Crown of Stars (Crown of Stars 7)

Hanna discovered that her hands were shaking on the reins, and she had to tighten her knees to hold her horse in one place as it caught her mood. “I pray you, forgive me, my lady.” She spoke in a rush. “That town fell into the path of the army of the Quman. I don’t remember. I don’t know if any survived.”

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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!”

Hanna discovered that her hands were shaking on the reins, and she had to tighten her knees to hold her horse in one place as it caught her mood. “I pray you, forgive me, my lady.” She spoke in a rush. “That town fell into the path of the army of the Quman. I don’t remember. I don’t know if any survived.”

A drum of footfalls and a scattering of shouts alerted them that someone lived still in the village beyond. Bertha raised a hand to ready her archers and spearmen.

Along the path came a trio of hardy men, each armed with the kind of weapons farmers make for themselves: one bore a staff sharpened to a point, one had a staff with a scythe bound securely to one end to make of it a halberd, and the third held an actual iron sword of the kind a lady’s guardsman might wield. He also had a length of board cut into a teardrop shape and fixed to his left arm as a shield, crude but effective and unmarked by any heraldic sigil.