both the raising of Elcho Falling and the fight against…whatever it is we face.”
Unlike myself, Ravenna thought. “You will need to make it clear to her that you will not
take her back as your wife. You—”
“Oh, for gods” sakes, Ravenna, stay out of this! Let it go! ”
“You know why I cannot do that.”
Maximilian rose, pulling on a pair of trousers with sharp, angry movements. “You are
doing yourself no favors.”
“As neither are you.” Ravenna stopped. “I”m sorry, Maxel. I shouldn”t have said that.”
“Ishbel doesn”t concern you, Ravenna. Leave her alone.”
Ravenna sat silently as Maximilian pulled on his boots and then a shirt and jerkin.
“She will kill you, Maximilian,” she said eventually.
“Stay away from her. I can look after myself well enough.” Maximilian sat back down on
the bed. “Look, I am sorry if I have given you to understand that you and I…that we…” He
stopped and sighed. “We should have talked about this a long time ago.”
Ravenna gave a short, humorless laugh. “You do not need to put it into words,
Maximilian Persimius. I can see the lie of the land well enough. All I want for you, Maxel, is a
bright future. I did not save you from the Veins only to lose you to that witch, Ishbel.”
Maximilian”s eyes darkened at that last. “Is that what the child was for, then? Just another
means to keep me from Ishbel? Another weapon to use against her?”
“This child,” Ravenna said, “is Elcho Falling”s future.”
“Only if I recognize it as such,” Maximilian said very quietly, then grabbed his cloak and
left the tent.
CHAPTER FIVE
The River Lhyl, North of Aqhat, Isembaard
Hereward stood on the deck of the riverboat, arms wrapped about her upper body
hugging her thin shoulders. Her dark hair blew into her eyes and across her face, obscuring her
vision, but she made no move to tuck the strands behind her ears.
Her black eyes stared straight ahead, almost unblinking.
To the far bank.
Skraelings seethed there, staring back at her, globules of saliva dripping from their
jackal-like jaws, although she thought their teeth both more numerous and larger than a jackal”s.
Their huge clawed hands clenched, desperate for her.
But they would not cross the water. They hated the water.
The River Lhyl was all that stood between Hereward and a tearing, agonizing death.
The Skraelings still panicked Hereward, still caused her stomach to clench in a twisted
misery of fear and physical nausea, even though it had been weeks now since they had appeared
on the riverbank opposite Isaiah”s palace of Aqhat.
Weeks since her, and Isembaard”s, world had disintegrated.
Hereward had lived a relatively good life within the palace. She was the result of a
furtive, sweaty, and extremely hurried union between a slave girl and one of Isaiah”s soldiers, but
the who of that soldier meant Hereward had been freed at birth and had been given the chance at a responsible appointment within the palace in adulthood.
Her father was Ezekiel, now the most senior general to the Tyrant Isaiah.
Ezekiel had had very little to do with Hereward during her childhood. He”d been careful
to ensure that she (and her mother) had adequate housing, and that Hereward had a good
schooling. Ezekiel had taken greater interest in Hereward once she”d reached adulthood, and had
secured her a position within the palace. By the time she”d reached her mid-twenties, Hereward
had attained the position of kitchen steward, a pretentious title for the person who supervised the
meals for the various departments of the palace: the Tyrant”s private chambers; his wives”
apartments (there were over eighty of them and Hereward could never remember all their
names); the nursery where the Tyrant”s many children were housed (Hereward didn”t even try to
count them, let alone memorize their names); the myriad governors, generals, guests, scribes,
bureaucrats, servants, soldiers, and slaves who lived in and about the palace. It was an
exhausting job, but Hereward took pride in it. She was free, she earned a good wage, and one
day, she hoped, she might have saved enough to open a tavern…in Sakkuth, perhaps. Hereward
had had enough of the rigidity and formality of palace life at Aqhat.
Then, everything had changed within the space of an hour or two.
Isaiah had left to undertake his northern invasion many months earlier, Ezekiel with him.
Palace life had quieted to utter tedium as over ninety percent of the people who had inhabited the
palace left to trail behind the Tyrant. Most of the wives had left for the eastern cities, their
children with them. There was but a handful of soldiers left. Servants and slaves had enough time
to enjoy a siesta during the hottest hours of the day.
And then one day…
Hereward had been in the palace”s vast kitchens. She spent a large part of her day there,
talking to the cooks, planning menus, supervising the cartage of food from the kitchens to
wherever in the vast palace complex it was needed. It had been a strange day, for everyone had
been unsettled without being able to pinpoint a reason. If a servant dropped a spoon, then
everyone jumped at the clatter, shooting dark looks at the unfortunate offender. Hereward could
not concentrate on the menus—and there were so few of them, by the gods, surely she could
manage this small task!—and kept having to ask the cook with whom she spoke to repeat what
he had just said.
For some reason, everyone kept looking to the windows.
Just before midday there had come a shout from the outside.
No. Not a shout. Hereward thought later that it had been a howl of sheer terror, the sound
knifing into the bright midday sky.
For an instant everyone in the kitchen froze.
Then Hereward started to walk toward the door which led into the great courtyard
beyond. Her legs felt leaden, every step an effort, and her chest felt as if a great hand had
clenched about it.
Somehow, Hereward understood very clearly in that moment that her life was probably
either about to end or to change so utterly that she would wish it had ended.
There was a great deal of commotion in the courtyard. People were grasping at the
shoulders of others, asking them what had happened, what was wrong.
Others pointed to the gates which led to the river, and covered their faces with their hands
and wailed.
Not wanting to, but unable to stop herself, Hereward walked toward the gates. She
stepped through them, ignoring the people who brushed past her—either going in her direction to
see what had gone wrong, or rushing back toward the palace, faces set in masks of horror.
Hereward stopped some twenty or so paces the other side of the gates. From this vantage
point she had a clear view of the River Lhyl, and the far bank, where stood DarkGlass Mountain.
She stood and looked, unblinking.
Her mind could not process what she saw. It tried to present to Hereward various
interpretations, all of which she knew were incorrect.
DarkGlass Mountain had not somehow become enveloped with every billowing white
sheet hung out to dry in Isembaard.
DarkGlass Mountain was not covered in a sudden storm of snowy thistle flower.
DarkGlass Mountain was not burdened under a sudden and unexplainable invasion of
white locusts.
Instead, the glass pyramid was covered— crawled—with an undulating, horrific tide of
gray wraithlike creatures. They were coming from the north. Hereward was vaguely aware that
the far riverbank was covered with the creatures as far north as she could see.
People were pushing and bustling about her. Hereward thought that some of them might
be screaming, or shouting, or some such. She didn”t really know or care. Right in this moment,
all she could do was stare.
Then someone said: What if they cross the river?
Utter panic consumed Hereward. She racked in a huge breath, tried to expel it, and
couldn”t. She turned to run, but couldn”t. Her legs just would not work.
Then came another shout (or perhaps a whisper, Hereward did not know).
Skraelings!
Hereward knew of them. Every since the Tyrant Isaiah had brought Axis SunSoar back
from the dead and into the palace, stories of Axis” life had circulated about the palace staff.
Hereward had heard about the Skraelings. She knew of their horror.
Skraelings?
Somehow Hereward managed to force herself to breathe, and then she managed to take a
step back toward the palace. Another breath, another step, and then she was running with
everyone else, buffeted and bruised by the mass panic, her long black hair coming free of its pins
and half blinding her.
She didn”t care. All she wanted to do was to get inside the kitchens and think.
The kitchens were virtually deserted. Hereward sank down to her haunches behind the
door, instinctively finding a hiding place. Her hands were buried in her hair, her eyes were