The Burning Stone
Page 293

“Only envy those who aren’t blind!”
“Here, now. Look into the fire. See nothing, not even the flames. No, truly see nothing. Expect nothing. See what lies beyond the flames, not my hands or the trees or the camp, but that stillness which lies at the heart of all things. That stillness links all of us, and through it as through a window we can see.”
She sat as still as she could, just staring.
“Good,” he whispered. Clearly he felt something she did not. She felt only the heat of the flames and yet a taste of some other pulse, another thread that drew her toward the wasp sting in her heart. Shadows quivered in the flames, and for an instant she thought she saw the profile of the Kerayit princess. “Tell me who you see,” he murmured.
“Liath,” she whispered. “I want to see Liath.”
And she saw something truly, not flames, not shadows, but a wall, like a veil of fire. “Is that the Chamber of Light? Ai, God. Is she dead?”
“Or only hidden from us,” he replied so calmly that her fears dissolved. “You’re fast to catch on to this, Hanna. I begin to think your dreams are true dreams, and that some portion of your soul has already opened to these teachings.”
“But I don’t see anything!” Frustrated, she wiped a hand over her eyes, which stung from the smoke. “Ai, Lady! Isn’t this sorcery? Am I imperiling my immortal soul by doing this?”
He sat back, relaxing. “Nay, child. This skill you use for the sake of the king. With Eagle’s Sight you can gather intelligence hidden by distance or through intrigue. When you travel, you can find the king’s progress more easily if you know where he’s traveling.”
She chuckled. “Rather than track him always two days behind! No wonder you arrive so quickly, and with so few detours.”
“Have you seen enough? The sun is rising, and we’ve our duties to attend to.”
“And no doubt look a little crazy staring into the fire like this. But—may I try one more time? What about Prince Sanglant? Surely if he’s with Liath, then I would at least know where Liath is.”
He simply lifted a hand, as if he hadn’t the energy to dissuade her. Yet as the fire burned and snapped, she saw nothing, and she began to think that he was only humoring her, that she’d never seen anything at all in the flames.
“Well, then, one last time,” she said, because Mistress Birta’s daughter wasn’t one to give up so easily. “I tell you truly, Wolfhere, I’ve always wondered what became of Biscop Antonia and Brother Heribert, if they really did survive that avalanche. Lady knows I got to know their faces well enough. Poor Heribert. He seemed harmless enough. I always wondered why he was so loyal to her.”
At first she thought it was smoke, a wet branch caught in the middle of the fire. But the shadow spread and grew form, and Wolfhere made a little noise, almost inaudible, what a mouse might utter when the cat sprang upon it.
“We dare not delay any longer,” says a woman whose silhouette is regal and whose voice is cool and measured. It is a familiar voice, but through the agency of flame Hanna cannot quite make out the secret of its timbre. “We left Novomo before we were certain the pass was open because we got word that Ironhead was marching north to take Adelheid into custody. He styles himself king of Aosta now.”
Was that hiss the flames, or Wolfhere?
A supplicant kneels before the great lady. “He meant to follow me at once, Your Highness. If he did not, then he was held against his will.”
More shapes cluster beyond the flames yet somehow still in them; they are like the shadows of buildings seen beyond a palisade, and one among them speaks. “We found nothing, Your Highness. The goat track runs out on the hillside, and the cliffs are too steep to climb. Either he is lying to save his own skin—”
“Or there is more magic loose than we have ever suspected,” says the regal woman. “After everything we have seen, I think we must believe the latter. Nay, I am convinced this man was with my brother. Can you not tell me more, Brother Heribert?”
Is this a true vision, or a false one? Hanna dared not speak for fear that her voice would scatter the shadows. Was it truly Brother Heribert? Where had he been hiding all this time?
“I can say no more except that he was alive and healthy when I left him. I fear to say any more, Your Highness. Some words are better left unspoken.”
“It’s a thin reed to build a bridge on,” says the man in the distant shadows.
“Once more, where is my brother?” she asks.
“If he did not follow, then he could not follow,” insists Heribert. “There are powers you do not comprehend—” He seems afraid to say more.