The Burning Stone

Page 171

“You are safe beside the wagon,” said Breschius. “When we return to camp, you must stay close to me.”
“What do you think might happen?”
He shrugged.
But her mother hadn’t raised a fool. Her heart had stopped pounding so hard, and she could think more clearly. “That wasn’t really a battle,” she said finally. “It was more like slaughtering pigs there at the end.”
“That wasn’t an army. I have seen a Quman army and it is a fearsome sight, my child. That was a raiding party. Those were young, restless men sent out in advance of a real army to gather glory to themselves, or act as a warning flag to those behind them if they do not return. You saw how they fought. They were foolish enough that they couldn’t see before their noses a trick as old as these hills. I think it likely they had no older, wiser head who could prevail when they got the killing fever in them.”
“The way Prince Bayan intervened to stop Princess Sapientia from getting herself killed.”
He glanced at her, but she couldn’t read his expression in the dim light. A lit lantern had been hung from each corner of the wagon, and these lanterns swayed seductively as their party splashed back over the river and climbed the opposite shore. Oddly, the river ran more shallow now; Hanna’s boots barely brushed the water on this crossing. Ahead, in the torchlit camp, she could already hear singing, cursing, and half-wild laughter. Around her, men drank heavily from the leather pouches tied to their saddles, some kind of potent brew. Its fermented scent permeated the air as they cried out and howled to each other, sang snatches of song, or danced in lines to the twanging accompaniment of odd-looking lutes. They were overexcited, flushed with easy killing, and ready to get into trouble.
“My grandmother once told me that to kill is only half the act,” she said finally.
“A wise woman, your grandmother,” replied Breschius. “What did she say is the other half of the act?”
She smiled nervously under the cover of night. “Ah, well. My grandmother still worshiped the old gods. She said that if you take blood, you owe blood, but that most people forget the old law when they kill in war or in anger. But then that blood still stains their hands and curdles in their hearts.”
“Indeed. When you sunder spirit from body, there is energy left over. If it is not contained by means of prayer or forgiveness or even an act of creation or a gift of commencement, then the Enemy may creep into the heart of the one who did the killing. That is why many terrible acts accompany war, and why those who have partaken in battle should always be cleansed by prayer afterward.”
“Will you lead a prayer here, tonight?”
“For those who choose to attend. But, alas, my master and most of the others still live in their bodies in the old ways, even while with their tongues they praise God in Unity. Prince Bayan will consummate his marriage and in this way cleanse himself, although the church does not approve of such ancient methods. But do not stray far from Princess Sapientia’s tent tonight. Her presence in camp may not be enough to protect you from any insult offered your person by one of these young men who are drunk on both wine and blood.”
“I will be cautious,” she promised. They came then to the royal pavilion. Bayan and Sapientia still stood outside, toasting their followers, but it quickly became apparent that Bayan had only waited for his mother. Her wagon rolled to a stop about twenty paces from the pavilion, and at once he deserted his guests to go to the wagon. He waited, head bowed, as four steps were unrolled from the tiny door. The three old, wrinkled handmaidens who attended the Kerayit princess clambered down the steps, carrying with them the usual trays and leavings of food and a covered chamberpot. Then an astoundingly beautiful young woman emerged through the bead curtain, which shimmered and danced behind her as she descended the steps. She had creamy skin a shade darker than Liath’s, sensuous lips, broad cheekbones, bold eyes, and hair like black silk. Her gown might have been spun of sunlight. She wore laced at her waist at least a dozen gold chains, and a profusion of gold necklaces draped from her neck. A gold ring pierced one nostril, and she wore three gold earrings in each ear, shaped as dangling bones. Every finger bore a ring, each one studded with precious gems.
“Who is that?” Hanna whispered, amazed. In the days since the wedding feast, she had never seen nor even suspected the existence of this woman. She had only ever seen the three old handmaidens come and go from the wagon.
“I do not know her name,” said Breschius softly. “She, too, is a princess of the first degree among the Kerayit peoples. She is the apprentice to the old woman. She hasn’t found her luck yet, which is why she can still appear before people who are not her blood kin.”