Betrayal
Maggie awoke, vaguely aware that she was stiff and sore and a little cold. Someone was shaking her gently. Her eyes fluttered open to see Libuse looking down at her with a face full of concern.
Libuse sat back and let out a relieved breath when Maggie’s eyes opened. “You’re all right,” she said. “I was afraid something had happened.”
“Something did,” Maggie said, sitting up. Her mind was cloudy and she was not entirely sure why she was sleeping in a farmyard. An image of a horse and rider flashed through her mind.
“I dreamed…” Maggie began. Her hand tightened around the silver thread. She held it up in front of her face with awe-filled eyes. “No,” she said. “It wasn’t a dream.”
“What is it, Maggie?” Libuse asked. “What happened?”
“I saw a man from the Otherworld,” Maggie said. “If I could call him a man, though I feel sure he’s not one. Not really.”
Libuse looked skeptical, but she was listening.
“He was a hunter,” Maggie said. “The Huntsman—he blew his horn. It was a signal.” She smiled. The thread felt like a precious secret in her hands, throbbing with hope. “Things aren’t only stirring here. The Otherworld is preparing for battle, too.”
“Maggie, I—” Libuse started to say. Maggie took her hand and pressed the thread into it.
“Keep this,” Maggie said. “It’s a sign. We’re not alone.”
Libuse cupped the thread in her hands. Her eyes widened as she realized that it was shining.
A minute later, Mrs. Korak ordered them inside for breakfast. There was work to be done, and Libuse and Maggie did not speak again that day.
* * *
Virginia and Lord Robert had not yet settled into their rooms at a Pravik inn before the name of Jarin Huss reached their ears: the venerable old professor had been charged with insurrection against the Empire and the murder of an Eastern princess. His trial—and doubtless his execution—was less than a fortnight away.
Lord Robert paled at the news, but Virginia only sank deeper into silence. She had not spoken once since they had set out for the city.
The next morning Lord Robert left the inn in search of news—alone. It seemed wise to leave Virginia behind closed doors. The city was swarming with High Police.
* * *
Two days later a rebel carrier brought news from Pat. She had a job, not, unfortunately for her tastes, with the theatre. She was working in a dress shop, but enough gossip passed through every day to make the long hours more than worth her while.
The date for the public trial and sure execution of Jarin Huss and Jerome was still unknown, but old women with uncanny instincts for such things put it at less than two weeks.
The Ploughman sat in long silence when he read the letter, his fist crumpling around the paper. It was not enough time. Libuse stood behind him and whispered in his ear. He reached up his hand, the one with the ruby ring, to take hers and hold it tightly. Watching them made Maggie’s throat ache. She thought of Jerome, and immediately wished she hadn’t.
That day, Maggie followed some of the farmers into the barn. They carried heavy sacks, collected from every smithy in the region. They moved aside straw and dirt and pulled up four long floorboards to reveal case after case of swords, spears, bows, and arrows. The contents of the sacks went in along with them.
The next few days passed in a blur. Hundreds of men arrived at the farm every morning before the sun came up, farmers and peasants, boys as young as thirteen and men as old as sixty. They pulled bows, clashed swords, and marched in rows as the Ploughman gave orders.
Practice.
Mrs. Cook, Mrs. Korak, Libuse, and Maggie worked for hours in the kitchen, struggling to keep up with the appetites of the peasant men. Most brought some food with them for the women to prepare. They knew better than to expect the Ploughman to pull food out of thin air.
Another letter from Pat. The trial would take place in four days.
The Ploughman clenched his fist again and went back to work.
“Three days from now the Tax Gathering begins,” Libuse told Maggie in the bunkhouse, over the light of a candle. “Many will come to Pravik from all over the province. Zarras wants this trial public.”
More weapons arrived. More men came to march and shoot and fence in the fields.
One evening, the men took their weapons home with them. A few stayed, and they sat with the Ploughman at Mrs. Korak’s long table and argued and pounded the wood and pored over maps, planning and planning well into the night.
Maggie went out into the yard sometime after four o’clock in the morning. The sky was cloudy, but here and there breaks in the grey allowed stars to shine through. The moon was wreathed by thin, ghostly wisps of cloud.
The moonbeams shone straight into Maggie’s soul. She opened her mouth and sang softly.
Hear the call of the Huntsman’s horn…
* * *
Lord Robert wandered through the city, listening. He heard nothing new: Huss and his apprentice were imprisoned in Pravik Castle under heavy guard; the apprentice, acting under Jarin Huss’s orders, had murdered the last living heir of the ancient royal family of Sloczka.
Lord Robert had not seen his old friend in forty years, but it had not felt like such a long time until now. The murderer who awaited trial in Pravik Castle could hardly be the same man who had sat at the council table in Angslie and opened up the ancient writings for his companions. Yet it was the same man. Time had taken its strange toll, and Lord Robert felt utterly alone.
The worst of it was, he could not shake a feeling of responsibility. Had he somehow brought his old friend to this? The rumours on the streets spoke of Huss as an odd man. There were whispers of a strange and mysterious branch of science and history that had led the old professor into madness. Was it true? Had the study of the Otherworld led to this?
If it had… what did it matter?
Lord Robert clenched his jaw as he walked. There was power in the Otherworld. Enough to rescue a friend, to change the course of things. If only he could touch it.
His head hurt.
He was walking along a cobbled path beside the dark river. Young trees lined his way. Their yellow leaves crunched beneath his feet, and the breeze from over the river was cold.
He lifted his eyes and saw her.
Evelyn.
She was leaning on the wrought iron fence overlooking the river. A rain of yellow leaves drifted to the ground all around her. She wore a dress of burgundy and gold, and her black hair was shining. She looked unchanged, as young as the day they had met: young and breathtakingly beautiful, and full of power. His heart caught in his throat. She turned, and their eyes met.
No dream, this.
She turned away and began to run.
His heart pounding, tears rushing to his eyes, he ran after her.
Through the streets they ran, Evelyn always just ahead, running like a deer. There was no one else anywhere; it was only the two of them in the world. Weaving through the alleys and the streets, now by the river and now in the city, Lord Robert did not know how far they went. But suddenly they were standing on the Guardian Bridge and all of the white marble statues were stretching their hands out toward them, and Evelyn stopped, leaning against the side of the bridge. Lord Robert was there, and she was in his arms, and she was kissing him.
Forty years had not passed; it had only been weeks since he had seen her last. Surely, surely, it had only been weeks. He wanted to ask why she had left him, where she had gone. He had suspected her of so much! But he had been wrong; he knew now that he had been wrong.
She moved away from him, just a little, so that they could look into each other’s eyes. Her eyes were so black, black like her hair, and beguiling. “You doubted me, my love,” she said.
He hung his head. “I did not know,” he faltered. “Where—where did you go?”
“I had to leave,” she whispered. “My enemies were at work. They would have killed me if I had not gone.”
“I would have gone with you,” he said.
“I would not put you in danger,” she said.
“You broke my heart,” he told her.
“But I am here now,” she replied.
It did not occur to him to wonder how it was, why it was, that she was here now. She was, and that was enough. He was lost in her presence, a man in love with a mist that blinded his eyes and closed his ears, with a being of power that made his heart ache with longing.
She began to move away from him, and he held her hands to keep her from running away. “Will you leave me again?” he asked, his voice breaking.
“No, my love,” she said. “But our enemies are once more at work. I need your help. You have something we need—something that will take us deeper into the worlds unseen.”
He could not answer before she was in his arms again, kissing him again, and for a long time he could see and hear and feel nothing but her. When she had moved back, her arms around his neck, he said, “I will do anything you ask of me.”
Her deep red lips curled in a smile. “I know you will, dear one. I know.”
* * *
Lord Robert did not return to the inn that night, and Virginia did not sleep. She sat in a rocking chair in the corner of her room and listened to the creak of the floorboards. She had found her way to the window and opened it, so that the hawk could sit on the sill. Its presence comforted her. Once she nearly fell asleep, and she imagined herself back on the mountainside with her fingers entwined in the wiry fur of her hound. His whole body rose and fell as he breathed, deep breathing… but no, she awoke, and the hound was gone. The hawk stirred and ruffled its feathers.
Visions visited her throughout the night. She saw Pat, working in a dress shop, listening intently to the gossip of dozens of housewives and maidservants who passed through. She saw the streets below her window filled with the clash of swords and the shouts of battle. She saw scenes she had seen before: a tall man on horseback, shouting orders, the air twisting and warping in golden waves around him; a young woman with auburn hair running along the ramparts of the city wall.
Virginia wept that night, because she saw another vision as well: that of the laird falling into darkness, while she tried to reach him and found that she could not.
His long absence did not surprise her. When he left she had felt, deep inside, that he would not be back. His fall had begun already.
Near morning, the vision came again. Only it was different now, for when Virginia reached out to stop the laird’s fall, he pulled her down with him.
So she waited.
* * *
The year’s first frost was on the ground when Maggie awoke. She rolled over with a groan—her journey through Galce had not taught her to love sleeping on the ground. All around her, the Ploughman’s soldiers were already packing up camp.
Maggie jumped to her feet, embarrassed to be sleeping still when the others were already at work. She expected a reprimand, but the men said nothing.
They had slept outside the walls of Pravik, surrounded by wagons full of crops and goods—taxes. They would enter the city in less than an hour. Maggie rubbed her stiff arms and yawned, picking up the wooden crutch she had brought from the house of the Ploughman. She had ridden a horse most of the way here, but she would be walking into the city.
She looked around at the little group of six men who were readying themselves for the day. They were a harmless looking crew, farmers all. One man wore a wide-brimmed hat over bushy gray hair that stuck out at the bottom; another rubbed a lucky coin given him by his sweetheart. There were other groups like them camped throughout the woods, none farther than an hour away from Pravik. Throughout the day they would drift in, one and two at a time, until the city was full of self-made soldiers. Under their clothes the men carried swords and long knives, quivers full of arrows, and bows. Some wore carefully patched leather armour.
The Empire had a strict limit on how much weaponry peasants were permitted to own and carry, and the rebels were smashing the limit to little bits. Maggie knew it, as well as she knew how much trouble she would be in if anyone discovered that the cause of her limp was a sword strapped to her leg beneath her skirt. She sat down on a fallen log and strapped the sword on while the men finished their own preparations, then stood and practiced hobbling around on her crutch. No one would bother to search a cripple, or at least, that was the official hope of the rebels. An inordinate number of cripples would enter Pravik throughout the day and evening.
One of the men finished loading a bad-tempered, foul-smelling donkey with long bundles of straw, in which was hidden a liberal number of arrows and a long bow. The donkey brayed loudly, and the farmer-soldier smiled. Hopefully no gatekeeper would be in a mood to meddle with the beast.
Dirt was kicked over the fire, and the sorry-looking company headed down the road. They were mostly on foot now, their horses acting as pack animals. One horse pulled a wagon full of corn. The bottom of the wagon was false. Row after row of swords rested just beneath it. They were well-made swords, forged by blacksmiths who could have been jailed for the trouble. Strapped to the sides of the wagon, hidden beneath the corn, were heavy oak quarterstaves.
They walked together for a while. Soon some pulled ahead while others lagged behind. The roads soon became crowded with tenant farmers and tradesmen. All of the Eastern Lands seemed to be coming to the Tax Gathering. Maggie hobbled along and kept her eyes cast down. The sword chafed against her leg, and she winced. At least she did not have to fake the discomfort of walking.
In about an hour, she had reached the outskirts of Pravik. Maggie avoided looking around to see how many men she recognized. She knew there were about two hundred militia men seeking entrance into the city, and a hundred more still to come with the Ploughman. The thought made her heart beat faster. She imagined Mrs. Cook worrying about her back at the farm.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” she said under her breath as she hobbled into the city.
By the time she located Pat’s dress shop, her leg was raw from the rubbing of leather and metal, and the tears of pain in her eyes were real. She pulled herself up the steps to the shop and entered with a grimace. A bell rang to announce her arrival. Before she could properly take in her surroundings, she heard Pat call.
“Maggie! Maggie, what’s happened?” Pat rushed up, all concern on her face. She linked her arm through Maggie’s and turned to a large woman behind the counter.
“This is my friend,” Pat explained. “I’ll just take her back to my sewing room, out of your way.”
Without waiting for permission, Pat hustled Maggie to the back of the shop and through a door into a snug, well-lit room. Before the door shut behind them, they heard the woman’s voice bellowing, “Don’t let it interfere with your work!”
Pat stuck her tongue out at the door and then turned to Maggie again. “What has…” she began to say, and broke off when Maggie lifted her skirt to reveal the end of a leather scabbard. Pat’s jaw dropped for only a moment.
“Is he here?” she asked, her voice dropped to a barely audible whisper.
“He comes tomorrow,” Maggie answered. “But our men are filling the city.”
“How many?” Pat asked.
“Two hundred,” Maggie told her. “Another hundred or so with the Ploughman.”
Pat frowned. “I haven’t been able to get a message out to warn you. This city is crawling with soldiers. They suspect trouble, I think.”
“How are the people of Pravik going to react?” Maggie asked. “Libuse says she hopes for support from them.”
“I don’t think we’ll get much help from the upper class,” said Pat. “They don’t like what’s happening, but they’re too busy courting the favour of Athrom to oppose Zarras openly. But the poor people are sick of being taxed out of health and home, and they’re tired of the High Police. We might have their help. They’re not well armed, of course.”
“No,” Maggie said. “Of course not.”
“Did you all bring weapons with you?” Pat asked.
“Most of us,” Maggie told her.
Pat sat down in her sewing chair and picked up a half-embroidered cloth with a sigh. “You realize that all of this is complete insanity,” she said. “And I still haven’t figured out why I’m on the rebels’ side and not keeping the peace.”
Maggie sat down gingerly, careful to keep the sword in place. “You’ve been on the rebels’ side for a long time, haven’t you?” she asked.
Pat looked up, but her eyes did not meet Maggie’s. “Pravik is not the only place where revolution is stirring, in some form or another,” she said quietly. “There are movements like the Ploughman’s in Cryneth, and Londren and Cranburgh as well. But none are so foolhardy or so desperate as to try something like this.”
Pat looked up from her stitching suddenly. She met Maggie’s eyes this time. “Do you think we’re actually going to win?” she asked.
Maggie thought of the Huntsman. “Yes.”
“All I know is that all my life I’ve been chafing against the Empire,” Pat said, “and now for the first time I may be able to hit it where it hurts.”
She stood up and moved to a window overlooking the street. “On the other hand,” her voice came, “this might be my chance to die.”
She turned around and smiled wryly. “I don’t think I’ll bother telling the boss I won’t be coming in tomorrow.”
She sat down with a thump and picked up her sewing again, stitching furiously. “Forgive me if I ignore you for a while,” Pat said. “The old battleaxe’ll kill me if I don’t finish this today, and it’d be a shame for me to die before the battle. Where’s Mrs. Cook?”
“Back on the farm,” Maggie said. “She and Mrs. Korak have vowed to protect the old homestead with their lives.”
“Good, good,” Pat said. “I pity the soldier who will brave their rolling pins and frying pans, don’t you?” She grinned and then suddenly became serious. “I’m really glad she’s not going to be here for the battle. If it comes to a battle.”
“So am I,” Maggie said, and her eyes wandered to the window. Rising above the rooftops of the city, the towering height of Pravik Castle was plainly in sight. Her pulse quickened. Jerome was in there, and Huss. For the two of them, hundreds of men would risk their lives and their dreams. “So am I.”
* * *
Lord Robert walked with his head bowed. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers. He felt as though a fire was burning behind his eyes, low and hot and threatening. Evelyn stepped closer to his side, and she put her hand through his arm and walked with her fingers resting in the crook of his elbow. Her touch made the fire cool, and he lifted his head higher.
The inn was just ahead, its high roof silhouetted against the darkening sky. The moon was shining and stars were just beginning to come out, but from the silence in the streets, it might have been midnight. It was a deep, foreboding silence; portent of approaching evil. Lord Robert thought of all Evelyn had revealed to him, and he shivered—and felt his heart become colder, steeled, ready to do what he had agreed to do.
With his next step the silence was shattered by a blood-chilling cry. A dark form hurtled out of the sky toward Lord Robert and Evelyn. Evelyn cried out, and Lord Robert threw up his hands to protect her. The hawk sunk its claws into his arm, drawing blood, and knocked the laird to the ground with its great weight. He struggled against it, desperate to keep the bird’s beak and claws away from his face. Evelyn came up behind the bird with a knife in her hands, and he heard the hawk’s cry as the knife plunged down. With a scream, the bird lifted high into the air again.
“Get up!” Evelyn commanded. Lord Robert scrambled to his feet. He crouched defensively, watching the black sky for a sign of attack. For a long moment there was nothing. He saw the movement of black shadow against black sky—the bird was diving toward them again. Lord Robert had pulled out a knife, and he slashed at the hawk as it bore down on him. Once again man and bird fell, but the hawk was twice wounded now. It flopped to the ground and began to dance, lashing out with its beak, its wings spread low over the cobblestones.
The hawk slashed at Lord Robert’s legs, tearing the tall man’s trousers and drawing blood. A movement from behind caused the hawk to swing around, but not fast enough. Evelyn brought a heavy stick down on the creature’s head, and with a piteous cry the bird lay still.
“Let’s go,” Evelyn said, her voice ragged. Despite her command, she stood for a moment watching the dead hawk. Moonlight glinted off the bird’s beautiful red-gold feathers, and for an instant Lord Robert thought he saw fear in Evelyn’s face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, drawing close to her.
“It is nothing,” she said. “Only—what makes a hawk dive out of the sky in the night, when it cannot see? The enemy is at work. Where is the girl?”
Lord Robert led Evelyn into the inn and through the half-lit dining room where a few stragglers were still picking at their suppers. Lord Robert’s bloody arms and legs drew looks and whispered comments, but Evelyn waved her hand and the room fell silent. The people turned back to their dinners, disinterested in the intruders.
Up the stairs they went, and down the hall until they had reached Virginia’s room. Lord Robert opened the door and stepped inside, leaving Evelyn in the door frame with his back to her, where he could not see the smile that disfigured her face.
The blind girl was standing at the open window, her hands in front of her. At the sound of the opening door her back grew rigid, but she said nothing.
“Virginia,” the laird said, approaching her slowly. “I’ve come for you.”
Slowly Virginia turned. Lord Robert saw a long feather in her hands, red and gold like the hawk whose life was bleeding away on the street below. Her unseeing eyes seemed to look through him, to the figure in the doorway. Something like recognition passed over Virginia’s face.
Before the laird could move or say anything else, Virginia took a step toward him and reached up with one hand. Her fingers touched Lord Robert’s face gently and fell back to her side.
“Is it too late for you?” she asked softly. Lord Robert felt a pang in his heart. Evelyn stepped closer to him. His coldness returned. Cold strength. He could not let his emotions get in the way.
“Take me if you can,” Virginia said, but Lord Robert could not tell if she was speaking to him or to Evelyn. “But I will not go willingly.”
Lord Robert felt Evelyn’s hand on his shoulder and heard her rasp, “Do it!”
He reached inside his coat and pulled the needle out slowly, almost reluctantly. He lifted it slowly and then jabbed it into Virginia’s neck. She gasped and fell against him, momentarily struggling to stay on her feet. Then he felt her grip on his arms loosen, and she slipped to the floor with a long exhalation.
Evelyn made a sound a little like laughter, and said, “Get her up! We’re running out of time.”
Lord Robert knelt and gently lifted Virginia in his arms. It seemed like only yesterday that he had carried her just this way, away from Angslie to Londren, and then to the continent. Evelyn was already rushing out of the room, and he hastened to follow her.
In the dining room not one person looked up to see what was happening. A spell seemed to have settled over the room, enclosing every person in his own private cares and thoughts. They left the inn without molestation and walked hurriedly through the streets toward the outskirts of the city, stepping around the body of the hawk on their way out.
Just outside the city, three men in black masks waited for them. They had two extra horses with them, and Evelyn mounted one with graceful ease. One of the men silently took Virginia from Lord Robert and threw her across his saddle, mounting behind her. Lord Robert started to protest that he would keep her with him, but a word from Evelyn silenced him. The laird mounted the last horse, and the silent company rode away.
They quickly left the road, heading into deep forest. Their path angled up sharply. The horses picked their way through the foliage, almost fearful in their steps. At last the company stopped and dismounted. Tethering the horses, they continued on foot. The man whose horse had borne Virginia now carried her as they pushed deeper and deeper through the trees.
At last they stepped out onto a bare hilltop. The ground sloped fiercely down on the other side, covered with trees. Down the slope and over the trees, the city of Pravik gleamed.
But it was the hilltop that called all of Lord Robert’s attention now. In the center of the clearing burned a great bonfire, but its flames were an eerie blue, and the smoke that rose from the fire moved like a living thing. A figure in black stood with his back to the fire. His robes fell over his hands and feet and shadowed his face. At the edge of the clearing, armed men stood in silence.
The black-robed man stepped away from the fire and came toward the new arrivals. Their escort had slipped away, leaving Lord Robert, Evelyn, and the man who still held Virginia. The man stepped closer and made a sign in the air. Lord Robert could see the tip of a white beard and two piercing grey eyes beneath the black hood.
The man came close and held out his hand, the sleeve falling back to reveal a white, bony hand with purple veins that stood out like cords. Evelyn gracefully bowed on one knee and kissed the extended hand. The man nodded and Evelyn rose.
“My Lord Skraetock,” she said, “I have brought you a new ally. Lord Robert Sinclair.”
Lord Robert bowed. The sight of the man both repulsed him and drew him. There was power in him. It made the air around him vibrate like a thousand insects’ wings.
“Welcome, Lord of Angslie,” Skraetock said in a voice that was low and rich.
Lord Skraetock lifted a hand and motioned to the guards who waited around the edge of the clearing. Two men stepped forward and began to bind Lord Robert’s hands behind his back before he could move to stop them. He opened his mouth to protest, but the rich voice interrupted him.
“I am sorry, Lord Robert,” he said. “I trust that in the future we will have no need of such manners. But for now your bonds are necessary. You are not ready to stand in the presence of the Covenant Fire unprotected. Without restraint you might find yourself acting against your own best interest.”
When Lord Robert’s hands had been securely bound, the men led him to a place at the edge of the clearing where he could see the bonfire. Guards stood on either side of him.
“Now, faithful one,” said Lord Skraetock to Evelyn, his voice deepening, “what else have you brought me?”
“The seer,” Evelyn said with a cruel smile. She jerked her head to motion the man forward, and he stepped forward so that the light of the bonfire fell on Virginia’s face.
“Stand her on her feet,” Lord Skraetock commanded, and the man obeyed, holding Virginia up.
The pale, bony hand reached out and a cruel light blazed in the grey eyes. “Awake, Gifted One,” said the deep, rich voice.
Virginia drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and Lord Robert saw her stand on her own. Evelyn stepped closer.
“Bow down before your master,” Evelyn commanded.
Virginia lifted her face and said, “I serve only one master: I serve the King.”
Lord Skraetock drew back his hand as though he would strike Virginia, but instead he brought his hand down lightly and ran his fingers along the side of her face. She shrank back from his touch, and he laughed, a low, rippling, mocking laugh.
“You kneel within the protection of the Covenant Flame,” he said. “Your exiled king has no power here. Here is only the power of fire and darkness, my power! I am the lord here, and no other.”
“The King will return from exile,” Virginia said. She seemed to be struggling to get the words out. “I have seen him, and I have seen the awakening of his army.” Quietly, terribly quietly, she whispered, “I remember.”
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