Child of Flame (Crown of Stars 4)

“So he will,” agreed Henry. “We’ll make good use of his hospitality to remind him of the loyalty that is due to his regnant. But this way we can keep the army strong. When the passes clear next year, we’ll march south and catch Ironhead unawares. Yet surely, Helmut, you’ll be glad of one more winter in the north. We’ll send for your bride, and she can keep your bed warm!”

Laughter followed this sally, and the mood in the hall lightened considerably. Such was the king’s power.

Her feet prickled mightily, as though stung by a hundred bees. “I pray you, Brother, that is enough!”

Fortunatus regarded her with a grim smile. “Better than losing your toes, Sister, is it not? Can you ride?”

She flexed her feet and found that although they still hurt, she could move them and even set her weight upon them without undue pain.

“This is ill news,” she said to him, “that we must wait until next year to march to Aosta. Where is the queen?”

Henry had moved away toward the door to direct his captains to start an orderly retreat toward Bederbor. Rosvita got to her feet and tested them gingerly, but found them sound enough. Through the milling crowd she caught sight of Adelheid in a corner, sitting on one of the beds built in under the rafters. She was vomiting into a basin held by a servingwoman.

“Your Majesty!” Rosvita hastened forward, alarmed. Just in this way did the flux first afflict its victims. But as she reached Adelheid’s side, the young queen straightened up with a wan smile and allowed a servant to wipe her face.

“Nay, it’s nothing dangerous.” The queen reached out to grasp Rosvita’s hands. Adelheid’s hands were warm despite the cruel storm raging outside which she had so recently escaped. Her grip had unusual strength, and her eyes held a gleam of triumph as she glanced past Rosvita toward her husband, whose head could be seen above the others in the crowd. “I believe that I am pregnant.”

4

ONE ruined Dariyan fort looked much like any other. Sanglant led his men north through Wayland following the ancient trail of the Dariyan invasion, laid down hundreds of years ago. The forts had lasted far longer than the empire.

This night, as every night, after he made sure Blessing slept, he walked the perimeter to greet each soldier standing sentry on first watch. A jest exchanged with Sibold, a comment on the weather by Everwin, an astute observation about the landscape from Wracwulf, and he moved on. By the time he returned to the campfire, both Zacharias and Heribert were asleep, rolled up tightly in their cloaks under cover of a half fallen roof. Heribert had shoved aside broken tiles to make space for Sanglant, but the prince was, as usual, too restless to sleep. He sat brooding by the fire.

A quiet wind brushed all the clouds away. Under the clear sky cold crept in, chasing away the dregs of summer. The bitter stars reminded him of Liath, for she would have loved a night such as this, so clear and cold that the stars seemed twice as bright and a hundred times more numerous than usual. The three jewels, Diamond, Citrine, and Sapphire, burned overhead as the Queen drove the Guivre down into the western horizon. The River of Souls streamed across the zenith. Did Liath walk there now? Could she see him? But when he spoke her name softly onto the breeze, he heard no answer.

They kept their secrets well.

After a while the waning moon rose to wash the sky with silver light. He heard them before the sentries did: a muffled yip, softly signaling, and the brush of fur against dry leaves, perhaps a tail dragged along a bush. He jumped up to his feet just as Jerna unwound herself from Blessing’s sling and shot away into the air. With sword in hand, he followed the aery daimones’ form, a shimmering streak against the night sky, to the fort’s wall, which stood chest-high. Wracwulf greeted him briefly, alert enough to notice how Sanglant’s gaze ranged over the forest cover. The soldier, too, turned to survey the woodland.

Three wolves emerged from the undergrowth in that silence known only to wild things. The sentry hissed, but Sanglant laid a stilling hand on the soldier’s arm. A fourth wolf ghosted out of the trees a stone’s throw to the left. They came no closer, only watched. Their amber eyes gleamed in moonlight.

Wracwulf raised his spear. A bowstring creaked from farther down the wall, where Sibold stood watch.

“Don’t shoot!” cried Sanglant.

Shouts and the alarm broke out in camp. The wolves vanished into the trees. Sanglant spun and, drawing his sword, sprinted back to camp to find the soldiers risen in agitation, whispering like troubled bees. They had gathered near Blessing’s sling, but the commotion had not troubled her; she slept soundly.

“Your Highness!” Captain Fulk leveled his spear at a dark figure which stood next to the sleeping baby.

“Who’s this?” demanded Sanglant, really angry now, because fear always fueled anger.

The man stepped out of the shadows. His hair had the same silvery tone as the moonlight that bathed him in its soft light. “When I realized it was you, Prince Sanglant, I had to see the child.”

“Wolfhere!”

The old Eagle looked tired, and he walked with a pronounced limp. His cloak and clothing were neat enough, but his boots were scuffed and dirty. An overstuffed pack lay on its side on the ground behind him.

“Your Highness.” He examined the soldiers surrounding him with a smile so thin that Sanglant could not tell whether he were amused or on the point of collapse. “I feel as welcome as if I’d jumped into a bed of thistles.”

Fulk did not lower his spear. The point hovered restlessly near the Eagle’s unprotected belly. “This man is under the regnant’s ban.”

“Is that so?” asked Sanglant amiably.

“Alas, so it is,” Wolfhere admitted cheerfully enough. “I left court without the king’s permission. When my horse went lame, I was unable to commandeer another.”

“Sit down.” Now that any immediate danger to Blessing was past, Sanglant could enjoy the irony of the situation. “I would be pleased to hear your tale. In any case it seems you are now in my custody. It is well for you, I suppose, that I do not currently rest in the king’s favor either.”

“Nay, so you do not. That much gossip, at least, I heard on the road here.” Wolfhere’s mask of sage detachment vanished as he spoke again, a remarkable blend of anxiety and agitation flowering on that usually closed face. “Where is Liath?”