So also do the dead fall, when struck in the heart.
She kept her gaze fixed on the young envoy. If she called death, then she must face what she wrought.
Behind, from the company, she heard a shout as bright as ecstasy, cut short. A shriek answered that interrupted cry, a sob—then it, too, died abruptly. A cart’s wheels ground along the road as it rolled closer.
In a moment, the Eika would begin to fall.
The envoy’s eyes widened, and his expression underwent a remarkable change. He had seen something on the road, behind Rosvita. He cocked his head sideways, as if this shift in angle might answer a question.
In the dead silence, the standard-bearer laughed, a strange, and strangely frightening because very human, sound.
He spoke, in perfect Wendish.
“My shamans sensed a locus of magic in your train, so I came myself to see what it might be. It is not what I expected.”
She heard the feather brush of footsteps beneath the sound made by the passage of the cart. Fortunatus gulped audibly. He was sweating and trembling—she could smell his fear—but he kept his gaze focused forward.
Not one Eika or man allied with the Eika had fallen.
The cart scraped to a halt behind them.
Rosvita had heard Sorgatani’s voice before—Hanna had taught the shaman Wendish—but she had heard it only through the veil of shutters. To hear it in the open air made it seem entirely different, more ominous because it sounded all the more pure and innocent, although such a creature could never be innocent.
“I come at your command, Sister Rosvita,” said Sorgatani. “Breschius drives the wagon. But it is gone wrong. A pair of people in our ranks falls because they forget to hide their eyes. But the enemy—they stand untouched.”
The standard-bearer walked forward. “What manner of sorcery invests you?” he asked with genuine curiosity.
“How are you protected?” demanded Rosvita.
“That is my secret. What is it you expect to happen to my army?”
“Who are you?” she asked him, angered that she had imperiled her soul and to no purpose! How had they failed?
Behind her, Sorgatani began to weep.
“What do you fear, Holy One?” he asked.
Only when Sorgatani answered did Rosvita realize he had not addressed the question to her.
The Kerayit shaman spoke with a trembling voice. “Among your people, I am free. All others, they die, to see me. Even here, when they forget to hide their eyes.”
“Ah. If that bothers you, then join me, Holy One. You cannot hurt anyone in my army. And I do believe that you are a powerful weapon, one I would be happy to wield.”
Almost, Rosvita turned to see Sorgatani’s expression, to see if this offer tempted, to see if this foreign woman would leap to shift alliances. Fortunatus clamped a hand over her wrist, reminding her—God help her—that to look was to die.
As someone had already died!
“We should have treated her better,” whispered Fortunatus with the merest breath of ironic bitterness.
“I have already pledged my aid to the Wendish,” said Sorgatani.
He nodded, a very human gesture of acknowledgment. Strange that he could look on the shaman, as they could not. “No man can serve two masters. This, I respect. You will be my prisoner, and honorably treated. I do not war upon the mothers in any case. Those who guard them will be spared if they lay down their arms.”
“Sister Rosvita commands us,” said Sorgatani. “It must be her decision.”
Shamed, Rosvita replied more sharply than she intended. “I pray you, Sorgatani, go inside.”
Slippers squeezed dirt as the young woman turned away. The door scraped open, and clapped shut.
“She is hidden.” A halt in Breschius’ tone made her look, and she had a fancy that he brushed a tear away from his cheek.
The one holding the banner, who had watched all this without comment, spoke lightly. “She could kill all of you, yet she obeys you. That interests me. Who holds her allegiance?”
Fortunatus let go of her wrist.
“We ride to support King Sanglant.”
He nodded. “You are surrounded and your soldiers outnumbered. We can kill them and take you prisoner in any case, but I am curious about this shaman woman. That is why I offer mercy.”
“How can we know you will keep your word?”
He bared his teeth in a grimace that imitated a grin but was more like a hound warning that it is prepared to bite. “You are in no position to refuse, but I understand that you remain suspicious. I speak in good faith, remembering your Circle.”