Hanna admired Hathui, a big-boned, strong woman who had, by her own account, grown up in horse country far to the east in the march country of Eastfall, beyond which lay the wild lands and the barbaric Quman peoples, the winged horsemen—so Hathui called them. They lived in darkness, outside the Light of the Circle of Unity, and Hathui’s own brother had walked as a missionary into those dark lands and never returned.
“So I dedicated my life to St. Perpetua, Lady of Battles,” Hathui had said, “and swore to fight them instead.”
Until the day she took the ring investing her into the king’s service as an Eagle, Hanna had not realized how much she wanted to see the world beyond Heart’s Rest before she settled down and, like her mother before her, became chatelaine of her own inn. She had not allowed herself to want it, knowing it was out of her reach; what point was there in reaching for something you could never have? That was why inn work appealed to her, because was it not said that “the innkeeper sees the world through the guests that come in through her door?”
And yet, she could have gone with Ivar to Quedlinhame, where she would have seen the king’s court. And yet, she might have gone with Liath to Firsebarg. But it was better not to think about Firsebarg, because that would make her think of Hugh.
“As for you two young ones,” Wolfhere added, wrenching Hanna’s attention back to the matter at hand, “you will have to learn the ways of the Eagles as we ride. I had hoped to send you—” He broke off, took a deep draught of ale, and sighed, setting the mug down so hard that foam spilled over the side. “That will all have to come later. Are you strong enough, Liath? If not, we can leave you here and—”
“No! I’m strong enough!”
Hanna placed a hand on Liath’s arm, to calm her. Liath was stronger, truly, but she was as skittish as a calf and she wore away at herself with her constant fear. And still, even seeing Liath this way, Hanna dreamed of Hugh some nights. Most nights, if truth be told. But there was no other man like him, or none she had ever seen. Better to let go of his memory, to let it fade. Better not to worry at herself dreaming of something she could never have, and most likely was better off not having. Out on the road there would surely be sights to drive him from her mind.
“I secured horses for you in Freelas.” Wolfhere blinked guilelessly at Manfred and Hathui. “Do you judge them able to ride well enough?”
“What?” asked Hathui with a sharp smile. “The horses? I haven’t seen the horses.”
Wolfhere bared his teeth. “Two horses, spirited, and with stamina. No, my child, indulge me in this. The ride to Gent will be hard, and I do not know what we will find there or how quickly we may be forced to leave. They say a king leads this Eika army, and that he is an enchanter. They say he cannot be killed. If these two will hold us back, then we must leave them in Freelas or at our posting in Steleshame.”
Here, now, was something to worry over. Hanna was not nobleborn, to have been trained young to the saddle. That she had any familiarity with horses at all was only because her parents ran an inn. She held her breath. Liath stared at the fire, obviously distracted.
“Hanna is a serviceable rider but no better than that,” said Manfred in his blunt way, “but I judge her will to be strong enough that I trust her to keep up, whatever the hardships.”
Wolfhere raised an eyebrow. “Praise from you, Manfred, is praise hard won. And Liath?”
Liath stirred, hearing her name.
“Liath,” said Hathui with contempt, “can ride perfectly well, though she claims not to have ridden a horse for over three years. She’s still weak. But I believe she will recover as we ride. If she has not by Steleshame, we can leave her there.”
“Then it is settled,” said Wolfhere, and Hanna stopped holding her breath. “Come, my children, and see your new horses. They were the best I could find on such short notice. We will leave as soon as you have saddled them.”
Leave! Hanna felt her feet rooted to the floor, growing into the wood, which would never let her leave her beloved home. To leave sounded so wonderful as words. “This soon?” she managed, her voice not quite cracking. “I thought, not until morning—”
Wolfhere’s gaze, on her, was softly reproving. A kind man, she saw, until you went against his wishes. “We are Eagles, Hanna. There must be no delay in the king’s business. Do you understand?”
She stood obediently. She had dreamed, and she had been given. She refused to let fear get the better of her and especially not after watching Liath be consumed and controlled by her own fear. “Of course, sir.”