“Liath!” This name had meaning for him. He remembered it. “Liathano,” he said in a low voice as he took a step forward.
The weight of memory drowned him.
He stands in the old ruins, midsummer’s stars rising above him as bright as jewels thrown into the heavens. The Serpent’s red eye glares above. A shade detaches itself from the far wall, entering the avenue of stone. Fitted in a cuirass, armed with a lance, he carries a white cloak draped over one arm. Behind him, flames roar as the outpost burns under the assault of barbarians. He is looking for someone, but he sees Alain instead.
“Where has Liathano gone?” the shade asks.
Liathano. Surprised, Alain speaks. “I don’t know,” he says, but in answer he only hears the pound of horses galloping past, a haze of distant shouting, a faint horn caught on the wind.
His foot came down.
“What did you say?” asked the Eagle.
He shook himself, and Sorrow and Rage, trotting alongside, slewed their great heads round to look at him. Rage yipped once. Sorrow butted him on the thigh with his shoulder, and he staggered and laughed and rubbed Sorrow affectionately on the head with his knuckles.
“I don’t know,” he said, blinking into sunlight that seemed abruptly twice as bright. “Just that I’ve heard that name before.”
For an instant, he thought she would bolt and run. Instead she stopped dead, stared at him as he, too, halted, the hounds sitting obediently beyond. Bliss whimpered softly. His retinue eddied to a halt around him, keeping well away from both Eagle and hounds.
“No,” she said at last, more to herself than to him, her voice so soft only he and the hounds heard her. She seemed more perplexed than anything. “I can’t make myself feel afraid of you.”
Poor creature. Did she think she had to be afraid of everyone? “Come,” he said gently, showing her the way. “You must be hungry and tired. You will find a place to rest in my father’s hall. Nothing will hurt you there.”
And with that, she burst into tears.
Nothing will hurt you there.
The young lord made sure she had something to eat and wine to drink before he took her upstairs to his father. She was too bewildered, too confused, and too embarrassed by her sadden storm of weeping on the road beyond Lavas stronghold to know what to say to him, so she kept quiet.
With the count, she felt on surer ground.
“What brings you to my lands, Eagle?” he asked. He did not, of course, ask her to sit down, nor did he ask her name.
“This message I bring to you from King Henry. ‘The city of Gent still lies under the hand of the Eika. Its defenders lie dead. The count of that region and her nearest kin are dead as well and her army scattered. The lands all round the city lie as wasteland. It is time to take it back before the Eika can do worse damage. You were rewarded with a son for your honesty before me in Autun, after the Battle of Kassel. But I could not then ride to Gent’s aid because of Sabella’s treachery, which you once supported. Prove your loyalty to me by taking on this task. Meet me at Gent with an army before Luciasmass at midsummer. If you restore Gent to my sovereignty, with or without my aid, you will receive a just reward as well as my favor.’”
Lavastine smiled slightly. His smile had no warmth in it; neither, like Hugh’s, was it cold, merely practical, as at the sight of a good harvest. “Gent,” he mused. “Come, come, Alain. Sit down. Don’t stand there like a servant.”
Mercifully, the hounds had been kenneled, all but two. These padded obediently after the young lord, who sat himself in a fine carved chair to the right of his father. One of the hounds draped itself over the boots of the count. The other yawned mightily and flopped down near one of the three braziers that heated the room. After two months of traveling through the winter countryside, Liath appreciated how very warm it was in this room, as long as you kept out of the drafts. Tapestries smothered the walls. Rugs lay three deep on the floor. She was so warm she wanted to take off her cloak and outer tunic but feared it would look disrespectful.
“Gent,” repeated Lavastine. “A long march from these lands. Yet the reward may be a rich one.” He glanced up at his captain, who stood with his other intimate servants here and there about the chamber. Liath recognized a soldier when she saw one; like the count, this man had a brisk competency about him and a squared strength to his shoulders that reminded her—briefly and painfully—of Sanglant. “How many men-at-arms can we muster after the sowing?”
“I beg your pardon, my lord count,” said Liath. Surprised, he looked at her, raised a hand to show she might continue. “King Henry also sends this message. ‘From my kin you may ask for aid. Constance, Biscop of Autun and Duchess of Arconia, will provide troops. Rotrudis, Duchess of Saony and Attomar, will provide troops. Liutgard, Duchess of Fesse, will provide troops. I ride the southlands now to gather an army for the coming battle and I will meet you at Gent unless events in the south or east prevent me. Only a strong army can defeat the Eika.’”