The Gathering Storm (Crown of Stars 5)

“God above,” swore Hathui. Blood trickled through her fingers where she held them clamped tight just below her left shoulder. “Have you something I can bind this with? He slashed me. Lad, look for my horse. She can’t have strayed far.”

Hanna’s shoulders throbbed where she’d hit the stone wall. Lichen slipped under her fingers as she pushed forward, finally sweeping away the grip of shock. “Ernst! Go on! Keep your eyes open. We don’t want those men creeping back with their friends to attack us.”

She had nothing to say to Hathui. Surprise had mangled her tongue. She hurried to the horse tied on behind the saddled gelding and fished out the roll of linen in their stores packed by Theophanu’s stewards for just such an eventuality.

Hathui limped over to a ramp of stone half overgrown by a bramble bush heavy with berries. With a grunt, she eased down to sit on the stone and carefully released her fingers. Blood leaked through a gash in her sleeve. The cloth had been mended once, just above the fresh rip, tidy white stitches set into the dirty gray wool that matched a dozen mended tears in her Eagle’s cloak. Her dark hair was caught back in an untidy pony’s tail, and a smudge of dirt darkened her hawk’s nose. Fresh blood smeared one corner of her mouth.

“Best move quickly,” she said without raising her head as she delicately pulled aside torn cloth to examine the cut. She was breathing hard but did not look likely to faint.

Hanna had seen worse wounds. The blade had caught the surface of the skin and torn it back raggedly, but not deeply. She unfastened Hathui’s Eagle’s brooch and helped her pull off the tunic, then painted a paste of crushed marigold flowers over the cut before binding it up with a strip of linen. Hathui got her tunic on, wincing, just as Ernst returned triumphantly, leading the sorriest-looking mare Hanna had ever seen.

“My thanks, lad.” Hathui limped forward to take the reins from him. “I’m called Hathui. Are you one of us?”

“I’m called Ernst,” said the youth, staring at her with admiration. Hathui was not, Hanna supposed, a handsome woman, but she was impressive: tough, proud, and looking like she’d ridden through a storm of demons and survived. “I mean to be an Eagle. That’s why I’m riding with Hanna.”

“Well met.” After greeting him, Hathui rubbed the mare’s nose affectionately and checked her saddlebag, which seemed to hold nothing more than half a loaf of dry bread and an empty wineskin. Finally, she looked up. “Ai, God, Hanna, it’s good to see you. Where are you bound?”

“Aosta. What news, Hathui? Have you come from the king? I’ve been sent with an urgent message from Princess Theophanu—”

Hathui’s face drained to white, bled dry, and she sank down onto the fallen stone with a grimace of pain. “You must ride straight back to Princess Theophanu!”

“The king’s dead?”

“Not dead when I left him.” Hathui spoke so quietly it was difficult to hear her voice. “I pray he is not dead now.” Tears trickled down her cheeks, and her breathing became harsh. “That I should take so long to get even this far! And I do not know how far I have left to go.”

Her expression made Hanna tremble as the older Eagle grabbed her sword hilt and pushed herself up, looking grim and determined. “We must make haste, you to Princess Theophanu and I—Can you tell me, Hanna? Where is Prince Sanglant? I have followed rumors that lead me east, but I may be following a cold trail, God help me, for he is veiled to my Eagle’s Sight. I must reach Prince Sanglant.”

Ernst had wandered close to listen, but Hanna chased him off. “You’re sentry, Ernst! You must keep watch. Those brigands could come sneaking back and kill us while we’re not looking!”

She picked up one of the bandits’ captured staves, which was not much more than a stout walking stick carved to a nasty point at one end, and beat down the bramble bush around the stone bench so she and Hathui could sit without fear of thorns. It felt good to batter down the bramble bush, to hear the snap of vines and watch bits of leaf spill like chaff onto the ground, revealing more of the old stone ruin. By the pattern of the tumbled stones and their neatly dressed edges, she guessed this had once been an old Dariyan way station. Dariyan messengers, folk like herself, had sheltered here long ago.

“Sit down,” she said. Hathui sat, shaking and still pale. “You must tell the whole.”

Haltingly she did, although Hanna had never before heard Hathui sound so unlike the confident, sharp-tongued Eagle she had met in Heart’s Rest five years ago. While she talked, Ernst paced out the edge of the clearing, riding a short way down each of the three paths that branched out from the clearing: one led north back toward Theophanu, one east, and one southwest. Each time he returned he glanced over at them and their hushed conversation before resuming his circuit of the forest’s edge.

Hathui spoke more with rasp than voice. “I bring no message from King Henry, only news of his betrayal. Hugh of Austra has connived with Queen Adelheid and the skopos herself, the Holy Mother Anne, to make Henry their creature in all ways. I know not with what black spells Hugh has sullied his hands, but he trapped an unearthly daimone and forced it into the king, who was all unsuspecting. Now the king speaks with the daimone’s voice, for the daimone controls his speech and his movements.”

“How came Hugh of Austra into the councils of Queen Adelheid and the skopos?”

“He is a presbyter now, forgiven for all his sins,” said Hathui bitterly. “I know little of the new skopos save that she claims to be the granddaughter of the Emperor Taillefer. She also claims to be Liath’s mother.”

Could it be true? Hanna had seen Liath’s child, with Sanglant, in the few days she had remained at the prince’s side beyond the Veser, when the prince himself had interviewed her at length about the time she had spent as a prisoner of Bulkezu and the Quman army. Before he had sent her away to carry word of his victory and his plans to his sister. She had heard this tale herself, but it seemed as unlikely then as it did now.

Or perhaps it was the only explanation that made sense.

Wind made the leaves dance and murmur. A brown wren came to light among the brambles, eyeing Hanna and Hathui with its alert gaze before fluttering off.

“There is more,” said Hathui at last, sounding exhausted, her shoulders slumped. “The infant Mathilda is to be named as heir. Adelheid wanted Henry to stay in Aosta to fight in the south, although it was his intent to return to Wendar. That is why they bound him with the daimone. Now he only does what they wish.”

“Why go to Sanglant, then?”

“He must be told what has happened.”

“He is himself a rebel against the king. You must take this news to Theophanu at once!”

“Nay, to Sanglant. So Rosvita counseled me. She said …” Hathui grasped her injured arm again, shutting her eyes, remembering. Her words were almost inaudible. “She said, ‘a bastard will show his true mettle when temptation is thrown in his path and the worst tales he can imagine are brought to his attention.’ Ai, Lady. She allowed herself to be taken prisoner so that I might escape. I do not know if she lives, after all this time. I have searched with my Eagle’s Sight, but I see only darkness.” To Hanna’s horror, indomitable Hathui began to weep. “I fear she is dead.”

Rosvita meant little to Hanna beyond being Ivar’s elder and half sister. “When did this happen? How long have you been traveling?”