In the Ruins (Crown of Stars 6)

“She is dead.”

“Then who serves Sorgatani? I know it is said—what you told me once—ai, God! It seems so long ago! You told me that a Kerayit shaman can be seen by no person except her blood kinfolk along her mother’s lineage, her slaves, her luck, and her pura, who is also her slave. How came you by these garments?” She had found, now, a cloth belt and a heavier wool tunic to throw over the silk underrobe. Beneath them came baggy linen drawers dyed a soft purple. The soft leather boots had to be fastened by garters to the broad belt, which was studded with gold plates embossed with the heads of griffins.

“Both her slaves died in our flight, alas, as did all nine of the Kerayit guardsmen who fought so that she might not be captured. Without any to serve her, Sorgatani would have perished as well, because of the geas laid upon her kind.”

“Then who serves her?”

As quickly as she asked the question, she knew the answer. He did not turn, or shift at all, but his shoulders tightened and the angle of his head altered subtly and dangerously.

“You became her pura?” she asked, as shocked as she could be.

He chuckled. “Certainly she is beautiful, but alas, she made no such tempting offer. I accepted the chains that make me her slave.”

“Do you not serve God, Brother? How can you serve both God and an earthly master?”

“Is it not a worthy service to save the life of another, even if she is a heathen? So I do believe. If I did not serve her, she would have died. No one else in Lady Bertha’s troop was willing to take on the duty. In any case, without Sorgatani’s protection, we would have been discovered and killed long ago, and we would not gain a steady supply of meat to feed ourselves.”

“Are you content, Brother?”

“I am resigned, Hanna. God command me to serve. I have discovered that I am often surprised by the unexpected nature of that service.”

She could not interpret his tone, and found that she did not want to think too hard about what he might have sacrificed and what it might mean that she was about to meet a woman who had claimed a relationship to her that Hanna did not remotely understand. “What of Sister Rosvita and her companions? Did Sorgatani find them, too?”

“In a manner of speaking. Following your trail, we fell upon them hiding in the woods and so took them in.”

“Following my trail? That of the Arethousan army?”

“No, although truly it was not difficult to follow the army’s dust cloud as it marched. You are Sorgatani’s luck. Brought so close to you, how could she fail to know where you were? Thus were you found, and rescued. Come, are you ready?”

She sighed as she clasped her belt and smoothed a hand over the bumps and ridges made by the embroidery. Such fine cloth would only be worn by the most noble of princes, in the west, and yet the Kerayit clothed their slaves in this finery. “Yes. As ready as I will ever be.”

o;Were you with Liath?” she asked.

“I was Sorgatani, Lady Bertha, and Her Highness Lady Liathano came from the uttermost east, passing through two crowns until we came to the shore of the Middle Sea. There we met the forces of the skopos. Many of our people were slain, but we escaped because … because the lady called fire.”

The tremor in his voice gave her a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. When she said nothing, not sure what to say, he went on.

“Although we were pursued, Sorgatani used her weather magic to conceal us. So we escaped to these hills. Here we have remained.”

“Where is Liath?”

“Dead, perhaps. Living, perhaps. We do not know.”

She heaved herself up onto the lowest ledge, shaking and trembling. “Ai, God, I pray she is not dead.”

“Sorgatani does not think so. She believes she lives still, although we do not know where she is.”

“Is that why you stayed here? Seeking her?”

“No.”

She found a ragged but clean scrap of linen on the top of the pile and rubbed off as much of the water as the cloth could absorb. Despite the chill in the air, it was still warmer out of the water than in it. He remained silent, back still turned, as she shook out a silk robe that barely reached her knees as though it had perhaps been meant for a shorter, stouter woman. Certainly it was broad enough for her shoulders and hips. It was a rich red, embroidered with golden dragons grappling with golden phoenixes.

“This is no Wendish tunic!”

“These are the clothes that belonged to one of her servants.”

“Her slaves? I will wear no slave’s robes, however rich they may appear!”