the wagon pulled the horses up. Mistress Birta emerged from the inn and stopped next to the door, watchful, silent.

“As you see, Marshal,” said Hugh, “we are just setting out. It is a long journey south, ten or twenty days, depending on the rains, and we have little enough daylight for traveling this early in the year.”

“I won’t delay you long, Frater. These riders of the King’s Eagles approached me yesterday, looking for healthy young persons who might be suitable for service as messengers for the King.” Then, oddly, Marshal Liudolf stopped and looked questioningly, almost obediently, at the elder rider.

“I am Wolfhere,” said the older man. He had deep-set eyes under silver brows; his hair was almost all silver, with a trace of ancient brown. “You must understand that with the increase in Eika raids, and rumors of trouble in Varre with Lady Sabella, we are in need of young persons suitable to ride messages for the Eagles.”

Hugh held the gelding on an uncomfortably tight rein. “I am sure you are. I believe Count Harl has two younger children he might be persuaded to part with.”

“We are not looking for children of the nobility,” said Wolfhere smoothly, “as you know, Frater Hugh, since you were educated in the king’s schola. Indeed, I have always heard it said you were one of their finest students.”

“I learned all they had to teach me. You, of course, would not have had the opportunity for such an education. I don’t recall your parents’ names, or their kin.”

Wolfhere merely smiled. “None of the Eagles come from the king’s schola. But neither are we looking for landbred children who are unsuitable for this responsibility. I understand that you have recently acquired a young woman who might be of interest to us.” He said this without glancing at Liath, although surely he knew she was the young woman he was talking about.

“I paid her father’s debt. I am not interested in selling her.” Hugh’s tone was cold and flat.

“But my dear frater,” said Wolfhere, smiling suddenly much like his namesake might bare its teeth in a wolfish grin, “I bear the King’s seal. Marshal Liudolf tells me you paid two nomias for her. I have the gold. I want her. You may protest this action, of course, but you must do that in front of King Henry. Until such time as King Henry renders a judgment, it is my right to demand her presence in the king’s service.”

It was so quiet Liath could hear the soft wind rustling in the trees and the stamp of the old plough horse in the inn stables. Sunlight painted the road the yellow of light clay. The marshal’s horse flattened an ear. From out back came the sound of Karl, singing off-key as he worked.

Hugh sat, stiff with fury, on his bay. The old man still did not look at her, but the younger Eagles did. They looked very tall, seated upon their horses, the woman in particular. She had a bold face, and a bolder nose—a hawk’s nose, they called it here—and a bright and open gaze. She studied Liath with an interest piqued with skepticism. Her companion looked coolly curious. Their cloaks draped across their horse’s backs, revealing a fur lining within. They shifted, glancing at the old man, and their eagle badges winked in the sunlight.

Finally Hugh spoke. “I believe the young person’s consent is required.”

Unruffled, Wolfhere inclined his head. “That is true.”

Hugh dismounted and tossed the reins to a waiting man-at-arms. He walked back to the wagon. Liath wanted to shrink away into nothing, but there was nowhere to run. Hanna hesitated, then moved away to make room for him. He leaned in and pried one of Liath’s hands free of the book, clasped it in his, his grasp painfully tight.

“Look at me.” Obediently, she looked at him. He lifted her chin with his other hand so she had to look directly into his eyes. Why had she not remembered that his eyes were so complex a blue, not made up of any one shade but a multitude blended together?

“What do you say, Liath?” he asked, so softly but with all his will of iron pressing onto her, all the force of him, all the cold cold winter months. That was what his eyes were like: the pale blue of ice, splintered with cold sunlight, dazzling, but as bleak as the winter winds cutting across fields of ice and snow.