Crown of Stars (Crown of Stars 7)

“This beast. Has it killed your cattle and sheep?”

“It hasn’t come into our pasture and byre. Maybe it got those that wandered off. No one’s brave enough to track it to its lair.” He coughed out a laugh as he gestured toward the north. “And I won’t be the one to find out! There’s rough land that way. Deep forest. Wolves, they say. A lake, though I’ve not seen it, and a ravine. That’s where it hides.” He had thick lips, blue eyes, and a funny way of looking at other people, as if he didn’t want to like them. “So they say. They don’t really know. They just talk and talk and do nothing but complain about their bad fortune and how ill luck dogs the village and the frost still comes and the crops won’t grow and how it’ll be worse before it gets better.”

“Perhaps they’re right. Have you seen the sun since last autumn?”

The comment startled Atto. He glanced heavenward, but there was nothing to see except the canopy of branches and the leaden silver of the sky. “I’m not waiting around. I’m going to Autun, me and Mara. Things will be better there.”

2

WHERE the road forked, an impressive barrier made up of downed trees and the detritus of shattered wagons lay across the northeasterly path. Hanna rode at the front of the cavalcade beside Lady Bertha. They pulled up to survey the barrier.

“That’s been built, however much it might resemble storm fall,” said Bertha.

“There’s a village down that path,” said Hanna. “I recall it. They welcomed me when I was riding for King Henry.”

Bertha glanced at her, then at the barrier with branches sticking out at all angles and brittle leaves rattling in the spatter of rain.

“Seems they’re less welcoming now.” Her gaze ranged farther afield, past the tangle of dense thickets and an unexpected stand of yew that lined the roadside. Farther back one could tell that the field layer lightened where tall beech formed a canopy. Drizzle dripped on them. Everything dripped. Hanna wiped the tip of her nose.

“Ho! You there! In the tree!” Bertha had a strong high tenor, suitable for cutting through the din of battle.

Hanna was not more startled than the lad in the yew, who slipped, grabbed branches, and gave away his position where needles danced.

“We want shelter for the night. I am Bertha of Austra and Olsatia, daughter of Judith, margrave of Austra and Olsatia, may her memory live in peace. I’m sister of the current margrave, Gerberga. I have with me members of the king’s schola. We’ve been months on the road. We’ve traveled north out of Aosta, over the Brinne Pass, and through Westfall. It’s been a long road that brings us at last to Avaria, and Wendar. We need shelter, a fire, and a meal, if you will.”

The tree was still again, then branches swayed and pitched and a shrill horn call rose on the wind with a blat like that of a frightened goat. The goats in their retinue bawled in answer. Their three dogs barked madly, and Sergeant Aronvald quieted them with sharp commands.

Bertha raised her eyebrows. She beckoned, and the sergeant—the captain was dead—trotted forward on the skewbald gelding.

“Be alert,” she said.

“Yes, my lady.” He called out orders.

The rear guard moved up to set a shield wall behind the three wagons. The men marching behind Bertha fell back to protect their flanks as the clerics ducked under the bed of the cargo wagon to hide themselves. It was an old routine, honed over months of travel.

Only a dozen horses remained plus the three stolid cart horses who got the best of the feed because without them they would have no way to pull those wagons. Three dogs trotted alongside, having been adopted by the soldiers as mascots and guardsmen. On the road, they had expanded their herd of goats from three to eleven and acquired stray chickens here and there whose bones and meat leavened the wild onion stew they often ate. It was on stew and goat’s milk and cheese that they mostly subsisted. On their long journey, the horses had fared worst, goats best, and humankind somewhere in between.

“Beyond this village, what?” Bertha asked.

Hanna considered. “The village itself is at the end of that path. There’s a small river twenty or thirty leagues downstream, that feeds into the Veser. The village lies within a bend of the river on higher ground, so water gives it protection on three sides. They have beehives. An orchard. A bean field. Oats. Spelt. No church, but a good carpenter and shop.”

“And this way?” She gestured toward the other fork, which led north-northwest.

Rain trickled into Hanna’s mouth through her parted lips. “Another day’s ride or more to the palace at Augensburg.”

“Best to go on, then? A palace sounds more appealing than a village walled with storm wrack.”

“It’s burned down, my lady.”

“What’s burned down? The village?”

Hanna shuddered. “The palace, my lady. It burned down a few years back.”

“There must be a settlement beside it, a town made prosperous by palace traffic?”

Hanna shut her eyes. She fought as memories surfaced. She was hot all at once, sweating, but it was only the drizzle hardening into rain. “I don’t know, my lady. There might be.”

“Did it burn in the conflagration, too? Eagle, what ails you? It’s not like you to—” Bertha was a steady commander, but she had a temper. “Give me the information I need!”