King's Dragon (Crown of Stars 1)

“Where is this estate? How do you know all this?” And the question she could not ask: Why did Da never tell me any of this?

“Near Bodfeld. It has long been my business to know of your background, Liath.” The way he said the words, sternly, almost mercilessly, made her shiver and pull a step back from him. “But I was your mother’s sworn comrade in other pursuits, and thus I am bound to her in ways you do not yet understand.”

“What ways?” she asked, not wanting to ask but unable not to ask. There was so much she wanted to know about her parents.

“Your mother was one of those who are called magi. And so, in a meager fashion, am I.”

“Then—” She barely managed to get the words out through her choked throat. You are deaf to magic, Liath, Da always said. But she had burned the Rose into wood, without bearing flame in her hand. “Then why are you in the Eagles?”

“A good question. I was sworn into the Eagles at much the same age you are now, child. Once given the badge of an Eagle, you can never truly leave them. It is the same with those men and few women sworn into the service of the Dragons, where it is said they are more likely to die than retire from that service. So it is said with the king’s guard of foot soldiers, the Lions, although it is also said of them that an old Lion is likely to be found at rest in his fields while his wife administers the work.”

“Then how did you come to know my mother and father?”

“Our paths crossed. What do you know of magic, Liath?”

“N-n-nothing.” But her tongue skipped betrayingly over the word.

“You must trust me, child.”

“How can I trust you, or anyone?” Suddenly it poured out. She tightened her grip on the bowcase, felt the smooth wood of the bow pressing against her hip. “Da and I ran all those years, for nothing. I don’t know who killed him. It might have been you, or people working for you. It might have been someone else, someone to whom you are opposed. But I can’t know! Da only taught me a scholar’s knowledge. He taught me little enough of the world. I didn’t even know he had a cousin living, a home we might have fled to—” She broke off, seeing Wolfhere’s expression, his wry smile, his small shake of the head.

“When Bernard left the church, he was disowned by his kin. He left for a shameful reason, for the love of a woman—your mother, Anne.”

She flushed with the heat of her own shame. “Many in the church claim to devote themselves only to Our Lady and Lord and yet do not hold to their vows.” She had to look away into the shadows. She began to tremble all over, and her hands went cold. Hugh.

“But they rarely leave the church. We all are dependent on the Grace and Mercy of Our Lady and Lord for forgiveness from our sins. A lapse may be forgiven, if one does penance. But Bernard turned his back on the church. As I understand it, he became involved with the Heresy of the Knife, and then he met Anne. To his kin, who count many holy women and men among their ancestors, he may as well have said he denied the teachings of the blessed Daisan and the Circle of Unity altogether.”

“That isn’t true!”

“It is often whispered of the mathematici, those who observe the heavens and chart their movements and their influence on the plane of this earth, that they worship not Our Lady and Lord but the daimones of the air whose knowledge is greater than ours and whose vision is keener, but who are as ancient as creation, lower than the angels, yet too proud to bow before Our Lady and Lord or to take their place within the Chamber of Light.”

“But it isn’t true of Da! That he believed any such thing. He was a good man. He prayed, as any other man might.”

“I did not say it was true. I only stated what other people often believe of those who are adept in the ancient knowledge of magic. You would do well to remember that, Liath.”

“So Da always said,” she murmured. “That people believed what they wanted to, whether it was truth or not.” She blinked back tears, wiped her nose with the back of a hand. “But I am deaf to magic, Master Wolfhere. So it does not matter what I know.”

“Does it not?” he asked softly.

“Are you not finished yet in there?” demanded Hathui from the door, peering in and turning her head to look toward the burning brand which Wolfhere had braced in an iron stand. “Poor Hanna is done for and needs to rest her bruises. Can you bring Liath out for me?”

Wolfhere rose, holding the short sword, and Liath followed him outside. She leaned the bowcase against the stone wall and took the sword, testing its balance. It was heavy, but not so heavy that she could not train herself to hold its weight.

“A good weapon,” said Hathui, coming over to examine the sword. “Forged for killing, not to be pretty for some noble lord who has others to do his fighting for him.”

“You are not of noble birth, Hathui?” Hanna asked from where she leaned against the wall of the tower. She looked tired but was clearly unwilling to sit down.

Hathui snorted. “Did you think I was? My mother is a freeholder, beholden to no lord. She and her sister and brother traveled east many years ago. That was when the younger Arnulf first offered land to those willing to cross the Eldar and build estates in heathen lands. My aunt is dead now. She was killed by Quman raiders. But my mother and uncle still work those fields. They have gotten more land under cultivation than any of the other freeholders in our valley. What is this?” Distracted, she rubbed at the blade where it was bound into the hilt. The sheen of her sweat on the iron blade made letters stand out for a moment.

“‘This good sword is the friend of Lucian, son of Livia,’” read Liath before she knew she meant to. Had this sword belonged to the same Lucian who had cut into stone his love for a red-haired woman? Then she realized the others were looking at her, surprised, all but Wolfhere. The three children who had been watching crept closer, staring at the strange sight of an exotic-looking young woman not in deacon’s gown who could read—and read such ancient words. Liath thought at once of Wolfhere’s words: “I only stated what other people often believe.”

“I did not know you were church educated,” said Manfred, so startled by this revelation that he actually spoke.

Hathui coughed abruptly and moved to chase the children farther back. “Church education won’t save your life when the heathen attack you.” She beckoned to Liath to step out into the stable yard, which Mistress Gisela kept almost as well swept as Mistress Birta kept her inn yard. “Bear in mind, girl,” Hathui added, perhaps sympathetically, “that a cherished weapon is the best kind. Now stand against me. I’ll run trials against you.”

Hathui was quicker, stronger, taller, and had by far the better reach with her broadsword, but after a few passes she announced herself satisfied that Liath would in time become proficient enough with the short sword to defend herself. Liath was breathing hard, sweating, and had a terrible bruise on her rump from a blow delivered by the flat of Hathui’s blade.

“Manfred will cut some wooden staves to the length of the weapons you’ve chosen,” added Hathui as Liath and Hanna exchanged grimaces, “and every day when we stop to rest the horses, we will practice with those.”