“They survived in the shadows.”
“In the shadows?” He considered, eyes almost closing as if he was thinking hard. With a slight nod, he went on. “If the memory is still fresh in your eyes, let me say that nevertheless I offer you an alliance.”
“What have you to offer us?”
Hugh still held onto Blessing, who had not moved. Strangely the woman who was Sanglant’s mother had glanced at the child only once and by no other sign showed any interest in her. Not the rest, though. Anna was accustomed to observing without being herself observed, because she was not important enough that noble folk took notice of her. Both the handsome man and the old man studied Blessing with alert interest. The woman standing at the side of the old man studied each person in Hugh’s party. Indeed, that woman caught Anna’s gaze and, for a moment, examined her so closely that Anna felt a fluttering sense of dread in her own stomach. She had a sudden horrible feeling that if their shadows grew long enough to touch those of the human party, they would gobble them up and swallow them alive. She clutched her hands together to stop herself from trembling.
“I can offer a weapon to you, if you are still bent on war.”
She laughed. “Your words make no sense, Golden One. First you say there cannot be war between your kind and mine because too many generations have passed. Then you say that you will offer us a sword with which to gain an advantage over our enemies. Which is it?”
“You came to Henry’s court in later days, only a few years ago, and warned him of a great cataclysm. Is it not true that you offered him at that time an alliance, while he stood in a position of strength?”
“Now he is dead,” she observed. “You know a great deal, Pale Sun. I like you.”
Blessing grunted. The sound was so quiet that it went unremarked by everyone except Anna.
“It’s true I made that offer to Henry,” she continued. “Because that was the will of the council. But those who wished for an alliance no longer lead the people.”
“Who leads?”
“I lead. I am Feather Cloak.”
“Is this the same position your son claims among the Wendish? He calls himself king.”
“Does he?” she asked, but it was obvious by her expression that she already knew. “Something like, in your eyes, I suppose. What is your offer? What sword do you bring to us?”
He shrugged, a movement that might have been designed to dislodge an annoying fly. “First of all, I have information. The Aostans are weak and divided.”
“The Aostans?”
“Those who live in the south. The Arethousans, too, have suffered grievously and are weak.”
“The Arethousans?”
“Let me proceed in a different manner. I have with me a map, which I can read, that shows the lay of the land.”
“Such a map would save us time and trouble, it is true. If we meant to march to war. But it is a long journey from these southern lands to those in the east, and the west, and the north. There is a great deal of wasteland to cross. It is an even longer road to Wendar.”
“So it is. There are shorter paths.”
“Ah.” She smiled in the manner of a warrior who has humbled his worst enemy. “You speak of the crowns. I know the secret of the crowns.”
“So you do, according to Brother Zacharias. Still, you were forced to walk across the breadth of the country through many lands in both winter and summer. I need not do so. I can walk where I will. I can cross between any crown and any other crown in the space of no more than three days. I can cross great distances in a short time. Who else has this power? Do you, Uapeani-kazonkansi-a-lari?”
Anna thought her legs would collapse, but she held steady. Disbelief choked her, and it was just as well, lest she cry out.
Traitor! Would you sell your own people to the enemy?
“This offer tempts,” said the woman coolly. Her tongue flicked between her lips, as though she began to lick her lips for a taste of what she desired, but stopped herself. “So I ask myself: what do you want? In the marketplace, no one trades without asking a thing in return.”
He nodded, but he was tense now, eager, held taut. He teased his lower lip with his teeth, caught himself doing so it seemed, and licked his lips instead, in an echo of her, blinking quickly and taking a deep breath. “I want only one thing. One thing, in exchange.”
The faces of the Ashioi were masks, their expression impenetrable, even those whose features were not concealed by the painted snarls and open maws of animals.
“I want the half daimone woman called Liathano.”
Blessing twisted in his grip and bit him on the hand.
He shouted in pain, shook loose his hand, and slapped her so hard backhanded that the blow sent her tumbling to the dirt.
“Little beast!”
She lay there, breathing hard. Anna hesitated, hating herself for her fear, before sidling forward to kneel beside her. The girl’s hair concealed her face, but as Anna smoothed it back she saw the mark of Hugh’s ring, which had cut the skin, and the deep purple red welt that would spread and hurt.
Blessing grinned at her through tears of pain. “I’ve been waiting to do that,” she said triumphantly.
All around them, the Ashioi laughed.
6
THE pale ones had little to recommend them by the standards of civilized folk. They were not a beautiful race; they were too hairy, too pallid, too big. Of course they smelled bad. Yet the wealth of metal they bore was staggering. Each of the warriors carried a metal-pointed spear and a strong metal sword. All were armed with such riches. They stank of cold iron. Even the captive girl was shackled in iron chains as she stared fixedly with her eagle’s glare at Zuangua, as though she recognized him. She lay with one hand propping herself up and the other gingerly exploring the pattern of cut and bruise on her face. Her expression was a mirror of her emotions, and it took no great cunning to see the thoughts filter by the way she frowned, then smiled one-sidedly to spare the bruised cheek, then winced and cocked a shoulder as though shutting off a nagging voice.
Secha knew that to clad prisoners in iron was to be wealthy beyond imagining. It would be difficult to defeat an enemy whose soldiers fought with such weapons. The Ashioi possessed only stone and bronze, but they had captured a few iron implements in recent months. They knew what power iron held and how difficult it would be to learn to forge in the manner known to humankind. There was a kind of magic to it.
No one willingly gave up such secrets, not unless they wanted something very badly in return.
After the girl bit their leader and the laughter died down, Feather Cloak turned to her people.
“Enough!” she said. “We will talk in council and decide what is best to do now that we understand the bargain that has been offered to us.”
Folk scurried away to scrape out a fire pit and rake dry grass back away from the rim, while additional mask warriors took up guard stations around the rock corral that fenced in the prisoners.
Fox Mask strutted up and down along the fence, making jokes to her companions about the leader. “The color of root paste, his skin! Might as well marry a mealworm! Hair as fine as spider’s silk! Imagine how nasty that must be to touch!”
Secha could not laugh. Inside that fence, the leader was giving his men directions. They secured their shelters, heated porridge over a small campfire, fed and watered their horses, shared out food and drink, and took themselves off to pits where excrement and piss were immediately covered with a thin layer of dirt. Not entirely uncivilized, then. The servant tidied the girl, blotted blood off her face, and made her comfortable on blankets. As twilight drew over them, the warriors settled down in a defensive ring that would allow some to rest while others kept watch.
Fox Mask could say what she wanted, but their leader carried himself as do men who are accustomed to admiration. He had poise, a trait Secha respected. Despite knowing he faced an overwhelmingly superior force that could kill him and his warriors easily, he showed no s
ign of fear without, however, blustering in the manner of warriors such as Cat Mask and Lizard Mask who relied on muscle more than brain to win their skirmishes.
Behind her, flames crackled, eating through the latticework of kindling sticks, and bigger branches were stacked on the fire to let it blaze. Feather Cloak took her place within the aura of light as the council gathered in a ring, facing the light.
“Speak,” said Feather Cloak. “Let me hear your words.”
“Let us take them as an offering and be done with it,” said the blood knives.
“No,” said Feather Cloak. “It is foolish to throw away such a powerful weapon.”
“How can this spell he speaks of be used as a weapon?” asked the blood knives.
“Why fight at all?” asked Eldest Uncle. “If humankind is so weakened, it is best to parley. We can rebuild if we are at peace. We cannot rebuild if we are at war.”
Zuangua smirked, regarding his twin. Old rivalry existed between the siblings, twined together with long affection. “You have forgotten, Brother, that most of our people are those who were caught in shadow, betwixt and between. For us the war is yesterday, not three or four generations ago. For us, there can be no peace!”
“War is better.” Fox Mask’s statement ran like an echo back through those assembled. Only in the trees behind Secha was there silence, where waited her mate and her son and her infant daughters.
“War,” said the others.
“War!” they cried.
She looked toward the fence, feeling that they were being watched. Indeed, the man with sun hair had walked without fear up to the rock wall. He stood there, listening and watching and able, most likely, to understand the meat of the debate without understanding the skin that was its surface of words. Secha admired him for his exotic beauty, but also for a self-possession untroubled by any ripple of uncertainty. It meant a lot to hold firm in the face of the unknown.
For this reason, she knew she must speak, as was her right.
“Listen,” she said. “I have something to say. Why should we trust this golden one? He means to betray his own kind. Why not betray us in turn? He is brave and bold, it is true. Is he brave and bold enough to pretend to be our ally while leading us into death?”
“It’s true that all he claims to want is that woman,” said Feather Cloak. She did not bother to hide her disgust. “It doesn’t seem like much.”
“‘That’ woman is a great deal,” said Eldest Uncle. “She will be hard to defeat, and difficult to capture and hold.”
“But a fine armful to hold, so they say!” said Zuangua with a laugh.
Feather Cloak pulled a mighty grimace. Her indignation made her young uncle laugh again.
“Jealousy is a sharp spear,” Zuangua retorted, and Secha supposed it was so. He was cleverer than he acted, that one.
“I am not jealous!”
“You may not be, if you say so, but the Pale Sun Dog is. He is jealous of your son for having what he wants for himself.”
Feather Cloak seemed ready to burst with anger, so Secha cut in. “What man can help himself when faced with a creature born half of fire? Moths will die in flames. So might men, unable to resist that brilliance.”
“That is true, at least,” said Feather Cloak, mollified, “for I traveled for a time with my son in human lands. There was some head butting as men will do, over that woman. Yet even so, as Secha says, why should we trust this Pale Dog? Even my own son has turned against us and cast his loyalty in with his father’s people.”
“Is it certain your son means to fight us?” asked Secha. “When was this news known? The Bright One did not harm us. She aided our cause.”
“If any can convince him, it would be his wife,” said Eldest Uncle, taking hold of Secha’s line of argument. “She is not against us. She is not our enemy.”
Feather Cloak shook her head decisively. “She is too powerful and must be killed. That judgment was passed on her in exile, was it not? By the one who wore the feathered cloak before me?”
“Since your words are true, there is no answer to them,” said Eldest Uncle. “But we no longer live in exile. Everything has changed. Our strategy must change as well.”
“She walked the spheres!”
“As did you, Daughter! Think of this: the rope that bound us to the aether is severed. No one can ascend that ladder again. She is not our enemy.”
“Who is blinded by brilliance now?” demanded Feather Cloak. “I say, capture her, and give her to the blood knives.”
The priests nodded eagerly.
“Let us defeat all of humankind and then I’ll eat the Pale Sun Dog for supper,” said Fox Mask with a coarse laugh that made half of her companions chortle and slap the backs of their hands together to show their appreciation for her wit.
Secha did not find her amusing. “Revenge, like jealousy, makes slaves of those who cling to it.”
Zuangua stepped forward to cut off the eruption of commentary. “Then what do we bargain with, since she is the only thing this Pale Dog wants?”
“Is it worth bargaining at all?” asked the blood knives. “How can this spell he speaks of be used as a weapon?”
The warriors laughed. They already knew.
Zuangua shook his head, frowning at the blood knives as if he could not understand their ignorance. “If it is true that he knows how to move where he wills and when he wills, this is a sword as powerful as the mystery of iron.”
Cat Mask stepped forward. “Strike quickly and decisively! I said so all along!”
“Strike in small groups!” said Lizard Mask as he stepped up alongside his rival. “I said so all along”!
“My question is not answered,” said Secha, watching the pale sun man watch his enemies and thereby learn. She thought that he was probably learning far more about them than they had so far learned about him. “How can we trust him? He might send our war bands to the bottom of the sea or into the heart of a mountain to be entombed in stone.”
“Is that possible?” asked Zuangua, interested. “A good tactic!”
“I don’t think it is possible,” said Feather Cloak. “The weaving links the crowns, nothing else.”
Secha went on stubbornly. “He might weave us so we are lost in these days and months that pass within the crowns. The tide of days could ebb and flow around our warriors and they would be lost, just as we were lost in exile.”
“You can weave the crowns, Feather Cloak,” said Cat Mask to Feather Cloak. “Why do we need him?”
Kansi shook her head. Each time, Secha saw her speak in a different way as the angle of her head and the tilt of her neck and the frown on her lips revealed a new emotion. “I could walk between Earth and exile because I could call the burning stone, which was a gateway. Yet I have not seen the burning stone since we returned to Earth. My father is right. That ladder is broken, as far as I know. As for the other, I do not know the secret of weaving between the crowns on Earth.”
“Let his skill be tested before we make any bargain,” said Zuangua. “I’ll go, with the pick of my warriors. You can keep the child and his other servants as hostage against our safe return.”
Above, the thin veil of clouds that had shielded the sky parted. Stars shone through in ragged patches. Wind chased chaff into the flames, where it flashed and died.
Eldest Uncle shut his eyes and bowed his head.
“It is risky,” said Feather Cloak.
“Yes,” agreed Zuangua, showing his teeth.
His warriors, led by Fox Mask, crowded up behind him, all grinning with that same reckless smile. They were restless, shoulders twitching, heels bouncing, elbows shifting as though they were about to burst into a run.
“We have waited long enough. We are ready to go to war.”
7
UNDER guard, Lord Hugh’s company marched into the land of the Cursed Ones. Anna stuck close to Blessing in case Lord Hugh meant to hit the child again. She stuck close because she feared the way the girl stared admir
ingly, hungrily, at the Ashioi.
“Do you hear what they’re talking about?” the girl asked her, but all that streamed from those foreign mouths sounded to Anna no different than the chirping of birds and the howling of dogs. Blessing understood it all. It seemed that her father’s blood, or her mother’s sorcery, or the aetherical milk she had suckled as a child, or all of these combined, had opened her ears to the Ashioi language.
Anna envied her.
The child had learned from her abduction. She kept silent about her unexpected skill. She let no one except Anna know, because she wasn’t sure who was her friend and who her enemy. After several days they were delivered to a prison. It had a high stone wall and raised towers where guards stood watch. Through the gate lay a dusty courtyard and a dozen shelters. They were only stone platforms raised above the level of the earth. Posts set in the ground supported crude roofs. There were no walls. It was an awful place. It made her want to cry, but she could not cry, because she had to take care of Blessing.
At the gate, Feather Cloak waited with her entourage. Inside, lord Hugh called them together. “I must leave,” he said to them. Their expressions were anxious, but they listened obediently. “I have sworn to these Ashioi that I will not teach them or aid them if any of you are harmed. I stand by that. You will be protected.” He smiled gently. “Yet make yourselves useful. If you have marketable skills, let yourselves be coaxed into sharing.”
“Any chance we can share with the women?” asked Theodore. “They sure look at us invitingly, if I must say so.”
“And them wearing almost nothing but the skin they were born in,” said Scarred John appreciatively.
The others chuckled, and then looked downcast.
“Would it be going against God, my lord?” asked Theodore. “They’re heathens. It might be wrong.”
“Yes, they are heathens. Therefore we are enjoined to bring them into the Circle of Unity. Do not fear to associate with them. But only if they ask first, lest you unwittingly break their laws.”
This command the soldiers liked well enough, but Anna clutched Blessing’s arm and wished only to be allowed to sit down in the shade. The heat made her dizzy.