“She brought them here,” said the prince to his companion. “Liath led the refugees into this crypt. There was a passage, so they say. That’s how the children were saved from the ruin of Gent.”
They wandered farther in, vaults lost in the darkness that spread everywhere outside the torch’s light. Anna was too terrified to leave them. At every step she expected her feet to crunch on the bones of the dead soldiers who had lain here, decaying, when she and Matthias had passed through, but she saw no trace of them now, not even a finger bone, not even a forgotten knife. The miraculous light carried by St. Kristine had led the two children through the vault to the secret passage, but she could not now recall what path they had taken nor recognize any landmarks.
The prince halted beside one newly carved stone, an effigy of a lady fitted in armor. Her carved face lay in repose, peaceful and, perhaps, a little stubborn even in death. “This must be the grave of Lord Hrodik’s sister, Lady Amalia. She died when they took back the city.”
“Come, my friend,” said the cleric sadly, “let us climb out of this place.” He glanced at Anna, aware that she followed them. “Can you speak, child? Know you the passage of which Prince Sanglant speaks?”
She dared only to shake her head. She knew she would never find it again.
“It’s closed to such as me,” said the prince bitterly. “Ai, God, Heribert, my heart is torn out of me. Five months have passed. Was it only a vision I saw at Angenheim? Liath must be dead.”
“Nay, do not say so. How can we know? There are so many mysteries we do not comprehend.”
The prince threw back his head and howled like a dog. The horrible sound reverberated through the crypt, echoing and whispering down the vaults and through the many chambers. The cleric stumbled back in surprise, bumping into Anna, and almost dropped the torch.
The prince shuddered all over, pressing a palm to his head. Light shivered over him, steadying as Heribert got a good grip on the torch.
“Your Highness?” the cleric asked softly.
Prince Sanglant dropped his hand. His expression was grim and angry, but his gaze was quite sane. “Nay, I beg your pardon, my friend. Liath stood here with me once, that day Bloodheart breached the walls.” He caught in a breath, then went on. “Lord help me. I never thought I’d have the courage to touch those chains.”
darted away, using her elbows to make a path for herself through the crowd, which was by now in a furious state of excitement, everyone talking at once. The prince ducked under the doorway that led down to the crypt, and the folk following in his wake hesitated. The crypt below Gent had become a charnel house during the Eika occupation, and few dared walk there.
But Anna had to find him, to see if it were truly the same creature. Perhaps he was only masquerading as a man, or perhaps he had been a man all along, cast out of a mold different than that from which most folk were formed.
She hurried down the steep curve of the steps, remembering the way the darkness hit abruptly. The noise of the congregation washed away with unexpected-suddenness, and she barely recalled the jarring end to the steps as she stumbled down the last one.
She was blind.
He said, out of the darkness, “Liath?” The voice drifted to her, scarcely more than a whisper, but memory flooded back as she swayed, made dizzy by fear and the pounding of her heart. She would never forget that voice, the hoarse scrape to it, as though it hadn’t formed quite right.
Of course, she did not reply.
His boots scuffed the floor. An unvoiced curse came off his lips in a hiss. A hand brushed her shoulder. Then he grabbed her arm. “Who are you?”
She could not answer.
He touched her face, exploring it with his free hand, grunted, gave up in disgust, and released her.
A soft glow penetrated the gloom, advancing steadily. Torchlight made her blink. The slender cleric who had stood beside the prince at the altar moved hesitantly off the last step and ventured into the vaults.
“Sanglant?” He extended the torch first this way and then that, pausing in surprise when he caught Anna in its smoky light. Beyond, the prince stood mostly in shadow, at the edge of the light, staring fixedly into the depths of the crypt, an impenetrable gloom beyond the torch’s smoky flare.
“Do you know this girl?” demanded the prince. “She seems familiar to me, but I can’t recall her.”
She wanted to tell him, but she could not speak.
“Who are you, girl?” asked the cleric in a kind voice, examining her. She could only shake her head, and abruptly he moved past her, following the prince on into the vault, past the gravestones of the holy dead, those who were once biscops and deacons. Anna trailed after them, torn by curiosity and longing. Anyway, she didn’t want to be left alone in the dark.
“She brought them here,” said the prince to his companion. “Liath led the refugees into this crypt. There was a passage, so they say. That’s how the children were saved from the ruin of Gent.”
They wandered farther in, vaults lost in the darkness that spread everywhere outside the torch’s light. Anna was too terrified to leave them. At every step she expected her feet to crunch on the bones of the dead soldiers who had lain here, decaying, when she and Matthias had passed through, but she saw no trace of them now, not even a finger bone, not even a forgotten knife. The miraculous light carried by St. Kristine had led the two children through the vault to the secret passage, but she could not now recall what path they had taken nor recognize any landmarks.
The prince halted beside one newly carved stone, an effigy of a lady fitted in armor. Her carved face lay in repose, peaceful and, perhaps, a little stubborn even in death. “This must be the grave of Lord Hrodik’s sister, Lady Amalia. She died when they took back the city.”
“Come, my friend,” said the cleric sadly, “let us climb out of this place.” He glanced at Anna, aware that she followed them. “Can you speak, child? Know you the passage of which Prince Sanglant speaks?”
She dared only to shake her head. She knew she would never find it again.