The Burning Stone (Crown of Stars 3)

“Hurry,” she repeated. As she turned to run down the path between the high walls, she was already getting her bow ready, and she drew out the first of the arrows fletched with griffin feathers, whose touch dissolves magic.

He had to run to keep up. The tide dragged against him, but the horse, and her urgency, pulled him forward against the flow.

Then the ebony gate shone before him. Through its glamour, he saw the sea lapping at its base, a white-capped storm surge. The path gleamed underneath his feet, rimed with a frostlike gleam. He knelt, entirely out of breath, and even with both hands to brace himself on the ground, he could barely hold himself up.

“Grandson.” Her voice shook through the earth.

But he had no time to answer her. Kansi-a-lari had already cut one of her palms and smeared the blood over the black stone. She cut his palm in the same manner, with more haste than care. As he swiped his bleeding hand over the stone she nicked the horse on the shoulder and wiped its blood there, too, dark smears soaking into the slick obsidianlike surface. Sweating now, grunting with desperation and anger, she laid both hands against the ebony gate. She spoke one word.

The gate swung open on silent hinges. Water poured in to swallow their feet, and he followed her across the threshold into the maelstrom.

XIV

THE SOUND OF THEIR WINGS

1

HANNA had just about had enough rain for one summer, and she was one of the lucky ones: riding, her feet weren’t perpetually damp. Unlike half the Lions, she didn’t have foot rot. In the woodlands, low ground shone with a sheet of shallow water, ponds that bred mosquitoes so persistent and numerous that every soul in their party scratched constantly. They were plagued by spiders. Any helmet left on the ground would soon swarm with the nasty creatures; any tent, unrolled and set up, would rain spiders from its ceiling all night. By Aogoste they had lost all the whores and beggars.

At the fortress of Machteburg, dysentery hit their ranks. Lady Fortune still marched with them: only one Lion died, although the disease devastated the camp followers and at least a dozen of the cavalry’s servants had to be buried by the roadside. They lost ten days before Captain Thiadbold and Lord Dietrich proclaimed them ready to march on. They were ferried across the Oder River on barges, and then they headed east on a grassy track. A dozen stubborn camp followers boasting two handcarts between them plodded in their wake. She couldn’t understand why they would follow the Lions into the wilderness where nothing awaited them except war. But perhaps those dozen souls had nothing to go back to, and no place else to go.

It was still raining.

Three abysmally slow days of marching later, on a soggy summer’s day in early afternoon, they came to a village of ten longhouses and a dozen more pit-houses and sheds. Ringed by an inner palisade and ditch, the village lay at a crossroads and was prosperous enough to boast a tiny church built just beyond the inner ditch. A second ditch surrounded the gardens, fields, and a half-dozen corrals, and within this second ditch a fair number of folk labored. But as soon as they caught sight of the host approaching, they hoisted their tools and ran to the safety of the palisade even though they all could see the Wendish banner that marked this as an army marching under King Henry’s personal seal.

Thiadbold halted his Lions beyond the outer ditch and sent Hanna in with an escort of a dozen Lions. The cavalry was content to disperse in the surrounding meadowland so that their horses could graze.

The gate remained stubbornly closed as they approached. “Nay, you cannot come in,” said the young man keeping watch there, peering down at them from a square wooden tower. “I pray you, we’ve had enough trouble. I’m under orders not to let in any armed men.” He spoke Wendish with an accent, hissing his “p”s and “t”s. “But the Eagle, now. She can come in with her news.”

Ingo was with her. “As like they’re bandits themselves in this town,” he grumbled. “I don’t know if we can trust them.”

“Nay, I’ll go,” said Hanna. “They’re only being cautious. Why would they harm me with an army of two hundreds of Lions and thirty cavalry outside?”

Ingo and the others moved back, the pedestrian gate was opened, and she walked through into the village. It stank because most of their livestock had been driven inside. There were a few gardens, and a fair number of dirty children underfoot. A stream muddied by the summer rains, or by sewage, ran down a narrow canal with reinforced stone walls. There was a well at the center of the village; a pair of young villagers, one girl and one boy, stood guard over the stone housing, monitoring the flow of buckets. A child appeared, wiped its runny nose, and beckoned to her. She followed it to the longhouse that lay closest to the well. Three men and three women waited for her, seated at a huge wooden table much pitted with knife scars and burns. It had one leg freshly fixed on, of a lighter shade than the others. They greeted her politely. After she sat, a girl dressed in a remarkably clean linen gown brought her a fine strong mead.

“We meant no offense by closing our gates,” said the scarred woman who acted as spokeswoman for the council. The scars looked recent, two slashes on her chin. “Not that we don’t trust the king’s milites, mind you, but we’ve had trouble recently with armed bands. Better to be safe. War’s coming, they say.” The council members nodded. The girl brought a fresh pitcher of mead and refilled cups all the way around the table.

“What kind of armed bands?” asked Hanna. Some of the words the woman used were unfamiliar, and her accent was a bit odd, although once she got used to the hissing it was easy enough to understand. “Bandits? Barbarians?”

“We’ve Salavii neighbors, it’s true, but it’s not them we’re worried about now. Just four days ago a wild group of young men come from the west claiming to be noble sons of Saony. There was trouble, and it weren’t pleasant. They did that to three of the girls here in town that isn’t right, begging your pardon, Eagle, and one of our lads got knifed in the bargain. But Lady Fortune smiled on us. Just when things were about to get ugly, Margrave Judith rode up with a host, why, surely as large as yours and perhaps larger, for she had more horses and riding men. She turned them out with a sharp word!” The others at the table nodded as they, too, remembered the incident. “But the damage was done. Poor young Hilde hung herself at the old oak tree two nights ago, and there’s some who want to cut it down because of evil spirits. It’s the place where our old mothers used to leave offerings to The Fat One—” Here, at a sharp gesture from one of her comrades, she smiled nervously and gestured to the servant to bring forward bread. “But that’s none of your worry, Eagle.”

“Of course it is my worry,” said Hanna. “If bandits are plaguing you, or even noblewomen’s sons, then King Henry will wish to be told of it.”

“What can he do?” asked one of the men bitterly. “The leader of them wild boys claimed to be the king’s nephew. What will he do? We are nothing to the king.”

“It’s true that you’re no blood kin of the king’s, friend. But you live under his protection, and if he lets wild young men, even his nephew, take what they want and harry as they will among those folk who look to the king for protection, then he might as well hand the whole of his treasure over and set aside his crown. The king does not tolerate disobedience, even from his nephews. I’ve seen civil war, my friends, and I know that King Henry will not tolerate any behavior that cuts into his authority. No more would you let your own young children run roughshod through your house, overturning the tables and throwing the apples out to rot.”

They nodded, seeing the wisdom in this answer.

“What was his name, who was leader of that warband?” But they didn’t know, or wouldn’t answer. They were still afraid. The bread steamed when she broke it open. “Well, then, what of Margrave Judith? Did she say where she was marching? What road did she take when she left here?”

“East and south, she said,” explained the scarred woman. “She was going at the summons of the king’s daughter, so we heard. That’s how we know war’s coming. There’s been fighting. Some say the wing-men are coming. We’ve spoken of building a second palisade. Is it true they cut off people’s heads?”

It took Hanna a moment to figure out who the wing-men were. “I’ve heard that story,” she said cautiously, not wanting to scare them. And yet, what chance did this village have against a host of Quman warriors? They had built a stout palisade and a good steep-sided ditch further fortified by stakes at the bottom, but there weren’t all that many of them. “I rode with Princess Sapientia and Prince Bayan, her husband. They defeated a host of Quman, but it was only an advance force.”

“Should we abandon our homes and go west?” demanded the man who had spoken before.

“Nay, Ernust,” retorted the scarred woman. “If we leave, then those damned Salavii tribesmen will just move in and take our village, and never give it back!”