Prince of Dogs

Now he leaned forward. She had caught his interest. “Sorcery?”

“What else could it be? We saw the guivre, such as only a magi could capture and control. But these were not even creatures of flesh and blood. Wolfhere called them galla.”

Every person in the hall shuddered reflexively when the word came out of her mouth. Rosvita had never heard of such a thing, and yet some tone, some intonation, made her flinch instinctively. But as she glanced round the room she saw Father Hugh look up sharply, eyes widening—with interest? Or with distaste?

“I have no reason,” said the king wryly, “to distrust Wolfhere in such matters. Well, then, Eagle, if this happened while crossing the Alfar Mountains in the summer, why has it taken you until winter to reach me?”

She lifted a hand. “If I may, Your Majesty?”

Curious, he assented.

She gestured behind, and three Lions walked forward and knelt beside her, heads bowed. They, too, looked travel-worn, tabards and armor much mended; one had a newly healed cut on his left cheek. “These Lions were my escort, and they will witness that all that I say is true. When we turned back from the monastery, we found the pass was closed, blocked by another avalanche. Therefore we had to keep going south into the borderlands of Karrone until we could link up with the road that led back north through the Julier Pass. But here, too, we could not get through.”

“Another storm?” demanded Villam, and Father Hugh leaned forward as if he feared the Eagle’s answer would be too faint for him to hear.

“No, my lord. Duke Conrad closed the pass.”

Henry stood up, and immediately any persons in the hall who were sitting scrambled to their feet as well, including poor Brother Fortunatus, who had sprained his knee in the conflagration yesterday. “Duke Conrad has closed the pass? On whose authority?”

“I do not know the particulars, Your Majesty, only what I could learn from the border guards. It seems there is a dispute about borders between Queen Marozia and Duke Conrad, and neither will back down. So to spite her, Duke Conrad refused to let any traffic through the pass.”

“To spite himself,” muttered Villam. “That pass links the duchy of Wayland to Karrone and to Aosta.” He shook his head, looking disgusted.

“Nevertheless,” she replied, still sounding offended at the memory of the incident, “we were not let through although I carry an Eagle’s ring and badge, the seals of your authority.”

There was a silence while Henry considered this news. A few whispers hissed through the hall, then hushed. Abruptly, he sat down. Rosvita could not read his expression. “What then?” he asked, his voice level.

“We had to ride farther east until we came to the Brinne Pass, and farther east still, once we had crossed over the mountains. We came into the marchlands of Westfall where Margrave Werinhar fed us most handsomely and gave me a new horse and all of us generous supplies. But so many of the paths and roads had been washed out by heavy rains that we had to go even farther east into the marchland of Eastfall before we could find a good road leading west.” Again she hesitated and looked toward Hathui, as for courage. The older Eagle merely nodded crisply, and the younger went on. “Every person there sent word by me, Your Majesty. They beg you to set a margrave over them for protection. The Quman raids have been more fierce this year than in any year since your great-grandfather the first Henry fought and defeated the Quman princes at the River Eldar.” She turned and signed to the Lion, eldest of her companions—the one with the scarred cheek.

He presented a broken arrow to the king.

Fletched with iron-gray feathers, the arrow had an iron point; it looked innocuous enough for a tool meant for killing, and yet a kind of miasma hung about it as if it had a rank smell or some kind of repelling spell laid on it. Those feathers resembled none of any bird she had ever seen.

But in the eastern wilderness, griffins hunted. Or so books said and report gave out. But Rosvita rarely trusted the reports of credulous folk who might see one thing and believe it was another—as had the lords and ladies out hunting, seeing a deer instead of Theophanu. It was stuffy in the small hall with so many people crammed in, even with the high windows thrown open. A restlessness plagued them all at the sight of the arrow. A few slipped out the door, but even as they left, others shouldered in to take their place.

Henry took the arrow from the Lion’s hand and at once cut a finger on the hard edge of the fletching. He grunted in pain and stuck his finger in his mouth, sucking on it. Immediately, the Lion took the arrow out of Henry’s hand.