In the Ruins (6 page)

“Liath is a mathematicus, Your Majesty. Do you mean to put her aside because she knows the art of sorcery?”

He grinned. “I began as captain of the King’s Dragons. I have always been a soldier. If a weapon is put in my hands, I use it. And anyway …”

And anyway
I love her
.

He could not speak those words aloud. He was regnant now, but his position was by no means secure. He could show no weakness; he could
possess
no weakness, and if he
did, if he loved unwisely, then he must conceal the nature of his desire or it would be used against him. In that way the Pechanek Quman had tried to dishonor him by tempting him with a woman’s flesh. He had come close to falling.

“Seek her at nightfall, Hathui. Keep trying.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

He strode over to those who waited, climbed the ramp until he stood above them, and situated himself so all those gathered below or huddled within the ruined walls could hear. He raised a hand for silence, and they quieted, but it was never still. The hiss of falling ash, the crack of breaking branches in the forest, not as many now but sharp and startling each time the sound came, and the moans of the wounded ran beneath his words.

“Cousin,” he said. “What accounting have you reached?”

Liutgard was an excellent administrator and a wise enough soldier that she let her captains fight her battles for her. When she was younger, her husband had carried her sword as a talisman in place of her, but since his death some years earlier she had shown a disturbing tendency to take to the field herself.

She beckoned her chief steward forward. That woman tallied their remaining forces and lines of command, about two thousand men and perhaps half that many horses remaining although strays were continually being roped in. They had salvaged provisions for about three weeks, if strictly rationed, but were low on fresh water and feed for the horses. There were not enough wagons to carry all the wounded though crude sledges could be built and the wounded placed upon those and dragged by healthy men.

“What now, Your Majesty?” Liutgard asked when her steward had finished.

“Yes, what now?” they asked, all the assembled nobles and captains, those who had survived.

He was at first silent, but at length he spoke. “If fire and ash and water have wreaked such havoc here, how badly has the rest of the land suffered?”

Lord Wichman laughed coarsely and shouted, “Surely we have survived the worst!”

“Hush! You fool!” said Liutgard to her cousin. “Do not tempt God! There may be worse yet to come. What do you mean to do, Your Majesty?”

The curse of foresight had spared him, as it spared all born of humankind. It was amazing that he had once said to his father: “
I don’t want to be king with princes all biting at my heels and waiting for me to go down so they can rip out my throat. I want a grant of land, Liath as my wife, and peace
.” Such luxury was no longer in his grasp. If he did not lead, then this army would fall to pieces and much worse would indeed come to pass.

“We must move out, and swiftly. This land is too devastated to support an army.”

“What of Queen Adelheid, Your Majesty?” demanded Burchard.

Sanglant laughed bitterly. “You and I both saw the ruins of Estriana. I think there are no survivors.”

“Should we send scouts into the town?”

“How can we tell when another wave may overtake any of our scouts who go down to search? If we wait for the sea to subside completely, we will suffer losses ourselves from thirst and starvation. Nay, I pray you, Burchard, we have no choice. Queen Adelheid is living, or she is dead. If she is dead, there is no help for her. If she lives, those who have survived with her will lead her to safety. Our situation is too desperate.”

Burchard bowed his head, but he did not protest. Liutgard nodded to show she approved.

“The Brinne Pass,” he continued. “It’s too late in the year to attempt the higher passes, but there’s a chance at least that we can cross into the marchlands and thence west to Wendar.”

“At last!” cried Liutgard. “Home!”

“Your Majesty,” objected Burchard. “What about Darre? What about Henry’s empire?”

“Without Wendar there is no empire. Imagine, if you will, how far the tide of this destruction may have spread. Look at it! We do not know how distantly the deadly winds have struck or what damage they leave in their wake. The people of Wendar have already suffered greatly. If there is
no succor for them, they will turn to others who will offer them surety and order. We must secure what is ours first, our birthright. When that is safe, then we shall see if my father has an empire left to defend.”

They knelt to display their obedience, all except Liutgard and Burchard.

“What of Henry’s remains?” Liutgard asked.

“His bones and heart must go to Quedlinhame.”

She sighed. He recalled her as so young and bright and spirited when they had grown up together in the king’s schola. Now she looked as aged as he felt, scarred by Henry’s ill-fated expedition into Aosta and by the events of the last two days. But she was too strong of spirit to dwell on what could not be changed. She beckoned to her steward and they spoke together before the duchess turned back to her cousin. “My steward has been overseeing the boiling, Your Majesty. She’ll find a suitable chest, and a box for the heart.”

“So be it. We’ll camp here to tend our wounded and repair what we can in preparation for the journey to come. Drink sparingly. Fulk, send out scouts to search for water, and others to see if there is aught to be recovered from within the forest: wagons or armor, provisions, strays. Wounded. Anything. Bury the dead that you find, but we can leave them no monument and we can carry none of the dead home with us, none but my father. As soon as the king’s remains are fit to move, we will leave.”

As the rest dispersed to their night’s bivouac, Hathui came up beside him. “What of Liath, Your Majesty? If she reached Dalmiaka, as she hoped, then she is south and east of us. We’re leaving her behind.”

“We cannot act unless we know she lives and exactly where she is.”

“An expedition could be sent. I would go—”

“I haven’t strength or provisions enough to split my forces.”

“A small group only, Your Majesty. Ten or twelve at most surely—”

“To ride where?”

“We can guess where she
might
be. A scouting expedition
only. I could find a dozen who would be brave enough—”

He gritted his teeth and she stammered to a halt, seeing his expression. “Do not pain me with these objections, Eagle. Liath is powerful enough to rescue herself.”

“If she is injured?”

“Then I am too far away to help her. For God’s sake, Hathui, do not forget my daughter! I have not! I do not know if Blessing lives, or is dead. If the Horse people kept their oath to us, or have killed her or enslaved her. I may never know.
But we must march north
. We must march now. I will not split up my army. No.”

She met his gaze. She was a bold woman, and for that he respected her. “It is a terrible choice, Your Majesty.”

“It is the choice that has to be made. We are two thousand here with at least a thousand horses, without enough water, feed, and food, in hostile country swept by untold damage, and with winter coming and mountains to be crossed. Our situation is dire. If we lose Wendar, we have lost everything. Liath will find us if she lives.”

“I will pray, Your Majesty.”

“So will we all.”

SHE waited alone in a vast new world. For a long time she stood at the top of a ragged ridgeline, the earth smoking, hot in many places, and stared as the sun’s rising illuminated the changed landscape. Devastation surrounded her. The extent of the destruction was staggering. What remained of the old land had been stripped to rock by the force of the explosion, or vaporized by the heat, or scalded clean by the blast of a gale. West and northwest as the wind blew, a cloud of ash obscured the horizon. East and northeast the ash fall wasn’t as severe, but the ground had altered strangely, forming eerie ranks of hills one after the next, each with the same height and curve. In hollows, pools of muck stank like sulfur. Nothing moved. Nothing lived. Nothing that had once lived here existed even to decay. Right above her the sky had an odd look to it, which she recognized after long consideration as the natural blue sky.

Only to the south, most changed, had life escaped harm. Some magic, perhaps the embrace of the aether itself, had protected the Ashioi land from the backblast of the spell. Although it had suffered from drought during its exile, it appeared rich with its living bounty in contrast to the destruction
around her. To the east, the sun struggled to break free of the ashy haze but could not; it glowered, an ominous red, as it climbed.

What to do?

The magnitude of the destruction so overwhelmed her that she could not even weep. It was as if half of her had been blasted clean away by the cataclysm, leaving her with no tears but rather a few practical questions that really had to be answered.

Clothes. Water. Food. Her lost companions. Sanglant and Blessing.

The rest could wait.

Behind her the land looked impassable. Certainly she’d not find food or drink for many a league inland. There was no telling how far the storm had blown. She doubted she’d last long once night fell and the temperature dropped. It was late in the year. There had already been snow, now burned off for as far as she could see.

She shifted her grip on her bow and walked south toward the hills of the ancient land now returned. Ashioi country. She heard a faint horn call. From farther away, through the intense silence, a human cry shuddered, but it might have been a trick of the air. She saw nothing and no one. The heat of the ground chapped her feet, and as the morning passed her soles dried and cracked until they bled, leaving drops of blood as a trail in her wake. It was so hot, but heat had never troubled her. Thirst hit harder, and her feet hurt, and her skin stung from the ash. The spell had exhausted her. But if she stopped and could not get going again, then thirst, hunger, and weakness would defeat her, and no person born of humankind alone could negotiate this steaming landscape to rescue her, not until it cooled. And they would only attempt a rescue if they knew she was here, which they did not.

Sanglant was too far away to help her, if he even lived.

In time, the sun nosed up over the haze and reached zenith within that mote of clear sky directly above. The sun was so bright. Even the ground blinded her as she stumbled onto a ribbon of chalky white. She halted. She stood on a narrow road, bleeding onto its gritty surface. Behind
there was nothing to see except empty wilderness and smoking pits. Ahead, the ground rose precipitously. Grass clung to the hill in patches. Here and there clefts and holes split the hillside like so many narrow cave mouths. At the height of the rise a ruined watchtower rose at the limit of a stand of pine trees.

She had been here before.

She had enough energy for a chuckle, then trudged upward, weary beyond measure. Unbelievably, he was there, waiting for her with a skin of water. He stepped out from behind the tumbled wall with a look of such surprise that she knew he had not, precisely, expected to see her.

“Liath!”

“Eldest Uncle! Ai, God! I’ve need of that water, if you’ve any to share.”

“Plenty to share, as you will see.” He smiled. “The young should know better than to parade in front of the old with that which can never be regained.”

“I beg your pardon!” She guzzled water, but forced herself to stop before she drank the entire thing. She poured water on her hand and wiped her brow. Her fingers came away black with grime. She looked down at herself. “I’m cloaked in ash,” she said, and it was true, but she was nevertheless naked even if smeary with soot. He was amused.

“Come with me.” He gestured toward the trees.

“Where are we going?”

“To the river, where you can wash yourself. I’ll see if I can weave a garment out of reeds.”

The water gave her strength, but a second, more intangible force did so as well. She recalled clearly the last time she had walked through this grove of pine trees, just before she had ascended the mage’s ladder into the heavens. Then, the air had been dry and the ground parched. Now she smelled water in the air. She felt it in the greening leaves and the rash of shoots lacing green trails along the ground. Its softness cooled her skin.

Yet, when they walked out from the shadow of the pines, the meadow that had once grown lush with cornflowers and peonies, lavender and dog roses, lay withered. On the path, drying petals crackled under their feet.

“Come.” Eldest Uncle hastened forward, ignoring the dying clearing.

“This was once so bright. What happened to all the flowers?”

“The aether used to water this land, drawing moisture up from deep roots. Now that link is gone, and these flowers die. But the land will live. See there!”

See there! She hurried after him along what they had once called the flower trail, to the river. Where once a trickle had moistened the rocks, a current now flowed in full spate. Laughing, she splashed into the shallows and threw herself full length into the cold water. The shock stung. Her skin hurt, everywhere, but the water was like the kiss of God. She ducked her head under, and again, and a third time, and scrubbed her hair and scalp until the worst of the filth was gone, and afterward floated until her teeth chattered and her hands were blue. At last she fetched her bow and waded to the far shore. Eldest Uncle waited for her on a carpet of grass. Fresh shoots flourished along the river as far as she could see. The land that had once lain yellow and brown had turned with the onslaught of a false spring, although she knew that winter was yet to come.