“Stay there,” she whispered to the others. Their pale faces stared out at her.
“Do you see Sister Rosvita?” Aurea looked ready to scramble out, but Hanna waved her back.
“Stay there! You can’t imagine—just stay there.”
It was impossible to think such a day could ever dawn. It was impossible to imagine a world that resembled the one she surveyed now. The great traveling camp made up of the combined armies of King Geza of Ungria and Lady Eudokia of Arethousa looked like a field of rubbish. A few brave souls staggered to and fro uttering aimless cries into the dawning light. Clouds covered the sky. The air, especially to the south and west, was yellow because of a dragging haze that obscured her view in every direction beyond an arrow’s shot. Only to the east was it vaguely lighter. A layer of ash covered everything, and it seemed most of the animals on which the army relied had fled. She had grit on her lips and in her eyes, and a skin of ash over every part of her body, even beneath her clothing, even under her eyelids.
“Hanna!”
She stumbled forward over a broken tent pole to grasp the arms of Sister Rosvita. “God be praised, Sister! Where are the others?”
“I have them all accounted for except Aurea, Teuda, and poor Sister Petra.”
“They are with me. What of Mother Obligatia?”
“She lives.” Rosvita shut her eyes as she exhaled, a sigh that seemed to shake the ground. Hanna found that she had tears in her eyes, knowing they had survived.
Thus far.
A bubble of canvas stretched and shifted like a living creature as Fortunatus emerged, wiping grime off his face. Beyond, not one tent remained standing. A body lay unmoving on the ground, but Hanna could not be sure the person was dead.
“I pray that was the worst of it,” said Rosvita as she lowered her hand. “We must find water and food.”
“We must decide what to do next, Sister. It will take days for this army to recover, if it ever does. There should be twice as many people. Are they all still hiding, or have they fled?”
Or died?
Rosvita glanced toward the collapsed tent in which she had sheltered. Fortunatus lifted up the heavy canvas as Ruoda and Gerwita crawled out. Gerwita, seeing the camp, burst into tears.
“We are faced with a difficult choice, Eagle. Do we flee on foot, knowing we may perish from hunger and thirst?” She gestured toward the hazy south and west. “I do not like the look of that. I would not turn my steps in that direction unless I had no other choice. But by traveling north and east we remain in Dalmiakan country, under the suzerainity of the Arethousan Empire. Yet in such circumstances, is it better to be a prisoner so we can be assured a bowl of gruel each day?”
“I don’t think there are any assurances any longer, Sister. I pray you, let me scout the camp while you get the rest of our party ready to move out. Perhaps there is a bit of water or food you can find in the wreckage.”
“Who will accompany you?”
“Alone, I may pass unnoticed in this chaos. I’ll see what I can see. See what has become of kings and queens and noble generals.”
Rosvita nodded grimly before kissing Hanna on either cheek. “Go carefully, Eagle. We will be ready when you return.”
Hanna had lain all night on top of her staff and her bow and quiver. She had a bruise down her chest and abdomen from their pressure into her flesh, but she hadn’t dared lose her weapons to the wind. She grabbed them now as Aurea crawled out from under the wagon and helped silent Petra emerge into the dusty air. She slung bow and quiver over her back and walked into the camp with her staff held firmly in her right hand, gaze flicking this way and that, but the people she saw crawling through the debris or standing with hands to their heads seemed too stunned to think of doing her harm.
A slender hound whimpered in the dirt; its hips were bloody, and though it kept trying to rise, it could not stand on its hind legs. A man scrabbled in the ruins of a wagon that had, somehow, completely overturned.
“Help me!” he said, to no one. “Help me!”
She came over and with her help he heaved up the heavy wagon, just enough so he could look underneath.
“No! No! No!” he cried in Arethousan, and he leaped back, releasing his hold on the wagon. The abrupt increase in weight caught her off guard. She barely released the slats and jumped back herself, scraping her fingers, as the wagon’s bed crashed back onto the ground.
“Hey!” she called, but he ran off through the camp, still crying, “No! No!”
“Ai, God!” she swore, sucking on her fingers. She had picked up two splinters, one too deep to pry loose. “Oh, damn! Ouch!”
