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“She is with the princess.”
“I must speak to her before we leave.”
“As you wish, Sister. Princess Theophanu is waiting for you.”
By the light of a single lamp held aloft by young Paloma, they made their way to the cavern. It was empty, eerily so: not one scrap of leather remained to show what a great party had sheltered here, only a fading and somewhat putrid scent.
“That man died,” said Paloma. “The one who was touched by the creature. Will you all die, too, do you think?”
“I hope not, child,” said Rosvita. Leoba shuddered, but she was too sow-headed a woman to voice her fear, if she had any.
Paloma led them past an odd array of side chambers carved out of the rock. Tunnels curved off on either side, descending and ascending.
“Was this a city once?” Rosvita wondered aloud as they reached a ramp that sloped upward, curled around a huge wall of rock, and narrowed abruptly where a groove was cut into the earth. Another millstone lay on its side, slotted into the rock, ready to be rolled shut in the event of attack.
“I think it was a refuge,” said Paloma, “just like it is now. They built ways to block the path behind them if they needed to flee upward to the stone crown. Here, careful—” She lit them over a plank that bridged a ditch, whose steep sides vanished into darkness below. “It’s too far to jump. Can you smell the horses?”
Rosvita could smell them, and soon enough could hear nervous whinnies, the mutter of men, and the restless undercurrent of an entourage making ready to leave. Light bled in through cunning shafts angling sunlight down through the rocks. Paloma doused the lamp, and they climbed steps over a low wall whose sides were stippled with squares of light.
“Those holes make arrow slits, so defenders in the stables could shoot anyone coming down this corridor.”
Two sharp corners brought them to the low, lit caves used as stables, high up on the rock where several more terraces gave light and air and room for exercise. Nevertheless, she saw several heaps of bone and offal, burned and swept to one side; six weeks under these conditions had been too much for some of the horses already weakened by the grueling ride from Vennaci.
Ahead, the retinue gathered in marching order, lined up and stretching out of her sight on a path that curled out onto a terrace and then on up around the rock face. Wind blew steadily; it was night, but the sky was clear and the moon bright and perfectly round. They dared use no lamps for fear of alerting Ironhead to their desperate ploy, and yet it was possible that his sentries might see them anyway, silhouetted by moonlight against the huge outcropping. Looming above, she saw the black mass of the summit and beyond it, the garden of winter stars, their brilliance dimmed by the glare of the full moon.
Leoba used her elbows as well as a few choice phrases, some polite, some coarser, to press their way forward through the rear guard and then the main party. Rosvita had to pause briefly to reassure Fortunatus, who was trapped in a clot of clerics and wanted desperately to join her. To salve his distress, she gave the pouch of precious books into his keeping. Then she went on to the front where Queen Adelheid and Princess Theophanu stood beside their mounts. Captain Fulk and a dozen soldiers made up the van.
“Where is Mother Obligatia?” Rosvita asked after she had paid her respects.
“She has gone ahead with Lord Hugh,” said Adelheid. “The rest of us will remain here until we hear the horn. That will mark that it is safe to proceed.”
“If it will ever be safe,” murmured Theophanu. But she stood resolutely beside her mount, as calm as ever. She had accepted Rosvita’s decision without objection, almost without reaction. The groom holding the reins of her mount looked nervous, shifting his feet as he stared up the path cut into the rock. It vanished around a curve in the rock, leading toward the summit. Was that a glimmer of light there, or only the trick of her eyes?
“I must speak with her alone,” said Rosvita. “Let me go up.”
“Nay, Sister!” said Theophanu sharply. “I will not lose you!”
“Mother Obligatia warned us not to follow her until she knew it was safe,” said Adelheid. “What if Lord Hugh cannot bind the creature? It might turn its killing gaze on you as well, Sister. And you are innocent.”
“No more innocent than that soldier who died,” said Rosvita. “Nay, Your Highness. I pray you, do not attempt to stop me. I will be cautious. But I must speak to her.”
Theophanu said nothing, neither to give permission nor withhold it, so Rosvita walked on. Wind bit at her face, and she chafed her hands together to warm them as she kept her gaze fixed on the ground, always aware of sheer cliff dropping off to her right and the distant tiny campfires of Ironhead’s encampment far below. But the path unrolled before as broad and easily negotiable as the apocryphal road that leads the unwary and the foolish and the wicked to the Abyss.
She labored up the slope and where the path cut left through a series of squat pinnacles, it gave out suddenly onto a flat summit. The standing stones blotted out the stars at even intervals. A faint tracery of white slipped between them like mist blown on the wind. Littered among the circle of stones lay putrefying bodies, a dozen at least, mangled, arms outflung, faces blackened, weapons broken and lying askew.
She staggered back from the sight, heard a warning whisper. A hand caught her elbow.
“You must go back, Sister Rosvita. It is dangerous for you to stay here.”
“Someone must witness.” Understanding had freed her: she was risking not just her body but her immortal soul, and she intended to see all there was to see.
“I have taken responsibility to witness,” whispered Mother Obligatia. Rosvita felt the old woman’s walking stick pressed against her hip, and she marveled that the abbess had strength enough to walk so far on her crippled legs. She could not leave her alone.
“I will stay with you. I must speak to you of what I have discovered—”
She saw him then, walking forward in plain sight, tall and glorious in moonlight as he crossed toward the circle of stones and halted about three paces in front of the first gaping archway of standing stones and lintel where an oval patch of sandy soil turned the ground white. A translucent figure darted forward through the stone circle, curling around the lintel sparking with the reflected glint of starlight. Hugh began to sing, hands lifted with fingers outspread. The wind died, and such an unnatural stillness settled over the height that she could hear his voice as clear and sweet as that of the angels.
“Matthias guide me, Mark protect me, Johanna free me, Lucia aid me, Marian purify me, Peter heal me, Thecla be my witness always, that the Lady shall be my shield and the Lord shall be my sword. Sanctify me, God, and destroy all that is evil and wicked. Free me from all attacks of the Enemy. Let no creature harm me. May the blessing of God be on my head. God reign forever, world without end.”
