The Gathering Storm
Page 122

Snick. Another pebble, although she’d not thrown anything. A bodiless voice whispered out of the darkness.
“Who are you?”
She jumped to her feet, leaping back from the chasm.
There was no one there. No one in sight. Only silence. Snick.
The voice had spoken in Aostan, so she replied as well as she could after so many months in Darre. “I am called Hanna. Here I come with Sister Rosvita and her companions. We flee her enemies. I pray you, help us.”
“Who is Sister Rosvita?”
She gritted her teeth in frustration, until she realized that the question might be a test. “She is a cleric from Wendar. She is counselor to King Henry. She protected and counseled the king, but she made enemies, whom she now flees. I pray you, we do not have time.”
“How may one know Sister Rosvita? What is her life’s work?”
“To serve the king as well as she is able!” cried Hanna, exasperated.
Snick.
Think as a cleric thought, as a churchwoman might think. Act as Sister Heriburg had acted, when they had fled from Darre in the aftermath of the earthquake.
“A book! A history of the princes of Wendar. She has it with her still!”
Snick.
A grinding noise reverberated in the enclosed space. The blank wall beyond the ditch shifted and rolled to open a gap through which a slight figure slipped. Hanna faced across the pit an emaciated, corpse-white woman wearing the tattered robes of a nun, her sleeves pushed back to reveal wiry arms. She shoved the plank out across the chasm, balancing it deftly until the far end rested on Hanna’s side.
“I am called Sister Hilaria. We live hidden deep within the rock now, since the day the daimone attacked us. It takes all of our strength to guard our prisoner and nurse our Holy Mother. We have turned our backs on the outside world. It was the pebble that alerted me while I was fetching water. I came at once to investigate. Follow me, friend. If we are to save Sister Rosvita, we must hurry.”
3
GERULF’S traitor surveyed them with princely dignity and a keen gaze, although her eyes flared when she caught sight of Baldwin, kneeling to Ivar’s right. But a prince of her stature could not be cowed even by Baldwin’s singular loveliness. “You have been brought to Autun accused of heresy and implicated in matters of sorcery. Yet you have nothing to fear from me. The truth is welcome here in Arconia.”
She paused, expecting a response; perhaps she was curious to see who would emerge as the leader. Ivar waited, too, until he realized that the rest were waiting for him to speak.
“Your Highness,” he said, stumbling over the words. “I—I am Ivar, son of Count Harl and Lady Herlinda of the North Mark—”
“I know who you are.” She gave an amused grunt. “I haven’t forgotten the trial of Judith of Austra’s bastard son Hugh a few years back, nor your part in it. It was one of the few entertaining days I had during my confinement here in Autun. I believe you must be related to Sister Rosvita, my brother Henry’s favored cleric. Ah!” She looked up expectantly as a big man strode up onto the dais, attended by a handsome, shapely girl of eleven or twelve years of age. She had dark skin but unexpectedly light golden-brown hair, a contrast that reminded him bitterly of Liath although there was otherwise no resemblance.
“My lord duke,” said Captain Ulric with rather more warmth than he’d shown to the lady. “My lady Ælfwyn.”
“God Above!” swore the duke as he sank down into the left-hand chair, leaving the middle seat empty. The girl stood behind him, holding onto the back of the chair while she examined the prisoners with bold intensity. “So this is the infamous bridegroom who escaped Judith’s clutches!” A pair of brindle hounds swarmed up after him, licking his hands before collapsing worshipfully at his feet.
“No wonder the margrave was so furious,” mused the lady prince. She had a strong face. Her silver hair had been braided and dressed with ribbons, but she wore it uncovered in the manner of an unmarried maiden or a soldier. She gestured toward Ivar. “Come, Lord Ivar, you were speaking before Duke Conrad arrived. Go on.”
Conrad the Black could not be mistaken for any other man in the kingdom. And although Henry had many sisters, only two were older than he was: his bastard half sister Alberada, who served as biscop in the east, and the woman who had already contested his authority once by leading a rebellion against him.
“My lady Sabella,” said Ivar, inclining his head to show respect. “We are not heretics. It is the church which has concealed the truth. Can it be possible you have heard and accepted the true Word of God and the truth of the blessed Daisan’s sacrifice and redemption?”