“You have done well to guard the princesses. Where are they?”
“Safely in the catacombs, Your Excellency. What news of the empress?”
Always the empress! Yet there would be time to mold these soldiers to her will, and those who refused her could be disposed of, as God desired. The disobedient, after all, were doomed to the Pit.
“Alas, I do not know what has become of the empress. She sent me ahead but remained herself on the coast, in the town of Estriana. She had set an ambush for the northern prince, the rebel, the one who sought to kill his own father, the Emperor Henry.”
“Patricide!” Falco was a stolid, competent soldier of medium height, with the broad shoulders of a man who has swung a sword and carried a shield since he was a lad. “I had heard the Wendish were barbarians. Now I know it to be true!”
In Antonia’s opinion, the Wendish were simple, honorable folk in their own crude way, without more than a finger’s weight of the capacity for greed, backstabbing, and treachery that thrived among the sophisticated Aostans. The southerners plundered and robbed each other, cut each other’s throats, and whored with their own sons and daughters. Still, it was best not to mention that to Captain Falco, who might take offense even though it was only the truth. God would overwhelm the wicked and reward the righteous, and Antonia would see justice done while she was waiting for Them to act on Earth.
Focas crept forward and poked at the scatter of bones with the butt of his spear. “Can it be?” he croaked. “Can Pietro have been harboring a foul demon in his soul this entire time? I did not see it! I did not see it!”
“Hardship blinds us,” she said kindly.
“It is well you are here to protect us,” said Falco, but his tone was bland and his gaze without passion.
“Indeed,” she agreed. “We must go swiftly. The land here is poisoned by the Enemy. It is best we move north in haste.”
Still, he hesitated. “What if the empress comes seeking her daughters, Your Excellency? They are her treasure. She will not abandon them.”
She nodded. “We must leave a few men behind. You pick them, Captain.”
“It is likely that the men I leave behind will die.”
“We will all die in time. That is God’s will. They will only ascend sooner to the Chamber of Light, where the righteous find peace.”
He frowned. In the silence, as he considered, some of his men coughed. The claws of the Enemy sank deep. So many had been infected with the taint that had gripped Pietro, and that she struggled against with every breath.
“Darre is lost, Captain. Best we move quickly before we are overtaken by the Enemy as that one was.” She gestured toward the bones.
His frown deepened, and he stiffened, clenching his hands. “Very well, Your Excellency. It is past time we carry the princesses away. Both suffer from a grippe. I will leave Terence and Petrus, and this man of yours, Focas.”
He was testing her, but she was equal to the challenge. “Very well. See that it is done, and that the rest make ready.”
“Where do we go?”
“This question, indeed, I have pondered on my long journey. We met refugees who say the coast is awash and many towns destroyed. West, as we see, is all on fire. We must go north.”
“Where?”
“There is one whose loyalty we can count on, who will shelter us. We must march north past Vennaci and take the road to Novomo.”
VII
ON THE ROAD
1
A griffin’s cough woke him. He sat up, instantly alert, but only with his second breath did he recall where he was and what he was missing.
“Liath!” he said sharply.
She was gone.
He jumped up, wrestled on his tunic, and pushed out past the tent flap.
“Your Majesty!”
“Where is—? Ah. Be at ease, Benedict. Sibold.”
“Your Majesty.” The soldiers nodded as Sanglant walked past them toward the campfire set beyond the ring of tents. He heard them whisper to each other.
“I win! Told you he wouldn’t stay sleeping.”
“You did not win! We didn’t wager whether, but when.”
Liath sat cross-legged beside the fire, hands open and relaxed on her thighs as she stared into the flame. Hathui paced behind her. The Eagle glanced up as Sanglant walked up and nodded, acknowledging him. He halted behind Liath to wait.
The last few nights had been really cold, the first hard winter chill since the warm nights and overcast days after the great storm. That chill made him uneasy in a way he could not explain. It hurt in his bones the way a coming change in the weather might make a man’s joints ache, warning him of rain. The ground was cold and dry beneath his bare feet. It was, as always now, too cloudy to see stars or moon, but the heavens still bled an unnatural light, almost as bright as if there were a full but bloody moon.