Crown of Stars (Crown of Stars 7)

The Ashioi walked in Aosta, a land their half-breed descendants had once ruled. The Ashioi army led by Feather Cloak had laid in a siege around Novomo. They did not have quite enough soldiers to encircle the town, and no doubt the paths leading northward remained poorly guarded. But they were here, and Blessing was with them.

The small company tramped down to the main road and turned toward the town. A sparse woodland covered the slopes of nearby hills. Vineyards and olive trees ringed the town, among them small hamlets and long fields striped by sprouting grain. No one moved in field or village.

Anna moaned. “They’ve burned all those houses.” She wept with fear. “Do you think they’ve killed everyone? They hate us.”

“Maybe so,” said Liath, “but ‘they’ do not all think alike, Anna. Some will help us. Some will wish to kill us. Do not despair. Consider Blessing, who will need your help.”

“She won’t come with us, my lady. She’s training to be a soldier.”

Sharp Edge, hearing their speech, dropped back to walk beside Liath. “Bright One, do you think your daughter will follow us? It’s said that Zuangua, who is a bold leader and a very handsome man, I might add, has taken her under his wing.”

“So I hear.”

“She may not want to leave him. Then it will all be for nothing, if Feather Cloak takes you and kills you. I do not want to lose you. Without you, I will never have a chance to learn properly. The Pale Sun Dog hoards his knowledge. He’ll never teach us everything he knows. He’ll never trust us.”

“It is a risk,” Liath admitted. “But if I allow my daughter to remain with your people, then she will always be at war with her father’s kin. She must not be allowed to be brought up by those who will always counsel war with humankind. If Secha were Feather Cloak, I might think differently.”

“It is hard to imagine there can be peace with the Impatient One sitting on the Eagle Seat and Zuangua the Handsome—her own uncle!—as her chief councillor and war leader among the masks,” admitted Sharp Edge. “But I am willing to try to get your daughter back. I will help you, and you will teach me. I don’t see how I can get what I want any other way!”

Liath chuckled, although her mood was grim. “In this way, we are alike.”

“Hush now!” said Dog Mask, who with Falcon Mask led the way. “See, there are human guardsmen standing along the walls of the town. But our own camp does not stir. I see sentries, but no flights of warriors ready to strike.”

“There!” said Sharp Edge. “The war party is holding a convocation, there on that hill. Do you see their banners? Nay, stop here!”

They halted where the curve and height of the road gave them a good vantage. The camp spread across lower ground. Individual folk were easily visible among tents slung low along the earth. A procession led by Feather Cloak’s spinning gold wheel broke free of the assembly and marched toward the gate, halting just beyond bowshot of the walls.

“There is Blessing,” whispered Anna.

Liath scanned the folk in that procession. It was difficult for her to distinguish individuals at this distance, although Feather Cloak’s vivid costume was remarkable from any distance. With a jolt that made her shudder, she saw Hugh’s golden head. He was tallest, surrounded by a dozen tense mask warriors. He turned, staring back her way as if he knew she was there. A pair of masks broke away from his escort and trotted to Feather Cloak. They gave her a message, it seemed, and after a brief exchange they retreated at a run toward the main camp.

Where was Blessing? Belatedly, Liath saw a slender girl standing beside the proud warrior Zuangua. Yes, indeed, it would be difficult to drag Blessing from her place beside such an impressive uncle, there at the front of the lines. Blessing was old enough in body to be allowed conditional entry into the adult world, and young enough in mind to have no true understanding of its dangers and consequences.

“Above the gate!” said Dog Mask. “Look!”

Within Novomo, many people had gathered along the parapets and in the watchtowers set on either side of the gate, but there was no hostile movement, no shouting or cursing, only a sense of anticipation as they stared at the waiting Ashioi. A large sack was lifted onto the battlements. Wrapped in rope, it was lowered to the ground outside the gates. When the sack reached earth, the rope was released and tossed after it.

A trio of mask warriors dashed forward, grasped the sack, and hauled it back to the procession, whose ranks opened to receive it. Liath and the others could see nothing of what transpired, only that Hugh’s golden head disappeared as if he had dropped down to examine the contents of the sack.

After a bit he reappeared.

“What would the Pale Dogs be throwing out of the city,” asked Sharp Edge, “that Feather Cloak would be willing to receive?”

“It’s hard to imagine.”

The golden wheel, lifted by the standard-bearer, spun lazily as the procession split asunder, re-formed, and retired back toward camp. A conch shell blew a five-note pattern, repeated twice. At this signal, first a single tent, and then four, and then a score sagged and sank and were folded and rolled as the army began the business of lifting the siege.

“It’s a body,” said Sharp Edge, staring at the crumpled heap revealed on the ground by the retreat of the procession. They had abandoned the corpse. “The Pale Dogs gave a body to Feather Cloak. She must have gotten what she came for.”

“The body of the sorcerer who sent the galla,” said Liath softly. “Is there any person left who knows that secret?”

“You do not know how to call these creatures?”

“I do not. Perhaps Hugh of Austra knows.”

“It would be good to kill such a man,” remarked Sharp Edge. “I would do it myself.” She grinned.

Liath laughed, not meaning to. The young woman was close to her in age, stubborn, fixed, blunt, and an unrepentant tease, comfortable in making males uncomfortable. As their gazes met, she felt an intense feeling of kinship similar to that she felt for Sorgatani.