Child of Flame (Crown of Stars 4)

Heribert wisely did not answer, although it was clear by his puzzled expression that he did not really recall her.

But for Sanglant the name sent off a cascade of memories: how he’d first seen Liath during a sally outside the walls of Gent; the way her braid swayed along her spine, sensuous and inviting although she wasn’t the kind of woman who meant to be inviting, not after the life she’d lived and the abuse she’d suffered at Hugh of Austra’s hands. Hanna had called Liath a fool for marrying him. “She seemed a wise and honest young woman,” he said at last, surprised to find himself smiling. It had been a long time since thoughts of Liath had made him smile.

Wolfhere’s smile in answer was as soft as a tender kiss. “Truly, Hanna is more than she seems, so I’ve discovered. She wasn’t dead at all but held captive and concealed by Quman sorcery.”

Sanglant swung round. “Quman sorcery!”

“Bulkezu’s taken her prisoner.”

“Ai, Lord. A grim fate, indeed. Was Ekkehard with Bulkezu as well?”

“I did not see him, my lord prince. I saw her only briefly because—” It was so unlike Wolfhere to hesitate, to show any uncertainty, that Sanglant set a hand on the old Eagle’s arm to coax him. Druthmar had the patience of an ox, if rather more virility, and he had evidently heard so many awful things about Wolfhere from Hedwig that he found the old man fascinating, in the same way one stands watching from the safety of a bench as a scorpion skitters around the room.

At last, Wolfhere sighed. “Because of the owl.”

“Owl?”

“Many eyes watch,” observed Wolfhere cryptically. “But what I saw where the owl dispelled the mists I recognized easily enough. It was the royal palace at Augensburg, burned now, all in ruins. That’s where I saw Hanna. As briefly seen and as briefly gone again, but without question it was her, surrounded by Quman soldiers. That means that Bulkezu and his army ride north along the eastern bank of one of the tributaries of the Veser River.”

“God save us,” said Druthmar. “Bulkezu has struck into Wendar. I thought he still wandered in the marchlands.”

“Duke Burchard took a force south to Aosta, to support Henry,” said Sanglant. “There’s no one to stop Bulkezu from riding all the way north along the Veser to Osterburg.”

“How can he hope to take Duchess Rotrudis’ city?” asked Druthmar. “He’d have to besiege it for months.”

“Truly, perhaps we’re going at this wrong. Why lay in a siege at all, if he can just ride around them? Why go north to Osterburg when he could as easily strike west into Fesse and western Saony? Duchess Liutgard also rode south with my father. Who is left to protect Wendar?”

Yet the next night at the war council their debate hung up time and again not on the threat Bulkezu and his army posed but on the veracity of Wolfhere’s testimony.

“You’ve no proof Bulkezu is in Avaria riding north along the Veser,” said Sapientia for the third time as certain of her attendants nodded agreement. “I can’t believe you let that Eagle Wolfhere ride with you, after the king outlawed him. That’s as good as rebelling outright against Father’s authority—”

th pressed through the crowd in the opposite direction. When he saw Sanglant, he changed course.

“What is it, Matto?” asked Sanglant as the lad hurried up.

“The old man wishes to speak urgently to you, my lord prince. He says he’s seen news.”

The phrasing sent Sanglant’s heart racing. He had a tremendous sense of impending action, that moment before a storm surge breaks over the wharf. They left the market. A ferry raft took them over the river to the neatly-laid-out encampment where his army, fully three hundred mounted cavalry as well as a number of other fighters, had set up their tents. The ditch being dug around the perimeter was almost complete, the easiest defense against a surprise cavalry attack should there be Quman lurking in the woods. Wolfhere waited for him in the shadow of his tent’s awning, out of the sun. Blessing had gone inside the tent to sulk. He could hear her companions talking in low voices; Lord Thiemo seemed to be telling the child some kind of story about a phoenix. Harmless enough, and it might serve to keep her out of trouble for the evening.

“What news?” he asked Wolfhere. They walked away from the tent, giving them some privacy to converse. Only Heribert and Druthmar attended them. The rest of the pack waited restlessly under the awning, sipping mead.

“I found Hanna;” said Wolfhere in a troubled voice. “I’d looked for her through fire and water both these past months. Since I couldn’t spy her, I thought she must be dead—”

“Who is Hanna?” asked Heribert.

“The young Eagle I rode with when we took you over the mountains,” snapped Wolfhere. “Or do you even remember her?”

Heribert wisely did not answer, although it was clear by his puzzled expression that he did not really recall her.

But for Sanglant the name sent off a cascade of memories: how he’d first seen Liath during a sally outside the walls of Gent; the way her braid swayed along her spine, sensuous and inviting although she wasn’t the kind of woman who meant to be inviting, not after the life she’d lived and the abuse she’d suffered at Hugh of Austra’s hands. Hanna had called Liath a fool for marrying him. “She seemed a wise and honest young woman,” he said at last, surprised to find himself smiling. It had been a long time since thoughts of Liath had made him smile.

Wolfhere’s smile in answer was as soft as a tender kiss. “Truly, Hanna is more than she seems, so I’ve discovered. She wasn’t dead at all but held captive and concealed by Quman sorcery.”

Sanglant swung round. “Quman sorcery!”

“Bulkezu’s taken her prisoner.”

“Ai, Lord. A grim fate, indeed. Was Ekkehard with Bulkezu as well?”