Across the river, under the light of the setting sun, Liath watched as a few Eika stumbled up onto the eastern shore only to be met by the patrol left there last night. As for the rest, and their dogs … they burned with the ship or drowned.
Around her and above she heard the cheers of artisans, smiths, and soldiers alike. The ebb tide slammed the Eika ship repeatedly against chain and piles until it splintered and began to break up, flames spitting and failing as water swamped the deck. Below, on the shore, a half dozen of Fell’s soldiers stripped again and dragged the Eika bodies to the seaward side of the barricade where they rolled them into the water. The dead sank like stone.
4
DUCHESS Liutgard led the vanguard at a grueling pace and by the first evening out of Steleshame the train had fallen behind, its wagons bogged down where the road twisted through a muddy swale. Men from Villam’s reserve hurried forward to help them dig out, and while Rosvita waited on a patch of higher and drier ground she saw a familiar Eagle ride past.
“I beg you, Eagle!” she called. “What news?”
The young woman reined her horse aside. “The vanguard has set camp for the night, my lady. The king has decreed that the army must not get separated lest the Eika attack us in pieces.” She glanced nervously back the way she had come. “I’m riding a message for Princess Sapientia, my lady.”
“I won’t keep you long.” She could see by the Eagle’s expression that she wanted to ride on but dared not disobey. “A few moments of your time won’t harm your errand, I trust. Hanna, is it not?” The young woman nodded. She had a clean, strong face and wonderfully pale hair the color of old straw. “I recall your comrade, Liath, once had a book—”
Hanna blanched. “The book!” She glanced around like an animal seeking a safe path out of a burning forest. The horse minced under her, and she reined it back with the studied if somewhat awkward determination of a woman who has come late to riding and means to master it.
“I see you know of which book I speak. Did she steal it from Father Hugh?”
“Never!” No one Rosvita knew could feign this kind of passion, and surety. “It was never his. He stole it from her, just as he stole her freedom from her when she was helpless.”
“Helpless?”