In the Ruins

“Anything?” he asked her after their greeting.

“The same as every day. We see signs of men following on our tracks, but they fade away. Fewer today. There are fewer folk living here, and if they would not attack us when they have greater numbers, then they will fear to attack us when they are only a handful.”

He nodded. It was almost dark. Night came early now, not just because of the time of year. Even during the day the clouds obscured the sun. His skin ached for light. Everyone felt its lack.

“It is strange to walk among you,” said Capi’ra after a silence. “Your kind are so reckless. I will be glad to return to my homeland.” She snorted, a horsey sort of chuckle. “No offense meant to you, Sanglant. We are not easy here. The land looks wrong. It smells funny. The winds aren’t the ones we know.”

“Look!” he said, squinting. “I thought I saw a flash.”

“Lightning?”

He beckoned. “Lewenhardt. Come forward. Do you see it?”

The archer rode forward and stared south into the dark sky. He began to shake his head, then stiffened. “Could it be?” he whispered, then shouted aloud. “The griffins! It is the griffins, Your Majesty!”

Sanglant rode forward past the rearmost line, head bent back to stare heavenward as the news was called down the line of march so men could control their horses. Dogs barked.

Lewenhardt came up beside him. “They’re flying low. One has something … something in its grip … a deer, perhaps? If they’ve been hunting….?”

“Ai, God,” breathed Sanglant.

Such a bolt of adrenaline slammed through him that he thought he would go blind. He slipped getting off Fest and stumbled running forward downslope as the griffins dipped low and lower still, Domina weighed down by the burden she carried. The precious burden brought all this way to him, the one who had decreed that they must move on and leave her, unsought and unfound, behind.

I am no better than she was. I did what I thought was necessary.

Domina stooped that last short drop and when Liath was a man’s height from the ground the griffin released her and she tumbled, hitting hard. He fell to his knees beside her, wondering if she was alive or dead, but he knew she was living and not just because she laughed and cried and embraced him so tightly with her head pressed against his shoulder that when she pulled away he could see the impress of his mail on her cheek.

He was struck dumb.

“The Lord and Lady have blessed us,” she said, wincing as she used him as a support to clamber to her feet. “The griffins found you.”

He was paralyzed, still on his knees as she gritted her teeth and tested her shoulders, shrugged them up and down, drawing circles with her arms. Blood stained the pale cloth of her sleeveless shift, but any fool could see she wasn’t badly hurt, only tired, thin, dirty, and very sore.

She stared at him, seeking into his heart. At last, she kissed him on the lips. She tasted salty, and a whiff of something like brimstone trailed off her body. He shut his eyes, savoring her touch, needing only to let all the flavors of triumph and horror and joy mix within him.

In time he found himself, his words, his strength.

“With you,” he murmured, “anything.”

He rose, holding her close although it was clear she was not going to fall.

“Is it true you are regnant now?” she asked.

“I am. How could you know?”

“I met Zuangua.”

“Ah. What of your companions, the ones who departed with you through the crown?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I lost them months ago.” She shuddered. “It was a terrible thing, Sanglant. Terrible. Anne is dead.”

Said in such a voice, raw with grief. He had no need to question. Anne was dead. Liath had done what needed doing, although the cost had been high. He felt a wild laugh rise, and swallowed his fear and sorrow and anger, because they had not yet come close to knowing the full weight of the storm or how far it had spread its wings.

“You’ll tell me what I need to know,” he said. “Come. I can get you a bit of food at least. You’re too thin, my love.”

“What of those we left behind?” she demanded, clinging to him so he couldn’t take a step. “What of Blessing? Heribert? Where is Hanna? What about Ivar? And Sorgatani and Bertha? Are they all lost?”

“I don’t know.”

She let go of him to cover her face with her hands. He waited while she trembled, lost in a battle for which he carried no weapons, but at length as the night darkened and the griffins settled down with coughs, scratching in the dirt, and distantly a voice called for folk to lie back down and get some sleep by God … at length she sighed and lowered her hands.