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Dread already possessed her. Because, after all that, Hugh’s last spell had woven into her flesh and her heart to eat at her as one might burn a man from the inside out until he shrieked and howled while his flesh melted away. He was not done yet. She had hurt him, but he had gotten in the last blow.
“Quickly,” she repeated. “We must take those horses we saw and ride to Kassel. Ai, God. Sanglant. I fear—I fear—”
She could not say it. The fear choked her, just as Hugh had hoped it would.
XIII
THE ABYSS
1
SHE could no longer ride through deep forest without looking over her shoulder. She could not forget the daimone that had stalked her, or the galla, whose darkness eats souls. She could not forget the elfshot that had killed her mount years ago, although she knew the shades of elves no longer stalked the shadows.
No, indeed, they walked abroad in sunlight, and they were still angry.
She had commandeered nine horses—all that Hersford possessed—but her two Ashioi companions were terrible riders. Again and again she ranged far ahead, only to wait champing, as she did now, for them to catch up together with Anna and Blessing. Usually she heard them coming because of Blessing—the girl had a penetrating voice and seemed determined to comment on everything—but it was getting close to dark and perhaps after all she would have to turn around and ride back.
God, she wanted to leave them behind and move ahead. She could lead her horse all night; her salamander eyes would guide her. But she had to stay with the others. She could not leave Blessing behind again, nor could she expect the two masks to ride into Kassel without her escort. Anyway, there might be bandits on the road, or Zuangua might have changed his mind and followed them. Or worse things might stalk their trail, starving wolves and ravenous guivres, although she could imagine nothing worse than this fear riding as if on her shoulders, claws digging into her neck. Her jaw ached from clenching down tears. She had no reason—no reason—to believe him dead.
Only that Hugh had said so. Only that Hugh could carry out such a plan. He alone might recognize a daimone, might think to push such a complex interlocking set of spheres into motion, hoping that the promised conjunction would fall into place as the spinning orrery came to rest.
It was so quiet here, shaded and peaceful. A bird chirped, giving her heart. It was good to hear the call of birds again. A doe and half-grown twin fawns trotted into view, looked her way, and slipped into the green. She heard no sign of the others.
There.
On the path behind, an aurochs paced out onto the path. It paused, and the wind died, and for an instant there fell a silence that might have extended across the entire world, heavy and profound, woven through all the wild places that have not yet been touched by human hands. Beneath the vault of heaven, a single life is nothing, no more than a catch of breath, a shattering tear, a falling leaf. The tides of the world will ebb and flow regardless. Our lives are less, even, than the wrack upon the shore.
Yet for all that, they are a blessed gift, however small, however brief.
The aurochs bolted, crashing away into the undergrowth, swallowed up by the trees.
She heard the slap of hooves coming out of the east. Swinging around, she pulled free her bow and nocked an arrow. Her spare horse tugged sideways, seeking forage along the verge, but the horse she was mounted on held steady, trained and ready for war. As was she.
The rider came clear, emerging around a bend in the path. He was an ordinary figure, covered by a gray cloak trimmed with scarlet and leading a spare mount behind him laden with a pair of saddlebags.
“Wolfhere!”
As he came closer, he said, “I pray you, Liath. Lower that bow.”
Startled, she twisted the arrow away and stuck it back in the quiver. “God Above. How come you here, Wolfhere? Where have you been? What news? Oh, God. Oh, God.”
Of course, she could not get the words out. He had come from Kassel. Where else? That was where this path led. She feared to ask them, all the heart and breath squeezed out of her.
“Are you alone?” he asked.
She waved toward the west, at her back, and spoke in a voice more squeak than word, “A small group travels with me, but they fell behind.”
“Who is with you?”
Only then did she recall how he had come to depart from Sanglant and his army in the Arethousan port of Sordaia. “Where have you been all this time? Is it true you tried to kidnap Blessing?”
He recoiled, raising a hand. “There, now, Liath. I am no threat to you. I am alone.”
“What of Anne? You were always her creature, one of the Seven Sleepers!”
He was silent a while. Bunches of bluebells clustered in the shade where the road gave way to underbrush; they nodded as the wind rippled through them. A hawk shrieked far above, unseen beyond the trees. Finally, he shrugged.
“I have spoken of this before. I was raised with Anne. She and I were taught that my service in life was meant for her, for the Seven Sleepers, who continued the work begun by Biscop Tallia and Sister Clothilde. They sought only and always to prevent the return of the Aoi.”
