The Gathering Storm
Page 239

It was impossible to know what had happened to Alain. Without Alain’s sight, he, too, was blind and lost in Alain’s dreams. Yet it was still better than the lack he had suffered when Alain had vanished from Earth.
He got to his knees and slid the ax back through its loop before testing the rungs. One bent beneath his weight, but they held as he climbed. It was an unexpectedly long way up, with dirt pressing around him on all sides; the metal links of his long waist girdle scraped earth with a sound rather like a bird scratching for bugs. When he reached the topmost rung, he felt above him and after a bit found a metal latch. He fiddled with it until he identified the clasp that released it. Then he paused and listened.
He heard nothing at all.
After a while he braced his knees against the rungs, wiggled his ax up into his fighting hand, and released the clasp. He cracked it open to admit light and sound, but only darkness greeted him. Distantly he heard the muffled sounds of the camp.
It took a bit of doing to crawl out because the trap could not open fully; the ceiling above was too low and was in truth not a ceiling but a floor. The space had once been filled with dirt and debris—its film coated his hair and irritated his eyes—but one of Elafi’s forebears, perhaps that same uncle, had dug a passage through it. He felt along it, pushing his ax before him, and touched not just dirt but potsherds, scraps of -wood, two nails, and once a bit of wool cloth, all smashed down into the earth. A footfall sounded directly above him, muted by floorboards and yet another layer—rushes or yet more earth; he could not tell. He squeezed along until the slope of the ground dropped suddenly out from below his hands. Groping forward, he found himself with room to crouch and an unexpected view past warped planks to the stone crown. Torches burned, startlingly bright, but the circular ground that lay between the partially restored stones was empty.
Yet he heard voices.
“It gripes me that we are beholden to these heathens. I don’t trust them. They’re coarse and low. They’re rude and arrogant.”
“Patience, Father Reginar.” The second man spoke Wendish with rigidly correct grammar but a marked accent and frequent pauses to negotiate unfamiliar words. “As long as they control this crown by force of arms, we must ally with them.”
“You just arrived here, Brother Severus. You don’t know what they are. They are in bed with the Enemy! Such things they do—! Did you see that the queen has more than one husband? Four, at least, old and young, fawning on her. She takes a different one to bed every night, and there are even two youths to warm the bed of the ancient one. It’s sickening. I don’t think God would wish us to—” He had the petulant voice of a man accustomed to his every whim brought to fruition, but Severus’ sharp reply cut him off.
“We have no other choice. Where are their sorcerers?”
Chastened but not meek, the young man answered in a scornful tone. “They refuse to come here at night. They say it is forbidden.”
“God Above! If they refuse to come up at night, then none of them can ever learn to weave the crowns!”
“Yes, Brother. So we have discovered.”
“Well. I have greeted their queen and made talk with her about an alliance between Queen Adelheid and Prince Henry and these Albans. Prince Ekkehard should prove docile enough to make a husband for her maiden daughter, if we can find him.”
“Wasn’t my cousin offered to the church?”
“He may have been. If the skopos wishes him to serve her in this manner, none will protest.”
“No, indeed, Brother Severus. No, indeed. That she singled me out for this honor!” Only the young could fawn so enthusiastically. “That she singled me out to assist her in this great undertaking—!”
“Indeed.” The snappish way Brother Severus spoke the word silenced the other man. “Sister Abelia may prove more persuasive with the sorcerers, since they seem to defer to women. I detest waiting as much as you do, but we have no choice.”
Stronghand wiggled one of the planks until it shifted, and he turned it sideways and squeezed through, then paused, lying up against the building as the two men walked out of the house not three paces from him, down a pair of steps, and onto the grass, still talking.
“Was it a difficult journey, Brother Severus? The dangers are many in these times.”
“We had a delay, a detour. I had an errand to run for the skopos to the monastery at Hersford, but we had swift riding after that and our crossing from Medemelacha went smoothly.”
Hersford. Alain had sojourned at Hersford. Memory niggled Stronghand like the annoying whine of a dog. Had he heard Severus’ sour voice in his dreams?