Hades’ Daughter. Book One of the Troy Game by Sara Douglass

There were orchards and well-tended herb gardens, as also carefully managed coppices and lightly wooded areas where wild boar and deer roamed.

Roads wove their sinuous way through all this abundance, their surfaces carefully leveled and graveled for wheeled traffic.

It was a countryside richer than Brutus could ever have imagined. In the lands in which he’d been born and spent his life hitherto, the thinness of the soils meant sparse fields and even sparser crops. He had never seen such an intensity of agriculture, nor such an easy wealth of food. Gods, if this land was not at its best, then how remarkable must it be when it was whole!

He rode his horse up level with Coel’s, and nodded at the surrounding countryside. “This is a good place.”

Coel and he had ridden in silence for two days after leaving Ecub’s village, and had then come to a silent agreement to clothe their disagreements with

politeness. Since then their relationship had been cool but not hostile.

Despite the thawing in his personal relationship with the man, Brutus kept a close and somewhat suspicious watch over Coel’s dealings with Cornelia. That they were none—Coel kept a great distance between himself and Cornelia—only increased Brutus’ suspicions. For the first part of the journey Cornelia and Coel had chatted as if they were old friends. Now they would have nothing to do with each other.

Something had happened, and Brutus wished he knew what it was. “A good place?” Coel said, glancing at Brutus, then smiling to himself as he recognized Brutus’ admiration of the countryside. “This is the valley of the Llan,” he said, nodding forward to where Brutus could see a very faint wide expanse of silver, “but it is only the beginning of Llangarlia’s wealth. From here to the north, and to the southeast, stretches some of the most wondrous land in this island. Mag and… and Og have blessed us indeed.”

“The Llan is close?” “We will reach it this evening.” “And the Veiled Hills?”

‘Are on the northern bank of the Llan. Whether you see them or not depends on the MagaLlan and Gormagog’s goodwill.” “When will I see them?”

‘When you are settled this evening, I will send word. Then you will wait.” Brutus nodded, lapsing back into silence as he thought of the MagaLlan—Genvissa. He’d had little time to think of her in the past two weeks: the journey, Siangan’s death, and then his suspicions about Coel and Cornelia had filled his mind.

But now… now she was so close. What she had promised him was so close… The Game.

Power—beyond anything he’d dared dream of.

Immortality.

IN THE LATE AFTERNOON THEY WOUND THEIR WAY northeast along a road that ran parallel with the southern bank of the River Llan. The dwellings, granaries, and barns were becoming ever more frequent, and Brutus noted that they were among the best constructed buildings he’d seen since he’d begun his journey through Llangarlia,

Farther south the houses had been made largely of wooden frames filled in with clay-daubed wickerwork walls and with thatched or turf roofs. Here the houses, while still predominantly circular, had walls of stone, and sometimes even roofs of slate. Many of them had walls and roofs high enough to suggest several levels inside. Some of the buildings had even been constructed in the wide marshes and tidal flats that formed the southern boundary of the Llan. Here solidly assembled wooden walkways ran out to the buildings that sat on thick stilts above the waterline.

Boats, some quite large, were either tied to posts within the river or were pulled up on the mudflats, and Brutus guessed that they were used both for fishing and trade.

‘How far are we from the sea here?” he asked Coel.

‘A day’s sail, or row, if your men are strong,” he answered. “And the river remains navigable many days to the west. For so many generations we have been blessed. Now?” He shrugged, and Brutus shot him a dark look at even this oblique reference to Siangan.

THE RIVER BENT NORTHWARD, THE ROAD THEY WERE traveling with it, leading into a large bustling town constructed just east of the mudflats and marshes that lined the river.

Coel waved the party to a halt. He pointed to the river to their left, and indicated a small, hilled island at the mouth of a smaller river that emptied into the Llan on its western bank.

‘That is Thorney Island,” he said, “and it marks the spot where the Ty River meets the Llan. Thorney Island also marks the first fording spot across the Llan above its mouth. Several of the coastal roads merge at this point to cross the ford; once across the Llan they again divide up, heading north, west, and south to the very edges of the land.”

Brutus nodded, understanding why the settlement was so large. Here all trade routes converged on the ford across the Llan at Thorney Island. And the Veiled Hills were close.

As if reading Brutus’ thoughts, Coel now pointed to the north. “Above the town, which we name Llanbank for the river, the Llan curves to the east. It is on the northern bank of the east-west stretch of the river that the Veiled Hills sit.”

He looked again at Thorney Island. “On the island rises Tot Hill, and that hill marks the very southwestern point of the Veiled Hills.”

‘It is sacred?” asked Hicetaon, who had ridden up on Coel’s other side.

‘Oh, yes,” Coel responded. “Tot Hill is sacred. Now, come, I shall show you to your house.” He grinned, looking over his shoulder to where Cornelia sat her horse. “Which we shall call Cornelia’s House, as it is the custom of this land to name a household after the senior woman.”

He was rewarded with a polite smile, although it never reached Cornelia’s eyes.

G * * * THE HOUSE TO WHICH COEL LED THEM WAS LARGE AND substantial.

Constructed of gray stone walls a pace thick and reaching well above their heads, it had a towering conical roof twice as high as the walls and densely thatched with new, sweet reeds. When they entered the single doorway it was to find that the floor was paved, and that there was a second level that could be used for extra sleeping space or for storage.

There were sleeping bays cut into the walls, with storage platforms above them and privacy drapes before them, and a bright fire burned in the central hearth, a pot already bubbling in its coals.

‘You will be comfortable here,” said Coel. “In the morning, I will come for you.”

With that he was gone, and Brutus was left staring at the doorway, realizing that not only was it their only way out of this substantial building, but that the long shadows outside revealed the presence of guards.

He doubted any of them would be allowed the freedom of Llanbank this night. He caught Hicetaon’s eye, and both men shrugged—they had expected little less.

Then one of the babies cried, and Brutus sighed, and turned to help the women settle before they tasted of the pot.

GLDORUTUS WOKE EARLY, AND PREPARED HIMSELF AS best he could. He washed thoroughly with water he heated at the fire, and oiled his hair so that it shone and snapped into tight black curls, then tied it securely behind his neck with a new thong. His body likewise he rubbed with oil until his skin gleamed and the engraved bands of kingship about his arms and legs sparkled. He scraped his teeth

with a stick, then rubbed them with astringent herbs, finally rinsing out his mouth with fresh cold water.

He wanted to look his best. He wanted to be his finest.

Today he would meet with Genvissa, the MagaLlan.

And the Gormagog, of course, but frankly Aerne was not the one raising the excitement in his belly to the point where he was unable to break his fast for fear of retching the food straight up again.

He rose from the fire, its light catching the warm hues of his naked body, and wrapped a fresh loincloth about his hips.

Then, from the small pack he’d brought all the way from Totnes camp, Brutus lifted a fine closely woven white tunic. It was sleeveless and came only to midthigh, so that his bands of kingship would not be hidden. About his waist Brutus belted a leather strap studded with gold-leaf insets, and to that he attached his sheathed knife.

He would not wear a sword to his meeting.

About his neck Brutus clipped a wide tore of gold that had been finely inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and on his feet he slid a new and finely crafted pair of shoes.

When he was done, he looked up and saw that Cornelia, Aethylla, Hicetaon, and the two warriors were all awake, and variously propped up on elbows or sitting in their bed spaces, watching him.