“HOLY MOTHER! I pray you! Wake up!”
The twilight had barely begun its transition toward day, so the servant held a lamp to lighten the gloom. Antonia did not scold her. Over the months she had bided in Novomo after the fall of Darre, she had purged her retinue of any servants who displeased her. Felicita would never disturb her without cause. They feared her, as all people must fear God and, thus, God’s holy representative on Earth.
“What news?” She had the knack of coming instantly alert, without confusion.
Felicita was holding the lamp close to her own face, and her startled, wide eyes and parted lips betrayed her anxiety.
“An ill wind,” added Antonia.
Felicita began to weep while struggling to speak. “I pray you, Holy Mother. I am so frightened!”
Too frightened to speak sensibly, the woman babbled of creatures with human bodies and animal heads, of a flashing wheel of gold, and of folk falling into a writhing, spitting death from the merest prick of a dart. Other servants, newly woken, brought robes and a belt and slippers and helped Antonia dress.
“Hush! Take me to the queen and her consort!”
Captain Falco appeared at the door to her suite and escorted her to Novomo’s proud gate, a legacy of ancient days when the old Dariyans had founded the city as, so the story went, an outpost along the road that led north over the mountains into barbarian country. The captain said nothing, and she asked no questions, preferring to see for herself. Felicita trailed after, coughing out sobs and heaving great sighs as she fought to control her fear.
The weak always panicked. They were chaff, fated to be cast to the winds.
Folk walked abroad, calling and crying in the half light. Soldiers marched toward the walls, fastening on thick leather coats as they hurried. One dropped his spear and got kicked for his pains as he stumbled back to pick it up.
“Move! Move!”
Goats bawled from a courtyard. A horse neighed, and was answered by other nags. All over the town, dogs set up a wild clamor, howling and barking and yipping as though their ears hurt them.
Stairs set into the wall had to be climbed, and her feet ached and her back complained, but she mounted them step by step without uttering a word. Falco walked two steps behind. On the wall walk the queen leaned out, staring south. Her cloak billowed in the dawn breeze lifting out of the southeast. She was alone, but as Antonia reached the walk, she saw Lord Alexandros pacing back from the corner tower; he was too far away for her to see his face. The queen was drawn and anguished, and she clutched Antonia’s hand as soon as the skopos drew near.