“What of the other two?” Sanglant asked, knowing the answer because he had already heard the tale.
The man gestured with his hand, a flick, as dismissal. His throat and chin tightened.
Folk murmured, but it was hard to tell who they believed.
“Is there anyone else here who wishes to speak about the existence of the Lost Ones?” asked Liath.
No one did. The heckler had vanished back into the crowd. Sanglant could, in a manner of speaking, smell that he still lingered, and he wondered what twisted loyalty held the man to Hugh of Austra. Liath was already going on.
“As centuries passed, the story of the great spell was lost until it became nothing more than legend. The Ashioi came to be known as the Aoi, the Lost Ones. The knowledge used to weave the spell was lost also, because, I believe, all seven of the sorcerers who wove it were killed in the backlash from the spell.”
A murmur followed this statement, quickly stilled.
“Perhaps they left no apprentices to carry on their learning, although that would surprise me.”
“Perhaps those who were left behind chose to forget,” said Sister Elsebet. “What the church has condemned must be immoral.”
“This was before the time of the blessed Daisan,” said Liath. “They would not have been able to follow the rulings of the church.”
“They might have known in their hearts that it was wrong,” retorted the cleric.
Liath nodded amiably. “There are many possible answers. Perhaps their apprentices were too inexperienced, or too secretive, or too horrified to pass on the knowledge. Perhaps they were told not to. We’ll never know, since we have no way of asking.”
“I pray you, Lady Liathano,” said Duchess Liutgard with a doubting smile, “how can you tell us this knowledge was lost when you stand here before us branded as a mathematicus yourself? The Holy Mother Anne boasted of her sorcery, and taught these arts openly in the skopal palace these last two or three years.”
Liath nodded, echoing the other woman’s formality. They did not know each other. Liutgard knew of Liath only as the Eagle who had stolen Henry’s favorite child away from the glorious alliance Henry had promised him. Yet it seemed to Sanglant that Liath was deaf to whatever undertones sang through the nobles as they measured her. She was focused, simply and always, on understanding the truth.
“A good question, my lady. If you will allow me to unfold my argument, then the map will become clear to all, I hope.”
Liutgard nodded. She was, Sanglant thought, not afraid to offer Liath a reasonable chance to explain herself.
“In time, certain half-Ashioi, half-human descendants of the original Ashioi built a powerful empire in the southern lands bordering the Middle Sea. They called it Dariya, and called themselves Dariyans. As it was sung by the poet,
‘Out of this people came one who ruled
as emperor over men and elvish kind both.’
“The Dariyan Empire soon ruled much of the northwestern continent and the lands along both the northern and southern shores of the Middle Sea. We are traveling on a road paved by this empire. Eventually, the Horse people—the Dariyans and historians call them the ‘Bwr’ which is derived, I think, from the word—”
She broke off, catching herself, and, as a rider shifts her mount’s direction, got herself back on the main path.
“The Horse people became aware of the Dariyan Empire. They feared and hated the Dariyans because the Dariyans were descended in part from the hated Ashioi. In the early 200s, the Bwr invaded in a host and burned and pillaged the city of Dariya. It’s likely that in the course of their invasion they contracted a plague that decimated their numbers. They retreated to the eastern steppe that was their ancient homeland to protect themselves against further incursions by humankind, although humankind had once been their chief allies.”
Burchard coughed. “Are these Horse people you speak of not the same ones who ride with us, as our allies? Does this mean they are still our enemy? Or our friends?”
Liutgard’s mouth tightened as she looked past Sanglant to the honor guard attending at his back. Her forces had taken the worst of the centaur assault. She had no reason to love the Horse people.
Sanglant glanced behind. Captain Fulk and Captain Istvan stood behind his chair, alert to the disposition of his most loyal forces. Capi’ra and her sergeants waited in shadow, seeming at first glance like women mounted on horses, but he could hear their soft whickering commentary although he could not understand what they were saying. Beyond them rested the slumbering griffins with their wing feathers touched by the light of the camp’s bonfire.