The Burning Stone

Page 107

“Count Lavastine. I am sent by order of His Majesty, King Henry. This tale came to his ears through the agency of Prince Sanglant.” He paused. Alain knew the look of Eagles recalling a message memorized days or weeks ago. “‘Count Lavastine must beware. The one whose arrow killed Bloodheart is protected against magic, and if Bloodheart’s curse still stalks the land, then it seeks another.’”
“A curse,” muttered Lord Geoffrey.
“Prince Sanglant spoke of a curse before,” said Alain. “The Eika, at least, believed it could affect them.”
“Yet Bloodheart is dead.” Lavastine smiled grimly. “Nevertheless, I value my life as much as any man, and in particular the life of my son. Let men march in a square around the riders, each one a spear’s length apart, and let them keep their eyes to the ground and look for any creature that might fit the description Prince Sanglant gave us. Let my clerics pray, and cast such charms as God allow. We must trust in God to see that no harm comes to those who have been faithful to Their commands.” He gestured to signify that this was his will on the matter. Terror barked once, and Fear answered. Steadfast and Bliss sat, panting, on the verge. Sorrow sniffed in the brush growing in the ditch that lined the road, and Rage had flopped down on the track in the shade of a wagon.
Lavastine turned back to the Eagle. “Return to the king. Tell Prince Sanglant that I am beholden to him for his warning. I will do what I can should he ever have need of my aid.”
Geoffrey hissed out a breath. “If the court divides on the issue of succession, then you have as good as declared yourself for the prince.”
“God enjoin us to honor our debts,” retorted Alain.
Lavastine nodded. “Eagle, have you understood the whole?”
The Eagle looked uncomfortable. “Matters are troubled between king and prince,” he said, choosing his words with care. “There was an altercation at court, and when I left Werlida the prince had retired to his rooms in disgrace. His own dogs attacked the king, he struck a holy frater in front of the entire court, and he has gone against the king’s will and claims to have wed a woman of minor family who has in addition had accusations of foul sorcery laid against her.” Then, noticing that his voice had risen, he coughed and finished in a more temperate tone: “But he may be bewitched.”
“Liath!” breathed Alain. Tallia turned in the saddle to stare at him with a frown.
“The Eagle,” said Lavastine.
“An Eagle no longer,” said the Eagle before them. “Stripped of her cloak and badge. She is now the prince’s concubine. Or was, when I left Werlida.”
“She would have done better to come with us. The displeasure of the king is a hard path to walk.” Lavastine considered the road in silence. His milites were already moving into their new positions around the riders, and two of his clerics had lit censers to purify the road before and behind with incense. “Tell King Henry that if this disgraced woman has no other place to go, the count of Lavas will take her in.”
“Are you sure that is wise, cousin?” demanded Geoffrey.
“I am sure it is prudent, and farsighted. I know danger when I see it, and she is no danger to us. There is something there …” He trailed off, drawn away down an unknowable path; a moment later, blinking, he shook himself. “Who holds her holds a strong playing piece.”
But as the Eagle rode off and their retinue lurched forward again into their new marching order, the words Tallia had spoken on their wedding night rang in Alain’s ears as though she had only spoken them moments before:
“I am merely a pawn, nothing more than that. As are you, only you do not see it.”
2
AT the palace of Werlida, Queen Sophia had commissioned a garden to be built in the Arethousan style. Shaped as an octagon, it had eight walls, eight benches, eight neatly tended garden plots that bloomed with brilliant colors in spring and summer, and eight radial pathways leading in to the center where stood a monumental fountain formed in the shape of a domed tower surrounded by eight tiers of angels, cavorting and blowing trumpets. According to legend, the fountain had ceased flowing on the very day Queen Sophia died.
In fact, the fountain had ceased flowing years before that because the Arethousan craftsman who had devised the cunning inner workings had died of a lung fever one winter and no one else knew how to repair it.
But the story persisted, as such stories do.
Now Rosvita made a leisurely circuit of the fountain together with half a dozen of Theophanu’s young companions, noble girls who had gravitated around the princess as part of her entourage. Theophanu stood on the lowest tier with her feet on the stone wings of one angel and a hand clutching a trumpet on the third tier for balance. Standing thus, she could get a better view over the retaining wall out to where the road branched at the base of the lower enclosure.