The Gathering Storm (Crown of Stars 5)

“Yet I will teach any person who comes to me, no matter their station,” she said, peeling the sour skin from a grape and tasting the sweet center. “They must only show themselves willing and able to learn.”

He chuckled. “Anyone, lady? Even these two Jinna idolaters?”

Gnat and Mosquito were watching her in the manner of dogs hoping to catch their master’s intent and mood. She was still learning to tell them apart. Mosquito was the one with the round scar on his left cheek and a missing tooth. Gnat had broader shoulders, a broader face, and was missing the thumb on his right hand.

“Would you learn the sorcerer’s skill, if you could?” she asked them in Jinna. “Master the knowledge of the stars?”

They considered, looking into each other’s faces as if what one thought, the other could read by means of a lip quirked upward or the wrinkle in a brow.

Finally, Mosquito spoke. “Who would teach us, Bright One?”

“I would.”

Again they spoke to each other by means of expression alone, and this time when they were finished, Gnat replied. “We will do as you command, lady.”

“But do you wish it?”

“Yes, lady,” they said.

Breschius smiled, watching them. “What do they say?”

“I don’t know whether they wish to please me, or to learn!”

“It is for this reason that princes must defend themselves against flatterers. Slaves are in some measure like courtiers, because they fear—rightly enough—that they have no existence without the good favor of the master. Therefore, it can never be known whether they speak truth, or lie to protect themselves.”

She smiled, liking him very well. “Have some more grapes, Brother. I pray you, do not flatter me only because you think I desire it, for I do not. I think we should see if there are any likely disciplas among our party in addition to these two. If you agree to this task, I will expect you to teach what you learn to others, and to be my captain. If you will.”

He considered her with an unnerving intentness, as though he saw a different face hiding behind her own. “Will you raise an army of sorcerers and become an empress?”

“I have no taste for empire. I do not wish to rule over others and make them do my bidding. I don’t need a court of flatterers surrounding me! If I can defeat Anne, then I want to delve into the mysteries of the heavens and of Earth. There is so much to know and understand. That will be enough for me.”

A smile touched his lips, then vanished. “You remind me of someone I once knew,” he murmured, “who was dear to me.” He inclined his head, touched fingers to forehead in a gesture of respect, and met her gaze. “I will be your captain, my lady.” His expression held a spark of laughter; he rubbed the stump of his missing hand and pressed it against his chest, over his heart. “I will gladly serve as you command.”

Sanglant always had a hard time sitting still, but sit he did for the entire afternoon under the shade of a canopy that was all that sheltered him from a hot summer sun. The supplicants waiting for a turn to speak to him had no such shelter, but he had directed Captain Fulk to make sure that each soul there was given a cup of something to drink, although it depleted the army’s stores. The stories had begun to sound the same, and yet every woman and man who knelt before him grieved his heart.

“I pray you, Your Highness. No rain fell all summer and the wheat died on the stalk. We’ve nothing to eat but berries and grass, and nothing to lay in for stores for the winter.”

“God help us, Your Highness. Bandits have raided our village twice. My daughter and son were stolen.”

“It was the plague killed my family, all but me and my cousin, Your Highness. We didn’t dare bury them, it was so bad. We had to abandon our village.”

“I pray you, Your Highness. Help us.”

Although he had nothing to give them, each one went away lightened, as if the touch of his hand alone could ease their troubles. As if the griffins he had tamed made him a saint. His mood was sour and his shoulders itched from the sweaty tunic, but he dared not show discomfort. His trivial cares were nothing compared to the suffering these people had endured.

The field in which his army camped lay in the marchlands, in border country where no person quite knew what land lay under the suzerainty of which lady or lord. Most of the folk here believed they lived in Eastfall, but few were certain; their concerns were more immediate and so pressing that they braved a camp inhabited by two gleaming griffins, one staked and hooded but the other roaming free.

“There’s two noble families at feud, Your Highness. They’ve begun stealing our sheep although we’re just farming folk. Their quarrels mean nothing to us. Can you stop them?”

“My lord prince, our monastery was burned by the Quman and half the monks killed, those who hadn’t time to hide. All our precious vessels and vestments were stolen by the barbarians. We lost our entire crop, for there wasn’t anyone to harvest it.”

The petitioner, Brother Anselm, clearly chewed his nails, and looked as if he wished he could do so now as he glanced toward that section of camp where war bands of eight Quman tribes had set up their tents. Their wings fluttered in a rising wind blowing up from the southeast; their banners snapped. Gyasi stood directly behind Sanglant with arms crossed, his blank expression more terrifying than any glower.

“Be at ease, Brother,” said Sanglant. “These Quman serve me, not their former master. Go on.”

The monk bobbed his head too quickly and stammered as he continued. “W-we live as well as we can in the ruins, but this summer two score foundling boys were left at the gatehouse. One was just an infant. No doubt their families can’t feed them. The older ones are good and eager workers, but we need seed to plant winter wheat, and for next spring’s planting as well, and stores to tide us over this coming winter.”

It was getting near dusk, with dark clouds piling up on that wind, and he had spoken to no more than half the folk who waited here, some of whom had walked for days upon hearing that his army was marching through this region. Twenty score or more of them camped nearby, perhaps most of the population of the surrounding region. A few seemed eager to join his troop or to follow along behind the rear guard. Many seemed simply to desire assurance that someone, anyone, meant to protect them from whatever disaster would strike next. He could promise them so little, yet that he listened at all, that he had set foot in this land, seemed enough for most of them.