Sanglant smiled, but in his heart he felt no peace, knowing that some choices were ugly, made for expediency’s sake rather than being ruled by what was just. “That is why Bulkezu still lives. He’ll guide me to the griffins in exchange for his freedom—and a chance to kill me.”
IV
THE SUMMER SUN
1
AT the Ungrian town of Vidinyi, King Geza made his farewells and turned his court west to return to the heartland of his kingdom. A small fleet of broad-beamed merchant ships and a dozen smaller, swifter galleys had been put at the disposal of Prince Sanglant. After off-loading their cargoes of wine, oil, and silk from the Arethousan Empire, they took on grain for the return journey downriver as well as the two thousand horses, eight hundred soldiers, and two hundred or more servants with their miscellaneous carts and pack animals.
The river seemed as broad as a lake to Sanglant as he stood on deck, Heribert beside him, watching the lengthy and difficult process of horses coming up onto the ships. Beyond the wharves, earth-covered fires burned along the strand. Because there was no wind and the air lay heavy and humid, wraithlike streamers of smoke from these fires stretched out along the shoreline, screening willow scrub and sapling poplars.
“They can’t get much more charcoal near town,” Heribert said. “Look how far back the woodland is cut.”
“They’re using charcoal for their ironworks, to forge more weapons. Ungria grows stronger every year and expands its border eastward.” Sanglant gestured toward the new palisade wall surrounding Vidinyi. “They say it’s a seven-day trip downriver to the Heretic’s Sea. We won’t be gone from Ungria fast enough for my taste.” “Missing Lady Ilona already?”
“I suppose I deserve that! Missing Bayan, more like. He was the best of them.”
“If what Brother Breschius and Zacharias say is true, and considering the example of Bulkezu, you may look more kindly on the Ungrians once we are out on the plains at the mercy of the Quman and the Kerayit.”
“Maybe so. But Geza delayed us here for his own reasons. He’s a stubborn man and more conniving than he seems.”
“Hoping to convince Sapientia to marry one of his sons? Or hoping to loose us into the wild lands so late in the season that the winter finishes us off?”
“Hard to say. He’s not simple. No doubt the barbarians are more honest about what they want.”
“Our heads? Our horses?”
“Our selves as their slaves and puras?” He laughed curtly, wiping sweat from the back of his neck. “Something like that.”
The woodland had indeed been cut back on all sides of the town, but when they at long last cast off and the press of the current took them round a bend out of sight of Vidinyi, forest gradually took hold on either side until it became a monotonous fence of trees broken at intervals by clusters of low houses dug into the ground. The folk about their daily chores stared as they passed; some of the children shouted greetings; then the little village would be lost behind a new screen of forest as if it had never existed.
In those stretches of wilderness between holdings, he heard nothing except the intermittent beat of oars keeping them in the main channel and the lap of water at the bows. Once he saw a hawk half hidden among the branches of a poplar. Above, the sky was a vivid blue. In the distance the rugged mountains lifted up from a horizon untouched by haze, as though the air were somehow purer there, closer to the heavenly aether.
If he looked hard enough, could he see Liath shining in the heavens? But the air was clear, only scraps of clouds and the bright sun, concealing neither angels nor daimones. He had seen no sign of her since that awful day at Gent. Two and a half years had passed since then; it was almost as though their brief life together was only a dream remembered as if it were real.
“Do you suppose she is dead, Heribert?” he asked finally.
Heribert sighed. The slender cleric had never been one to tell him only what he wanted to hear. That was why Sanglant prized his companionship. “How can we know? I’m sorry.”
“Papa! Look at me!”
Blessing had got herself into the furled rigging of the lateen sail and shinnied halfway up the mast, clinging to a rope.
“Oh, God!” Heribert hurried toward her, unsteady enough on the rocking ship that he careened into one of the sailors.
“No matter,” called Sanglant after him, laughing. “She’ll either fall and kill herself, or she won’t.”
But it quickly became clear that the captain of the ship wished no brat getting in the way, and soon enough Sanglant found himself presiding over his sullen daughter at the bow of the ship.
