The Gathering Storm (Crown of Stars 5)

“Nay, neither of you,” said Sanglant sharply. “I’ll carry her.”

They made a ragged little procession, laden with bundles, as they crossed what had once been a sandbar thrown up by the way the current had dredged into the earth. No one called after them, bidding them safe passage. Anna kicked stones rubbed round by the tumble of the water and left high and dry when the current shifted and this channel turned into a backwater. Once they reached the old island, she slogged up a gentle slope through low scrub. Gnats and tiny flies swarmed, and she batted them away and was relieved, really, to step past the stones into the ring because, for a miracle, no gnats or flies passed that invisible line.

The hummock revealed itself to be a barrow constructed in a way familiar to Anna from ones left behind by the ancient ones along the river north of Gent. It was larger than it had seemed from the mainland. A passage grave made by stones had been covered by turf, now overgrown with grass, yellow violets, and, to her surprise, a rash of variegated irises. The spray of flowers reminded her of funeral wreaths placed on the coffins of the dead, but she only gripped her bundle of clothes and oddments tightly and kept marching. She glanced back once toward the army, forming up into a tight marching line, units close together and some of the wagons abandoned and rolled to one side, including the one in which Blessing had lain. Bertha’s troop moved up behind them onto the sandbar, and halted.

“Let me kiss her now,” said Liath. She kissed her daughter on the brow, then drew an arrow from her quiver and retreated out of the stone circle, stopping at a sandy patch of ground that faced east, so close to the bluff that one more step backward would send her tumbling into the river.

As she might deserve to, thought Anna, then squelched the thought, afraid that such feelings would doom her. She had to pray, to focus her thoughts on her dying mistress, but her hands did shake so that the bundle seemed likely to drop right out of her grasp even though it was loosely swaddled and easy to grip.

“Anna?” Matto sidled close up against her.

“Nay, you just leave her alone,” muttered Thiemo.

“Stop it!”

Heads turned at her tone, but the solemn proceedings captured their attention again.

Li’at’dano sprinkled ocher over Blessing’s limp body, then dabbed a spot on either of Sanglant’s cheeks, drawing the spot out into a line, and finishing with a red mark on his brow. She marked the rest of them in the same fashion, and when it came Anna’s turn, it was all she could do not to shrink away from the centaur. Those eyes seemed flat, and the pupils weren’t shaped right, and certainly no trace of human emotion enlivened that creamy face. She could kill any of them with a kick, if she wished—well, any of them except Prince Sanglant.

And when they woke—if they woke—this creature would be her keeper. She didn’t fear Li’at’dano, precisely, but the thought of living among the centaurs for untold years made her suddenly very queasy.

The prince knelt by the low entrance and, with his daughter clutched tightly against him, edged forward on his knees into the grave. Heribert followed him, carrying a lamp and a blanket, and after him went the Kerayit healer dragging behind him the heavy leather pouch in which he carried the tools of his trade.

Then it was Matto’s turn. He took in a deep breath and glanced back at Anna and Thiemo, but he said nothing, only got down on his hands and knees and crawled in after the others. Once he was inside, Anna ducked down under the lintel, able to walk in a crouch rather than have to crawl as the bigger men did. The smell of earth overwhelmed her. The ramped floor sloped down and as she pushed the bundle ahead of her, unable to figure out any way to carry it, the ceiling above receded until she was able to raise up a little and walk bent over. The passageway seemed to go on for longer than ought to be possible, given the outward dimensions of the hummock, and when she reached the chamber, the flickering lamplight suggested a chamber far larger than it had any right to be. The corbeled vault was so high that Sanglant could stand upright. The walls were pockmarked with niches, but the lamp didn’t give enough light for her to tell what was stored in them.

haman nodded.

Matto was white and Thiemo standing so rigid that he looked awkward. They said nothing, and looked not at each other nor at her, as if the merest meeting of eyes would shatter their resolve.

“She’ll have to be carried in,” said Liath. “They may as well take a few things.”

“Like a burial,” murmured Sanglant hoarsely. “In the old days they buried queens and kings in this manner, stowed with their treasures.” He shook himself and pushed away from the wagon. “Let it be done, then. I can bear this no longer.”

“I’ll carry her,” said Matto.

“I will!” insisted Thiemo.

“Nay, neither of you,” said Sanglant sharply. “I’ll carry her.”

They made a ragged little procession, laden with bundles, as they crossed what had once been a sandbar thrown up by the way the current had dredged into the earth. No one called after them, bidding them safe passage. Anna kicked stones rubbed round by the tumble of the water and left high and dry when the current shifted and this channel turned into a backwater. Once they reached the old island, she slogged up a gentle slope through low scrub. Gnats and tiny flies swarmed, and she batted them away and was relieved, really, to step past the stones into the ring because, for a miracle, no gnats or flies passed that invisible line.

The hummock revealed itself to be a barrow constructed in a way familiar to Anna from ones left behind by the ancient ones along the river north of Gent. It was larger than it had seemed from the mainland. A passage grave made by stones had been covered by turf, now overgrown with grass, yellow violets, and, to her surprise, a rash of variegated irises. The spray of flowers reminded her of funeral wreaths placed on the coffins of the dead, but she only gripped her bundle of clothes and oddments tightly and kept marching. She glanced back once toward the army, forming up into a tight marching line, units close together and some of the wagons abandoned and rolled to one side, including the one in which Blessing had lain. Bertha’s troop moved up behind them onto the sandbar, and halted.

“Let me kiss her now,” said Liath. She kissed her daughter on the brow, then drew an arrow from her quiver and retreated out of the stone circle, stopping at a sandy patch of ground that faced east, so close to the bluff that one more step backward would send her tumbling into the river.

As she might deserve to, thought Anna, then squelched the thought, afraid that such feelings would doom her. She had to pray, to focus her thoughts on her dying mistress, but her hands did shake so that the bundle seemed likely to drop right out of her grasp even though it was loosely swaddled and easy to grip.

“Anna?” Matto sidled close up against her.

“Nay, you just leave her alone,” muttered Thiemo.

“Stop it!”

Heads turned at her tone, but the solemn proceedings captured their attention again.

Li’at’dano sprinkled ocher over Blessing’s limp body, then dabbed a spot on either of Sanglant’s cheeks, drawing the spot out into a line, and finishing with a red mark on his brow. She marked the rest of them in the same fashion, and when it came Anna’s turn, it was all she could do not to shrink away from the centaur. Those eyes seemed flat, and the pupils weren’t shaped right, and certainly no trace of human emotion enlivened that creamy face. She could kill any of them with a kick, if she wished—well, any of them except Prince Sanglant.

And when they woke—if they woke—this creature would be her keeper. She didn’t fear Li’at’dano, precisely, but the thought of living among the centaurs for untold years made her suddenly very queasy.