They came so slowly. First the anxious deacons emerged, carrying the holy relics from the cathedral. Then came a long line of children, younger carried by elder, infants in the arms of their mothers. There were women in all stages of pregnancy, including one who had gone into labor. Here and there, other folk appeared—a blacksmith with his hammer and tongs, his skills too precious to waste in a hopeless fight, the two lanky girls who had performed as acrobats in Mayor Werner’s palace, the elderly bard who had mangled the Heleniad and produced his own atrocious imitations of old Dariyan verse at the many feasts in the great hall.
Too slowly. A clump of a dozen would stream out, and then there would be a pause, so long Liath would catch her breath and pray this was not the end of the line. Then more would emerge, stumbling, halt and lame, or a child collapsed and no longer able to walk on its own. The trickle would as suddenly turn again into a steady stream as those held back behind the knot hurried out and dispersed onto the hillside.
Liath could not bear their grief. Hers was heavy enough. She walked out away from the cave, which lay half hidden by shrubs and trees in a great jutting ridge of hill.
It was just as Sanglant had said. There was a field of oats here, straggling along the hillside.
Stumps of trees edged the ripening oats, and beyond them the forest climbed back into wilder lands. Two huts sat in the shadow of the trees. As she watched, a man came out from behind the closer of the huts to stare. Then, waving his arms, he ran over to the deacons. They began to talk all at once. Liath edged closer, then recalled that as King’s Eagle she had every right to listen to their conversation.
“—but … but it is a miracle!” the man was crying, hands clapped over his cheeks. “The cave narrows and ends in a rock wall one hundred paces back. We have hidden in there, now and again, when Eika scouts rode too close by. A company of Dragons sheltered there five nights ago. But never have I seen steps or a tunnel leading east!”
Though the sky was clear, they heard a low rumbling like distant thunder. Liath hurried back and scrambled up the ridge that sheltered the cave. From its height the hill dropped away precipitously to the river plain below, stretching eastward, green and gold patched with earth, to a stark horizon. From here she could see the river winding like a dark thread through the plain. The sky was so clear the sun’s light had leached away the most intense blue at the zenith, washing the land in brightness. Distant Gent looked like a child’s toy, tiny carved blocks fashioned in the model of a city.