Brother Gilles stuck through with a spear by a ravening Eika marauder who rips the precious holy book out of the old man’s trembling hands.
Aunt Bel standing in the doorway, staring out into the wet night wondering what has become of her foster nephew.
Sparrows eating crumbs off Lackling’s hands as the halfwit weeps silently with joy.
Stronghand chained and a prisoner, howling to provoke the hounds.
Lavastine sitting at the count’s table, measuring Alain with a keen blue gaze.
Lady Sabella with her hair plaited back and dressed in gold-and-silver ribbons, but left uncovered, like a soldier’s.
Brother Agius hand in hand with Biscop Constance as they whisper late in the night, captive both in body to their enemy and in heart to each other—a marriage long ago forbidden and impossible. Beyond them, Biscop Antonia’s eyes are open, and she watches as they comfort each other. She is a huge yawning maw sucking in life and air, a gate through which the most unnatural forces can cross. Envy is the shadow of the guivre, the wings of death.
She has called the galla from a far place that is no part of this world, or of the aether that circulates through all things, through the cosmos itself.
“Go,” he whispered into the dirt. He shoved himself up. He faced the guivre and caught it with his stare. “Go! As I command you, who spared you once, this favor I am owed in recompense. Go to the field of battle. Fly there until I say otherwise.”
On the ground it was an ungainly thing, but when it leaped and caught the high wind, it flew with a grace that makes a man smile with joy to see God’s hand in the heavens working such beauty. It cried out once, and then he lost sight of it as it winged away over the trees. He brushed off his forearms and his legs, and pulled a twig out of his hair. Sorrow and Rage sat watching, panting although the wind was brusque enough to make eyes sting when you faced into it. The sky overhead was as dark as pitch, but it was not raining, although it ought to have been. The Lady had called this storm, and it followed no natural course.
“Come.” He broke into a steady run. The hounds loped with him, one before and one behind. Yet it was too late. Too late. The battle had already started; he had not prevented it after all.
Except that it is never too late. The world continues on its path despite the accidents and tragedies and joys that unfold in the life of any given individual. You must press forward so long as you have breath. Toil in those fields that God cherish most. You have done as well as any man.