The Gathering Storm

Page 370

“We know what you are about,” she said to Heric with the calm contempt of a woman who, having stood at the edge of the Abyss and survived, no longer fears worldly threats. “Leave us, I pray you. Do not mock us by this display. We know who walks among us. We know who he is.”
Some of them wept, and their compassion silenced him. He did not condemn himself by babbling but only watched as Heric angrily swore at the carter and got the procession moving again down the forest path. The trees closed in around them. The hamlet was lost as if it had never existed, and maybe it hadn’t. Maybe it was just a vision, not real at all. His head hurt. In the distance he heard the rumble of thunder that heralded a gathering storm.
XXX
THE NATURE OF THEIR POWER
1
“I pray you, Sister Rosvita.”
Rosvita started awake. “I dozed off,” she said, brushing a fly off her cheek. The warmth of the sun soaked into her back, which ached from lying on the ground. Despite the late date—by her calculations, it was the ninth of Octumbre—the sun glared ungodly hot. Beneath her body the earth trembled. Horses neighed. Dogs barked. As the noise subsided, a stillness sank over them, as taut as a drawn bowstring. There was no wind.
“That was a little stronger than the others,” said Ruoda, but there was an odd tone in her words, a warning.
Rosvita sat up. Her little company sat like rabbits caught under the glare of an eagle, all but Mother Obligatia, who lay beneath the shelter of the awning on a pallet. The old abbess was also aware, raised up on one elbow to watch. Hanna stood beside her with her gaze fixed on the five men waiting at the edge of their little encampment, one of whom was the one-eyed general, Lord Alexandros, wearing a handsome scarlet tabard and, under it, a coat of mail. He did not speak. Such an exalted man had servants to speak for him.
“Sister Rosvita.” Sergeant Bysantius inclined his head respectfully.
“General Lord Alexandros requests the attendance of the Eagle at his tent.”
“Very well,” said Rosvita, knowing they had no way to protest if the general chose to drag Hanna off by force. “I will go with her.”
“Those are not our orders, Sister.”
“I pray you, Lord Alexandros.” Rosvita turned her attention to the general. “She is under my protection.”
“I know what he wants,” murmured Hanna, who had gone ashy pale. “It’s my hair. These eastern men are obsessed with pale hair.”
“I can’t let you go, Hanna! I’ll let no man abuse you. I am not so weak or cowardly.”
“Nay, Sister.” Hanna moved up to take her hand and whispered into her ear. “I am not without weapons of my own, although you cannot see them. Let me go. Better if I go now. We may need to rebel on a different day than this.”
“Soon,” Rosvita agreed, but such a tight fist clenched in her chest that she despaired. Soon the world would alter, and they were prisoners and helpless to combat it.
“We must survive,” murmured Hanna. “That is all we can hope to do. If I do not come back, do not despair. If I can escape, I will.”
“Go with my blessing, Daughter.” Rosvita kissed her on either cheek, then on her forehead, and wiped away tears as the Eagle left the circle of rope and went with the general and his escort. Hanna did not look back, but Fortunatus went right up to the rope and gripped it in his hands, staring after her. Rosvita joined him there.
The day was so hot. “This is not natural heat,” she said. The guards glanced at her, but since they could not understand Wendish, the conversation did not capture their attention. “I feel all the Earth holds its breath.”
Another rumble danced through the ground and faded so swiftly that it might have been no more than a fly buzzing at her ear. No clouds softened the hard blue sky. The sun dazzled over the ranks of white tents arrayed in neat columns. They had settled into this campsite four days ago and not moved, and she did not know why, although she suspected that over the last weeks they had marched well into Dalmiakan territory and now waited close to the sea.
They camped on the slope of hills that crumpled up the ground to the north and west, and it seemed likely that the hills rolled flat to become a plain to the southeast, but since they rode in the midst of the army and camped in the midst of the army, it was hard to get a good look. No vista opened before them, only the rugged outline of hills burned to a pale yellow by the autumn heat. The quartermaster’s tent blocked their view to the west. Under the glare of the sun, the camp lay quiet. A man walked between tents hauling two buckets of water from a pole balanced over his shoulders. A dog slunk out from the shade of a tent and trotted, ears flat, after a scent too delicate for her to catch.