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“The poison should have killed her.”
“She has sorcery in her blood. She walked the spheres.”
“Walked the spheres? She was sacrificed? What can you mean?”
“When we lived in exile, some who studied magic walked the spheres. They walked up into the heavens. I don’t understand it, but it happened. Most who tried it died, but Feather Cloak survived. That is how she grew so powerful.”
“This one did such a thing? I don’t believe it. Walking up into the heavens! She was only lucky. Not all of the arrows are poisoned.”
Cat Mask’s voice was the only one she recognized. “All mine were poisoned! Why would a shallow arrow wound plunge her into this delirium? It is sorcery that spares her from the poison.”
“She fell so fast. How could she have had time or opportunity to twist sorcery to save herself?”
“Maybe not sorcery but something deeper saved her. Secha—who was Feather Cloak before—banished this one when she walked in our country. Secha said this one had more than one seeming. More than one aspect.”
“Abomination!”
“She said this one was heir to the shana-ret’zeri.”
“Let her die!” murmured the other voices. “The blood knives can take her, and her blood will feed the gods.”
“We can’t give her to the blood knives,” said a woman’s voice, spiking over the others. “This is the prize he wanted.”
Cat Mask’s scorn was unmistakable. “You care for what that Pale Hair wants?”
“His knowledge is a weapon. It has already aided us. We sealed an alliance. Go to the stones and wait for him. When he comes, tell him what we have.”
Cat Mask snorted in the manner of a proud man who has turned stubborn. “I will not act as his procurer. You do it yourself.”
“Better yet, better yet,” said a new voice. “Let Feather Cloak decide.”
“Yes. Yes. Let Feather Cloak decide.” Their voices caught her as on a breaking wave and drove her under.
2
THEY called him “count” and “my lord,” and he rode at the head of the procession beside Lady Sabella and Duke Conrad and their noble companions, all of whom were eager to take part in the sport of capturing a guivre. The dirty and dangerous work would be done, of course, by the men-at-arms marching behind them, but this hunt had attracted an unusual crowd, several hundred folk at least. Duke Conrad ordered fourscore eager soldiers to remain with the force garrisoning Autun, and they went with frowns and sighs of displeasure but did not disobey.
For several days the cavalcade rumbled northwest—back the way Alain had come—along the main road. Of riders at the front there ambled two dozen noble folk on fine horses and behind them mounted soldiers. The wagons carrying hooks, nets, grapples, and the cage rattled along afterward, followed at the rear by the twoscore men-at-arms who would hunt on foot and three packs of hunting dogs with their handlers. The dogs barked incessantly, but no one minded, being accustomed to a clamor.
The first night they slept in comfort at an estate belonging to a royal monastery, the second at a lord’s outlying manor house. They camped a pair of nights, but on the fifth night they spread their company around a village, and in the morning carried supplies out of the village storehouse although folk wept to see their stores depleted, for Sabella demanded all of the sacks of grain.
“This is our seed corn,” said the man who set himself forward as their spokesman. He twisted his hands, fearful as he knelt before Sabella. He could not look her in the eye. “I pray you, lady. This is what we saved aside from last year, and not even all of it, for we’ve ourselves of necessity nibbled at it. With this weather! It’s almost Quadrii, but the frosts still hit us every night.” He gestured toward puddles rimed with ice. His hands were red from the cold. “We dare not plant.”
“Soon it will be too late to plant!” called a woman from the crowd.
“I pray the weather turns soon.” Sabella was already mounted, and impatient to depart. Her stewards would finish their provisioning and follow after the forward party. “I have need of these stores for the sake of the duchy.”
The man grimaced anxiously and spoke again, gaze fixed on the ground. “If we’ve nothing to plant, we’ll have no harvest. We’ll starve.”
“If we lose this war, if Wendish and Salians and bandits and Eika invade our shores and there is none to defend you, then your corpses will be rotting in your fields before you starve! Do not trouble me further!”
“I pray you,” said Alain, for all the company remained silent and the villagers knelt in the dust, “let them keep half of their stores. There is truth in what they say.”
She glared at him—she was a woman who did not expect or appreciate being questioned—but he did not cower.
At length he said, more softly, “Their sweat and toil makes you rich.”
Her expression tightened. Her courtiers hunched their shoulders, waiting for the blast, but it did not come.
