Crown of Stars (Crown of Stars 7)

“We don’t know the path,” said Baldwin.

The others were already out of sight, because of the darkness, but Ivar heard their soft footfalls and a comment from Wolfhere.

“If you would go ahead, Brother Heribert. The night seems no hindrance to your eyes.”

Ivar had a light kit slung over his back, a leather bottle half full of stream water, his sheathed knife, and the injured soldier’s borrowed sword. The night was cool and dark and it smelled of greening, the first rush of spring, although it was summer by the calendar of feast days.

“What must we do?” asked Baldwin.

“I hate to leave the horses.”

“I have a pouch of ale, the bread, and my knife,” said Baldwin brightly.

“Choose,” said Ratbold.

“What do you advise?” asked Ivar desperately.

Ratbold glanced in the direction where, years ago, Ivar and his companions had stumbled down off a hillside crowned with a stone circle. All lay dark along the horizon and in the high heavens. A campfire beyond the orchard had burned down to red coals. A distant lamp glimmered beside the main gate, and another lamp bobbed out on the green where someone walked.

“Best you go,” said Ratbold. “We are better protected if you who are messengers for the noble folk who contest these lands do not sleep within our walls. Then we can claim honestly that we do not take sides in earthly contests.”

“You changed your liturgy,” said Baldwin suddenly.

“You pray to the Lady and Her Son. You have accepted the truth.”

“We could not ignore the sign God sent us,” said Ratbold.

The words troubled Ivar. He felt poked as with the butt of a spear. Be alert! His head told him one thing, but his gut told him another.

“Let’s go,” he said, knowing he had to take the leap or he would never move. “Before they’re too far for us to catch up to them.”

o;Skopos now, or so she claims. She rules over a nest of vipers! Sabella can’t be trusted if she once honored that awful woman! Ally to Hugh of Austra! A murderer! A foul maleficus!” Lord Berthold let loose such a tirade of filthy imprecations that Ivar blushed and looked away, and found himself staring at the stocky companion. She had the look of the Quman, but there was something indefinably different about her that Ivar could not identify. She wore a glittering headpiece, beads and gold sewn into a stiff, black fabric, and she had a strong jaw and broad cheekbones, big hands, and a stolid expression. She said nothing. It was not clear if she understand the flood of lurid curses, which did not cease until the rest of Berthold’s group came up to meet them.

Besides Lord Jonas and the Quman man, a slender cleric attended patiently, almost absently, pausing under the canopy of a walnut tree. All carried saddlebags slung awkwardly over their shoulders. The Quman soldier handed two saddlebags to the silent woman. Wolfhere strode up with Prior Ratbold, heads bent together as they talked, and both looked up to count the people waiting beside the gate.

“We’ll close all the gates after you’ve left,” said Ratbold, repeating instructions, “and let no man in.”

“Nor woman either,” said Wolfhere.

“Who will carry the lamps?” asked Berthold. “Where are the horses?”

“No light,” said Wolfhere. “And no horses.”

“We must walk?” asked Jonas disbelievingly.

“How will we see?” asked Berthold.

“I know this path. My lord, the horses are nearly spent. Prior Ratbold has none to offer us. We’ll go faster on foot because we can march night and day. We must move swiftly. The Eika will.”

“The Eika have no horses,” said Ivar. When everyone looked curiously at him, he added, “We saw their army. We were hidden in the trees, upwind. They didn’t know we were there.”

“My lord,” said Wolfhere to Berthold. Berthold nodded, and, that quickly, their party left through the open gate.

Ivar’s feet had grown roots; the wind played around him as branches rattled above and Prior Ratbold watched into the night beyond the gate.

“He never answered me,” muttered Ivar.

“I beg your pardon?” Ratbold asked, without turning.