Theophanu examined Alain with interest and without fear. “Heir to Lavas,” she said. “I know what you once were. I wonder what you are now. Very well. I accept.”
Alain stepped forward. He was dressed simply, a little trail-worn from his journey. He made no grand gestures. He did not raise his voice. Yet every soul there watched him, and every soul listened when he spoke.
“So be it.” His authority was not that of the swordsman or captain; it was not that of the biscop or lord. It came from a deeper place. Even the vicious black hounds loved him, not with submission but only out of love for his pure heart.
“I will do as you ask,” he said, “if all are agreed.”
He waited. Not even Mother Scholastica gainsaid him.
So he nodded, not arrogantly but as if he were resigned. As if he were accepting his fate. As Theophanu and Stronghand would accept the terms he laid down, because on this day it was necessary.
No mortal soul can see into the future.
These were the words he spoke in the silent hall.
“Quarters will be cleared for the Eika army, but hall and throne will be shared by lady and lord.”
“Morning gifts shall be given, each to the other in equal measure.”
“Each shall reward among the retinue of the opposing army, gifts according to the honor and status of those companions. In this way bonds of trust and obligation will be formed.”
“If one is attacked, the other will come to their aid.”
“Among yourselves and in your own lands, you will govern according to the local custom and as you see fit. Such a vast territory will not hold together easily. Or at all. Therefore, as long as this alliance is sealed by the living bodies of each of these two who come to be partner in it, let no spear be cast that is meant to fix blame on another.”
“No provocation is allowed among the survivors. All fought honorably. Let no word or deed, no insinuation, give offense.”
“What each one brings to the contract will go to their own heirs, as long as they can hold it. To guarantee the peace, let ten beloved children from each lineage be raised in the heart of the other’s hall.”
“That is all.”
He possessed the guivre’s stare, whose vehemence had the strength to stop all creatures in their tracks. The easier to gobble them up. Yet after he surveyed the assembly, he simply nodded his head, a modest gesture that released them with his final words.
“Let this contract be sealed. Let the dead be buried. Let the survivors return to their homes.”
XII
THE “VITA” OF ST. RADEGUNDIS
1
LIATH crossed last through the archway woven into the crown at Novomo. Blue fire tore into hazy shreds. Sparks winked in a darkening sky as she emerged into a cool twilight breeze. The long slide to night had begun.
She found herself in a broad clearing, surrounded by a circle of standing stones and grassy mounds like ancient barrows. Forest stood on all sides. The ground was moist with recent rains. Drops of water dangled from grasses bent under that weight.
The ranks of mask warriors had spread out into the clearing, already on the hunt. A dozen were poking through the grass just beyond the stone circle.
Sharp Edge beckoned. “Look! There was an Ashioi camp here recently. One of the war parties came this way.”
“Any sign of Hugh?”
They searched in the dusk but except for the unmistakable remains of that small encampment—a fire pit with charcoal slivers, a pair of white feathers tipped with a glue that would have held them in an arm guard, a broken, bloodied fox mask—they found nothing.
Zuangua limped over to her. He still held his left arm cradled against his chest. “A man and a child could easily have passed through this crown before the rain and left no obvious mark of their passage. Day will bring light to our search.”
“We can’t let them get so far ahead of us!”
He shook his head, then retreated to the remains of the abandoned camp and sat down. A mask warrior rubbed salve into his wounds and tied a sling around his arm.
Liath stared and hunted until she thought her eyes would burn a hole in the stones, yet even her salamander gaze showed her nothing. In the end, she circled around to the campsite. Despair made her cold, but anger made her burn, and with a thought she called a blaze into the pit. Her companions leaped back as charcoal caught fire, snapping and cracking.
“Can you teach me to do that?” asked Sharp Edge breathlessly.
“Best we rest, Bright One,” said Zuangua, who had not moved when the fire flared.
“And then?” she demanded.
