Helmut Villam stood beside the king. He looked exhausted, worn through by the struggle to get out of the storm. Just a week ago he had shone with youth at the betrothal feast celebrated for him and his bride, young Leoba. Now he looked as old as he was, a full sixty years, as though the youthful vigor that had always before animated him had been sucked out of him by the bitter cold.
“But there was so little snow here this morning,” he protested. “Surely if we wait this out, we can make one more attempt to cross the pass before winter descends in earnest.”
“That you may,” agreed the nun. “That you may. But I’ve served in these parts for well on thirty years, my lord. I know these storms. You’ll not get across now until late spring. If you try, it’ll go hard on your army, Your Majesty.”
Henry took another quaff of ale as he considered these tidings. Abruptly Rosvita’s feet began to hurt so horribly, as though a thousand tiny knives were cutting into her soles, that she staggered and would have fallen had Fortunatus not caught her.
Henry saw her. He sent one of his Lions to open up a stool for her to sit on. Ale was brought, and she drank gratefully. For a while, as the murmur and flow of disparate conversations swirled around her as thickly as the snow had done outside, she sat with her head bowed, catching her breath and gritting her teeth as pain flared and subsided in her feet.
After a while, a servant unwrapped her leggings and uncovered her feet. Her toes felt frozen through. Fortunatus knelt before her and chafed her feet between his hands until tears ran down her cheeks.
Through the haze of pain, she heard Henry speaking.
“Nay, we can’t risk it. The season is late. To be defeated by the mountains is no dishonor to us. We can’t stay here since there isn’t shelter enough for everyone. We must retreat to Bederbor and live off Conrad’s bounty for the winter.”
“He’ll give that grudgingly,” remarked Villam.
“So he will,” agreed Henry. “We’ll make good use of his hospitality to remind him of the loyalty that is due to his regnant. But this way we can keep the army strong. When the passes clear next year, we’ll march south and catch Ironhead unawares. Yet surely, Helmut, you’ll be glad of one more winter in the north. We’ll send for your bride, and she can keep your bed warm!”
Laughter followed this sally, and the mood in the hall lightened considerably. Such was the king’s power.
Her feet prickled mightily, as though stung by a hundred bees. “I pray you, Brother, that is enough!”
Fortunatus regarded her with a grim smile. “Better than losing your toes, Sister, is it not? Can you ride?”
She flexed her feet and found that although they still hurt, she could move them and even set her weight upon them without undue pain.
“This is ill news,” she said to him, “that we must wait until next year to march to Aosta. Where is the queen?”
Henry had moved away toward the door to direct his captains to start an orderly retreat toward Bederbor. Rosvita got to her feet and tested them gingerly, but found them sound enough. Through the milling crowd she caught sight of Adelheid in a corner, sitting on one of the beds built in under the rafters. She was vomiting into a basin held by a servingwoman.
“Your Majesty!” Rosvita hastened forward, alarmed. Just in this way did the flux first afflict its victims. But as she reached Adelheid’s side, the young queen straightened up with a wan smile and allowed a servant to wipe her face.
“Nay, it’s nothing dangerous.” The queen reached out to grasp Rosvita’s hands. Adelheid’s hands were warm despite the cruel storm raging outside which she had so recently escaped. Her grip had unusual strength, and her eyes held a gleam of triumph as she glanced past Rosvita toward her husband, whose head could be seen above the others in the crowd. “I believe that I am pregnant.”
4
ONE ruined Dariyan fort looked much like any other. Sanglant led his men north through Wayland following the ancient trail of the Dariyan invasion, laid down hundreds of years ago. The forts had lasted far longer than the empire.
This night, as every night, after he made sure Blessing slept, he walked the perimeter to greet each soldier standing sentry on first watch. A jest exchanged with Sibold, a comment on the weather by Everwin, an astute observation about the landscape from Wracwulf, and he moved on. By the time he returned to the campfire, both Zacharias and Heribert were asleep, rolled up tightly in their cloaks under cover of a half fallen roof. Heribert had shoved aside broken tiles to make space for Sanglant, but the prince was, as usual, too restless to sleep. He sat brooding by the fire.
