Child of Flame

Page 142

“Yes, my lord prince.”
“We’ll need a straw pallet for the girl. Sergeant Cobbo can see to it.”
Zacharias glanced at Heribert, but the cleric only gave a puzzled shrug. With a bow, Zacharias left on the errand.
Unaccustomed to palaces, he quickly got lost, but a sympathetic servingman directed him to the servants’ hall. He passed through the mostly deserted hall and found a door that led outside. The hush of early evening hung over the courtyard. Stars glittered overhead. An unrelenting cold seeped through his clothes to chill his bones. His old scars ached, and he suddenly had to pee. Looking for a private place where no one might accidentally see his mutilation, he finally stumbled up to the door of the cookhouse, meaning to ask for directions to the privies.
Smoke and the odor of burned roast drifted out of the cooking house, together with something tangier, so sharp it made his neck prickle. In the Quman camp he had learned to walk quietly, because Prince Bulkezu had liked his slaves to be silent and had once killed a man for sneezing in the middle of a musician’s performance.
Her voice had the breathy quality of air. As he peered into the smoky interior, he saw a woman standing at the big block table, hands hovering over a platter ringed by four candles placed to form a square. An apple fanned into neat slices lay on the wooden platter, so freshly cut that the juice welling up from its moist flesh shone in the candlelight, making his mouth water. No one else was in the cookhouse.
“I adjure you by your name and your powers and the glorious place wherein you dwell, O Prince of Light who drove the Enemy into the Abyss. Let your presence rest upon this apple and let the one who eats of it be filled with desire for me. Let him be seized by a flame of fire as powerful as that fire in which you, Holy One, make your dwelling place. Let him open his door to me, and let him not be content with any thing until he has satisfied me—”
Nay, there Was someone else there, over by the spit. She emerged from the shadows, a woman of middling years. In the half light, Zacharias saw the wicked scar blazed on her right cheek, puffy and white.
“What madness is this, Frederun?”
The pretty servingwoman broke into tears. “I thought he was dead! I was so happy when I was his lover—”
“Hush!” hissed her companion, laying a hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “There’s someone in the doorway.”
Zacharias slipped away into the shadows. The wind shifted, and he smelled the privies, dug over by the stables. It still hurt to urinate, but he was no longer sure if the pain was actually physical or only an artifact lingering in his mind from those first weeks after Prince Bulkezu had mutilated him.
He found Sergeant Cobbo together with a dozen soldiers standing in the aisle between stalls, watching a chess game. Captain Fulk had set up a board and pieces on a barrel and brought two bales of hay to serve as seats. He had the dragon helm on his knee, with a hand curved possessively over its top. As Zacharias approached, the captain used an Eagle to take a Lion.
“My biscop takes your Eagle,” said his opponent, the exiled Eagle known as Wolfhere. He paused, still holding the chess piece, and glanced up past Cobbo and the ring of watchers to catch Zacharias’ eye.
“Come you from the prince?” The old man had a piercing intelligence and remained in all circumstances so calm that Zacharias did not trust him.
Zacharias explained his errand, and Cobbo designated a man to accomplish the task in the morning. The soldiers settled back to gossip about this turn of events.
“Will you play, Frater?” asked Fulk. “I can’t best him.”
“Nay, I’ve no knowledge of such games. They’re meant for nobles and soldiers, not for simple fraters such as myself. I’m not one of those folk who will be moving pieces to and fro in a game of power.”
Wolfhere chuckled. “Yet what harm might there be, friend, in learning the rules of the game, if only to protect ourselves?”
“I’m thinking you’re not needing any protection, Eagle, beyond that which you already possess.”
“Here, now,” objected Fulk. “We’re at peace in my lord prince’s company.”
“Nay, I’ve no quarrel with Wolfhere,” said Zacharias. “He’s a common man like myself.”
“So I am,” agreed Wolfhere genially, but his smile was like that of a wolf, sharp and clean. He had once been King Arnulf the Younger’s favored counselor, yet now he rode in secrecy in Prince Sanglant’s company because he had been interdicted and outlawed by King Henry, accused of sorcery and treason, a friend and boon companion to the very mathematici whose influence Prince Sanglant meant to combat.