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“This is the Eagle?”
“I am Hanna, my lady. I serve the Emperor Henry.”
“Emperor! Well, I hope his quest for Taillefer’s crown has served him well, but I fear he has only served the plots and plans of those who ensorcelled him.”
“I fear so, my lady.”
She beckoned, and a pair of soldiers showed Hanna to the stump of a tree hollowed and marked by ax blows, where an armorer plied his trade mending armor. Lady Bertha followed them and watched with interest as Hanna laid her chain across the log and leaned away, grimacing, as the men took turns hammering at the links until one shattered.
“You can manage with that for now,” said the lady. “Go on, then. Sorgatani is anxious to see you.”
“Yes, my lady. How did you know how to find me?”
“Hanna,” said Breschius.
She followed him. Rather than leading her first to the isolated wagon, he took her aside to the rim of the pool, where a naturally stepped rock ledge gave access to the water just out of sight of the main camp.
“You must wash first,” he said. “You can’t come into her presence so dirty as you are. I’ll get clean clothing for you.”
“Where will any of you have clean clothing?” She gestured toward the camp. “It looks as rustic as the hideout of bandits.”
“Wash,” he said, and left her there.
She stripped and carried her filthy tunic and leggings into the water with her. It was cold enough, God knew, and the water more bracing than the chilly air, but nevertheless with her teeth chattering and her eyes stinging she endured it and scrubbed her hair and scalp with her fingers and rubbed down her skin as well as she could, crying and laughing together because it hurt to get clean. The shackles on her wrists and ankles had rubbed her skin raw in spots, but after the first sharp pain, the ice of the water numbed her injuries.
Breschius returned with a square of folded cloth draped across his left forearm, held in place with his stump pressing it down from above. He chimed when he walked. It seemed he wore anklet bells as well as the belled bracelet. He placed the clothing on the rock and sat with his back to her at the top of the stair-step ledge. His hair, cut short, was clean, and his clothing had been washed and mended. Even his hand was not as dirty as those of the soldiers she had seen working and loitering in camp.
“Were you with Liath?” she asked.
“I was Sorgatani, Lady Bertha, and Her Highness Lady Liathano came from the uttermost east, passing through two crowns until we came to the shore of the Middle Sea. There we met the forces of the skopos. Many of our people were slain, but we escaped because … because the lady called fire.”
The tremor in his voice gave her a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. When she said nothing, not sure what to say, he went on.
“Although we were pursued, Sorgatani used her weather magic to conceal us. So we escaped to these hills. Here we have remained.”
“Where is Liath?”
“Dead, perhaps. Living, perhaps. We do not know.”
She heaved herself up onto the lowest ledge, shaking and trembling. “Ai, God, I pray she is not dead.”
“Sorgatani does not think so. She believes she lives still, although we do not know where she is.”
“Is that why you stayed here? Seeking her?”
“No.”
She found a ragged but clean scrap of linen on the top of the pile and rubbed off as much of the water as the cloth could absorb. Despite the chill in the air, it was still warmer out of the water than in it. He remained silent, back still turned, as she shook out a silk robe that barely reached her knees as though it had perhaps been meant for a shorter, stouter woman. Certainly it was broad enough for her shoulders and hips. It was a rich red, embroidered with golden dragons grappling with golden phoenixes.
“This is no Wendish tunic!”
“These are the clothes that belonged to one of her servants.”
“Her slaves? I will wear no slave’s robes, however rich they may appear!”
“You are no slave, Hanna. You are Sorgatani’s luck. These are the only spare clothes we have until yours dry and can be repaired.”
“What of the woman who wears these?”
