It was said often enough in Osna village that Count Lavastine was a godly man, asking fair taxes in exchange for the protection he offered the little port. Because so many merchants lived there, Osna was a target for raiders from all sides, sea and land.

But the protection of the counts of Lavas had served the village well over the years since the emporium there was established in the time of the Emperor Taillefer. No freeholder in Osna village except those who managed their fortunes very badly indeed had ever been forced to indenture themselves in exchange for payment of outrageous rents or taxes. That was the sort of thing the noble lords did in Salia, for they were very greedy there. Not one soul in Osna village had ever had to sell one of their children into slavery in order to meet their debts or taxes; but Salian slaves, children born to free or once-free parents, were brought to Osna every summer and sold to families in the lands nearby or shipped onward, to ports farther east.

So that must be his duty. It was the only thing he could sort out from the impossible confusion of his thoughts. He would stay beside Lavastine, as much as he could, as much as he was allowed to. Was that the sign the Lady had meant for him? Was it Her hand that had brought him friendship with Lavastine’s hounds, which in its turn allowed him to remain close to the count?

It must be so. Agius thought he was Lavastine’s bastard, but why would a noble lord send his bastard off with a freeborn man and not put the child directly into the monastery, if that was his intent?

Biscop Antonia perhaps thought he was the fruit of a Midsummer’s Eve seduction, gotten on a human girl by the shade of an elvish prince. But how could a dead creature, elvish or not, get a living woman pregnant?

And the Eika prince had misunderstood his words completely and thought he was King Henry’s son!

No. He could just imagine what Aunt Bel would say about such fantasies! “The Lady and Lord act for a reason,” she would say. She was a good, practical woman, and to her, as to the deacon of Osna village and the other householders, God worked in practical ways and rewarded those who were faithful, hardworking, and pragmatic. Of course Aunt Bel knew that God worked in the world and that angels might light in modest homes or saints walk abroad to save the weary and forsaken. She would not doubt Alain’s rose, or the vision he had seen at the old Dariyan fort.

But she would expect Alain to be made humble by these experiences, not proud.

“Why would these things happen,” she would ask, “if there is not a task for you to accomplish, lad?”

It was the only answer that made any sense to him: He was the only one who knew and believed Lavastine rode to war not because he supported Sabella but because he was ensorcelled.

He did not know what else to do but watch over him. That must be his task.

2

WOLFHERE returned from Freelas after fourteen days. He brought bitter news.

Eika raiders had laid waste to the monastery at Sheep’s Head and then sailed eastward to join an army of their kind. Already, as rumor told the story, this very army had besieged the great port city of Gent, gateway to the rich heartland of Wendar and the birthplace of King Henry’s great-grandfather, Duke and later King Henry, the first of that name. In Gent’s cathedral the first Henry’s son, known as the elder Arnulf, had married his seven-year-old daughter Adelheid to Louis, the five-year-old child king of Varre. The elder Arnulf had, of course, made himself their regent. For good measure, he had betrothed Louis’ infant sister Berengaria to his heir, Henry’s father, the younger Arnulf. That King Louis of Varre had died young, and without leaving an heir, was simply the Lady’s and Lord’s Grace in granting fortune to Arnulf’s house. That Berengaria had died in childbed some years later only sealed the issue. To the Wendish kings, Gent itself symbolized the passage of Varre’s noble house and its right to rule Varre into Wendish hands.

“We must ride east,” said Wolfhere, “to Gent, to see for ourselves the truth of these rumors. King Henry dares not ride north unless he must, not now. There are too many whispers about the doings of his sister, Lady Sabella. Some even say she is speaking rebellion outright. What a bitter thing it is, that she should cause so much trouble now, when we need our armies so badly here in the north.”

He sat in the inn common room, elbows folded on the table, a mug of ale at his left hand. He spoke mostly to Manfred and Hathui, but now and again his eye lit on Liath and Hanna, who sat silent but attentive at the end of the table. It was evening, and many of the locals had come in for a drink, mostly, Hanna knew, to watch the Eagles and listen for scraps of news from the great world beyond. Custom had been up for the last ten days because of their guests, who had gone from being a curiosity to an item of gratifying interest eight days ago when Hathui broke the nose of an importunate, and very drunk, young farmer.