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“… a day ahead of us … refugees … the city. They fled … the sea. These folk are the ones … the storm in the sky…”

The general glanced up, noted her, and beckoned to a servant. “A fire,” he said softly to the man, who slipped out as the captain kept speaking.Advertisement

“… They fled to the hills … the sea … the city … they are lying … it is true … do you wish to speak to them?”

“No, not yet. If their story is true, we will meet others who tell the same tale. If it is false, then we will soon know. Put out a double sentry line. Stay on guard against bandits and thieves.”

As the captain left, the servant returned with a brazier heaped with glowing coals. A second man walked behind him carrying a cloth sling filled with sticks. They set up a tripod on the dirt and cradled the brazier in it.

Alexandros gestured toward the brazier, but said nothing. She knelt in the dirt because she had not been given permission to touch the rug. One of the servants fed sticks to the coals. They blazed. She bent her attention to the flames, seeking within for those she knew: King Henry, Liath, Ivar, Prince Sanglant, Wolfhere, Sorgatani, Sister Rosvita and her retinue, Captain Thiadbold, and even her friends among the Lions, one by one.

She saw nothing in the flames except flickering shadows. Perhaps every soul she knew had died in the storm. Possibly Ingo, Folquin, Leo, and Stephen were well and truly dead, lost in the cataclysm or in a battle she did not yet know they had fought. Probably Rosvita and the other clerics had died of thirst and starvation or been slaughtered by bandits.

The entrance flap shifted. The movement of light across the ground startled her so much that she sat back on her heels, blinking, to see a pair of servants carry in the litter on which Lady Eudokia traveled. A trio of eunuchs placed four stools on the rug and stepped back as the servants placed the litter on this foundation, well off the ground. The eunuchs bathed the lady’s face and hands in water, then retreated.

“What news?” the lady asked Alexandros.

“As you see, no different than last night or the one before or every night before that. Either she lies, or she is telling the truth and has lost her Eagle’s Sight.”

“If so, is it a temporary blindness or a permanent one?”

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He scratched his neck, grimacing, then rubbed his eyes as if he were exasperated. “What else do you know of this sorcery, Exalted Lady?”

“Nothing I have not already told you. Its secrets are not known to us. I will attempt the camphor again, but it is the last I possess.”

“See!” He fixed his one-eyed gaze on Hanna. A knife held to her throat could not have frightened her more. How could a common-born man rise to be called a “lord”? Either he was in league with the Enemy, or the Arethousans were stranger than any folk she understood. That he was ruthless she knew; he had done nothing to succor Princess Sapientia; he had abandoned his other hostages without, apparently, a second thought. He drove his men forward at a difficult pace and left the stragglers behind.

“See.”

Lady Eudokia tossed three tiny twigs onto the fire. The choking scent of camphor filled Hanna’s lungs and made her eyes water and her head pound. She saw flames, burning and burning, and although the smoke and incense made her eyes sting, she kept staring into the dance of fire.

Let them believe she was only a breath away from success.

“Nothing,” said Lady Eudokia, but she sounded curious more than disgusted. “We may as well cavort naked with the fire worshipers as stare at these coals.”

The general had not moved, but Hanna felt his presence as a threat. “Is she lying, Exalted Lady?”

“I think she is not lying. I see only flames.”

“If we do not need her, then …”

“Let us not be hasty, General. You are thinking as a soldier in battle. Think rather that those who brought this storm down upon us may have survived. I do not know what powers they hold to themselves. If they have the ability to cloud Eagle’s Sight, we must consider what is best for us. Hold the Eagle in reserve, in case matters change.”

“What if it takes years?”

She lifted a hand in a lazy gesture of disinterest. “I have an aunt who has for twenty-eight years resided in the convent of St. Mary of Gesythan. It is better for the family that she remain alive than that she be killed. None leave that isolation once they are banished within. This one can be placed in the convent as well.”

“She is a westerner and thus a heretic.”

“True enough. She need not receive every comfort, as do the others.” pqdm.com