She had asked about Duchess Liutgard of Fesse and Duke Burchard of Avaria.

Ridden south with the king.

She had asked about Sister Rosvita, the king's counselor.

Neither dead nor gone.

How could a person be neither dead nor gone? How could the stewards of the palace and the legions of servants not hoard rumors of her fate? Rosvita had been here when King Henry arrived; now she was not. Hanna had discovered no transition between arrival and departure. She found again and again that her thoughts turned to Hathui's accusations. Either Hathui was lying, or the Aostan stewards were.

She leaned out farther, dizzy from the height, but even from* this angle she could only see one corner of the skopos' palace. She had hoped to find answers there, but the guards would not let her inside.

With a sigh, she ducked back into the shadow, fighting to get in a lungful of the overheated air.

A footfall sounded on the ladder. She spun, drawing her knife. A broom's handle poked through the open trap, followed by the rest of the broom, thrust up and falling sideways to clatter onto the floor. A woman emerged awkwardly, grasped the broom, and rose, then gasped, seeing Hanna.

'Oh, Lord in Heaven!" she exclaimed. "You surprised me!" She wore a serviceable tunic covered with a dusty tabard and a plain linen scarf concealing her hair. Not as young as Hanna, she wasn't vet old. "Begging your pardon. I didn't expect to find anyone else up here."

'Neither did I."

The servant gave a companionable chuckle, a little forced. "Well, now, I suppose that means that neither of us have eyes in the backs of our heads, to see around corners and through walls."

Hanna stayed by the window but sheathed the knife as the woman walked away from her to the other end of the long attic room. There, she stooped to allow for the pitched roof and began sweeping. Dust rose in clouds around her, and she paused to tie up her tabard over her mouth and nose.

'Always the worst when it's the first cleaning," she said cheerfully as Hanna watched with surprise.

'It seems awfully hot to be thinking of cleaning out these sleeping rooms." The heat all summer had been like a battering ram. She had never got used to it.

'True enough. But the weather can turn cold suddenly now that the season is turning from summer to autumn, if you call this autumn. We have to start thinking of inhabiting these rooms again. Last year you can't believe how hot it was, hotter than this, and with unseasonable rains, too, and a terrible hailstorm."

'I hear the king was taken sorely ill, last year."

The servant looked up at her, expression hidden except for her eyes. Her gaze had a queer, searching intensity. But as the silence stretched out uncomfortably, she returned to sweeping.

'Last summer, yes, he was taken ill with the shivering fever. He was laid in bed for two months, and the armies fought all summer and autumn without him. They had no victories, nor any defeats. So they say." Again that searching glance scrutinized Hanna. "That's if they say what's true, but how are we simple servants to know what's truth and what's not?"

'Eagles know."

'Where are all the Eagles? Gone with the king, all but that poor redheaded fellow who got so sick."

'Rufus?"

'That's right," she continued amiably, her voice muffled by the cloth. "He came south last year at the command of Biscop Constance in Autun, didn't he?"

'So he told me." Carrying a message very like the ones sent by Theophanu, but the king had not heeded him.

'Yes, poor lad. He was so sick even the palace healers thought he would die from the shivering. That's why he had to be left behind this past spring when the king rode south."

'Yet all the other Eagles rode south with the king, didn't they? Why haven't any of them brought reports back to Darre? Why is it always the queen's Aostan messengers we see?"

'How can I know the king's mind? I can only thank the Lord and Lady that his army has won victories over both the infidels and the heretics. And over a few Aostan nobles who would prefer no regnant placed above their heads. So we're told."

Her account tallied with the news Rufus had given Hanna. "I've heard talk that the king and queen will be crowned with imperial crowns before the end of the year."

'That talk has been going on as long as I've been here, these two and a half years. Maybe it will finally happen."

With the steady scritch of the broom against wood like an accompaniment to her thoughts, Hanna finally realized what was strangest about this industrious woman. "You're Wendish."

'So I am. I'm called Aurea, from the estate of Landelbach in Fesse. You're that new Eagle what rode in a few months back."

'Yes. My name is Hanna Birta's-daughter, from the North Mark. I come from a place called Heart's Rest." A low rumble shook through the floor and the entire building swayed.

Hanna shrieked. "What is that?"

The rumbling faded, the building stilled, and Aurea kept sweeping. "Haven't you felt one yet? An earthquake? We feel them every few months."

'Nay, no earthquakes. Nor weather anywhere near as hot as what I've suffered through here." She was still trembling.

'True enough. It's hot here for weeks on end, too, not just for a short spell as it would be up north where I come from. It isn't natural."

Hanna exhaled, still trying to steady her nerves. "An old friend of mine would say that Aosta lies nearer to the Sun. That's why it's hotter here."

'Is it? That seems a strange story to me. Nearer to the sun!" Aurea hummed under her breath. "But no stranger than many a tale I've heard here in Darre. Sister Heriburg says that in the east there's snakes who suckle milk right from the cow. In the south no plants can grow because the sun shines so hot, and the folk who live there have great, huge ears that they use like tents during the day to protect them from the sun. Even here, there's stories about godly clerics who abide in the skopos' dungeons like rats, hidden from the sight of most people, but I don't suppose those are any more true than that tale my old grandmam told me about a dragon turned into stone in the north country. It lies there still, they say, by the sea, but nothing can bring it back to life."

She kept her gaze on the warped floorboards where dust collected in cracks. Hanna thought she would choke in air now polluted with a swirling cloud of dust, but she dared not move. She had to think. How strange to speak of clerics hidden away in dungeons.

Maybe it was only a figure of speech, an old tale spun by the palace servants to pass the time. But maybe it wasn't.

'I've heard stories of men who can turn themselves into wolves," she said at last, cautiously, "but never any of clerics who can turn themselves into rats. I've heard that story about the dragon, too, though, the one turned into stone. When there's a great storm come in off the Northern Sea, you can hear the dragons keening. That's what my old grandmother always said."

'Lots of stories of dragons," agreed the servant woman without looking up from her sweeping, "but I've never heard tell of a single person who'd ever seen such a beast. Rats, now. Rats I've seen aplenty."

'There must be an army of rats in a great palace like this one." "And the biggest ones of all down in the dungeons. I don't doubt they're caught down there somehow, between stone walls. There's only the one staircase, guarded by the Holy Mother's faithful guards, and they're sharp-eyed, those fellows. Everyone says so. As likely to skewer a rat on the point of their knife if it comes scurrying up the stairs. A woman here I know said it happens every year, and then they roast those rats they've caught and throw their burned carcasses to the dogs."

She looked up then, her gaze like a sharp rap on the head.

'It would take a lot of rats to fill a dog's belly," answered Hanna floundering.

'Not if they've grown as big as a dog themselves, or bigger even human-sized or some say as big as a horse. A horse!" She bent back to her task with a curt chuckle. "I'm not believing such foolish tales No rat can grow to be the size of a horse, and where would it hide then? But I suppose they could become mighty big, nibbling on scraps and prisoners' fingers and toes."

That sharp look made Hanna cautious. Was there a veiled purpose to Aurea's talking, or was she just nattering to pass the time?

'I remember stories that my grandmother told me." Hanna moved along the attic until she came to the open trapdoor. She squinted down the length of the ladder but saw no lurking shadow, no listening accomplice. "I do love to trade old stories, about dragons and rats and wolves. I have a few stories of my own to tell."

'So it might well be, you being an Eagle and all," agreed the woman, sweeping past Hanna toward the window. Tidy piles of dirt and dust marked her path like droppings. "Eagles see all kinds of things the rest of us can't, don't you? Travel to strange and distant lands with urgent messages on behalf of the king. You're welcome to join those of us servants from Wendar when we attend Vespers in St.

Asella's chapel, by the west gate of the city. There's a cleric from Wendar called Brother Fortunatus who gives the sermon in Wendish there. Only on Hefensday, mind. That's when we're allowed to go."

Since there were a dozen chapels within the regnant's palace alone and a rumored five hundred or more within the walls of the lower city, Hanna could not guess which one the woman meant. Most of them she only recognized by the image of the saint that marked the portico. Yet she could not help herself. Clerics hidden like rats in the dungeon. Eyes that could see through walls, and traveling Eagles.

Perhaps she was making a conspiracy where none existed, but it wouldn't hurt to follow this path a bit farther.

'I don't know of St. Asella. If I go down to the west gate, is there some way to know which chapel is dedicated to her?"

The woman stilled her broom. Though her gaze was as innocent as a lamb's, the soft words carried a barb. "St. Asella was walled up alive." the deepening twilight, tall trees seemed a grim backdrop to swollen grave mounds and a stone circle. As their little group neared the gap in the wall of trees that promised to be a trail, Ivar looked back over the clearing. He had never seen a stone circle in such perfect repair, each stone upright and all the lintels intact. It looked as if it had been built, or repaired, in recent months. Only the great stone at the center lay flat. His companions paused as dusk settled over them and a breeze sighed through the forest. The grave mounds seemed to exert a spell, luring them back. Ivar simply could not move, as though dead hands gripped his feet and held him tight. A twig snapped, breaking their silence.

'Do you think we're really near Herford Monastery?" asked Er-manrich, voice squeaking.

'As long as we're well away from that Ojaman army, then I don't care where we are." Ivar knew he sounded braver than he felt as daylight faded. A wolf howled in the distance, answered by a second, and everyone grabbed for their weapons. "Where's Baldwin?"

'He was right behind you," said Ermanrich.

'He didn't wait." The younger Lion, Dedi, pointed toward the trees. "He went to look at the path."

'Why didn't you stop him?" demanded Ivar.

Ermanrich gave him a look. "When has Baldwin ever listened to any of us?"

'Nay, Ivar, don't be angry at Dedi." Sigfrid laid a gentle, but restraining, hand on Ivar's arm. "Ermanrich's only speaking the truth, which you know as well as we do."

'Damned fool. Why couldn't he wait?" But Baldwin never listened, he just pretended to.

'He probably ran off because he thought he saw Margrave Judith come looking for him," joked Ermanrich nervously.

'Why should a margrave like Judith come looking for the likes of him?" asked Dedi with a snort of disbelief.

'Hush!" said Hathumod abruptly. "Listen!"

The sound of thrashing came from the trees. Baldwin burst out of the forest, arms flailing.

'A lion!" He hadn't run more than ten steps into the clearing when he tripped and fell.

They hurried over to calm him down, but as they swarmed around him, he jumped to his feet with a look of terror on his beautiful face. "I found an old hovel over at a rock outcropping, not far from here, but when I stuck my head inside, I heard a cough behind me. I turned around and there was a lion up on the rocks!"

'A Lion?" demanded Gerulf. "From which cohort?"

'Nay, a lion. A beast. Quite tawny and as hungry looking as you please. A second one came to stand beside the first."

Gerulf snorted. "I'll thank you not to pull my leg, Son. There aren't any lions in the north except them as you might find in the regnant's menagerie. Lions live in the southern lands."

'I know what I saw."

'If it was a hungry lion, then why didn't it eat you up?" asked Dedi with a laugh. "Or was it too busy admiring your pretty face?"

Ivar jumped between Baldwin and Dedi just as Baldwin drew his arm back for a punch. "Baldwin can't help the way he looks. No need to tease him for it. It's getting dark anyway. I don't care to spend a night here inside this stone circle with those barrows as our guardians. Do any of you?"

No one did, not even Sigfrid, whose powerful faith made him hardest to frighten.

'Anything might happen here among the stones and graves," said Ermanrich. "I'd rather face the lions."

'We'll let you go first," said Hathumod dryly to her cousin, "for then they'll have a good meal and won't need to eat any of the rest of us."

'There's the path." Gerulf pointed toward the gap.

'I'd hate to take any path with darkness coming on and wolves howling nearby," said Ivar.

'Not to mention the lions," said Dedi.

'You'll see," muttered Baldwin.

'How big is this hovel?" Gerulf nodded toward Ivar to show he agreed that they shouldn't try to go far lest they lose themselves in the night.

'One man could sit inside it, but not comfortably," said Baldwin. "But right below where I saw the lions the outcropping cuts in and makes a bit of an overhang."

'That might serve as shelter," said Gerulf, "enough for one night. We can follow the path in the morning."

'You don't believe me!" Baldwin looked from face to face. "None of you believe me! Ivar?"

Drops of rain brushed Ivar's face. A gust of wind, heralding stronger rain to come, rattled through the trees. "It might have been wolves," he said reluctantly. Seeing Baldwin's indignant expression, he quickly went on. "Or lions. I'd hate to fight them out in the open. We've weapons enough to fight off ravening beasts as long as we have a good stout wall at our back."

'There you are, Son!" replied Gerulf cheerfully. "If we can get a fire going, then a good overhang will serve us better whether wolves or lions or even a guivre itself comes a-courting. Better anyway than standing out here and getting soaking wet. You'd have made a good Lion, lad."

'I would have been no Lion," said Ivar, stung by this statement. "I'd have been a Dragon, if my father who is count up in the North Mark would have let me ride with them instead of putting me into the church."

'I pray you, my lord," said Gerulf hastily. "I meant no offense." The momentary embarrassment, the realization that although their group had escaped the Quman as comrades they were, in fact, quite unequal in station, held them motionless until rain drove them into action. They slogged through what remained of the grassy clearing, sheltering their heads against the rain as best they could, keeping the torches dry. Luckily, the track ran straight and true through the trees. They took not more than one hundred steps on a downhill slope before they stumbled out onto a rocky outcropping. Cliffs rose above and below, staggered like the shoulders of a hulking beast. Rain washed over them with a fresh gust of wind, and they stumbled into such shelter as the overhang afforded. In the last of the fading light, Ivar saw a tiny hovel built of sticks standing off to one side, out in the rain, but truly, as Baldwin had reported, it hadn't enough space even for one man to lie down in.

'Come, there's plenty of sticks here to build a fire that'll last the entire night, and they're not too wet yet," said Gerulf, then added: "If you will, my lords and lady."

They gathered up fuel as quickly as they could and lit a fire just as it really got too dark to see. After some discussion, they settled on watches: Gerulf and Hathumod to begin, followed by Dedi and Ermanrich, and Ivar and Sigfrid last. Baldwin had already bundled himself up in his cloak and lain down to sleep in the deepest, driest crack of the overhang. They set out torches within easy reach, in case they needed them as weapons against marauding beasts, and settled down for the night.

Ivar lay down next to Baldwin. He dozed off at once and was startled awake much later by the sound of Hathumod's voice, as soft as the brush of rabbit fur across his skin but rather more persistent.

'Nay, friend Gerulf, it isn't a heresy at all, although the church may have said so."

'I beg your pardon, Lady Hathumod, but why should the church mothers lie? Why would the holy women who have worn the robes and seal of the skopos each in her turn be party to such a deception?"

'Some simply were ignorant. They were taught as we were and knew no better. But truly, I do not know why the ancient mothers who wrote in the early days concealed the truth. They were the heretics, and the Enemy spoke through them. But now the truth is unveiled and shines brightly for all to see. I have witnessed miracles- Ivar had heard similar words from the lips of Lady Tallia, whose tortured body and zealous gaze had thrown all of them onto the path of heresy back in Quedlinhame. As he drifted back into sleep, he marveled that Hathumod, despite her undistinguished voice and unremarkable bearing, could sound so persuasive.

A foot nudged him, and when he shifted to turn his back to the summons, it nudged him again.

'Nay, nay," he muttered, thinking himself back at Quedlinhame, "it can't be time for Vigils already, is it?"

'So it might be," whispered Ermanrich cheerfully, "although with the clouds overhead I can't see the stars to tell what hour it is. It's your turn for watch."

Ivar groaned. He hurt everywhere. Even his fingers throbbed, but when he rose, crouching, and closed his hand over his spear, the grip felt funny. Memory jolted him awake. He'd lost two fingers in the battle. Maybe the Quman were already on their trail, ready to cut off his head. He straightened and promptly banged his head on the rock above.

'Hush," hissed Ermanrich. "No need to go swearing like that. We've seen nothing on our watch and nothing was seen on the first watch either. I think Baldwin's lions must have been scared off by his handsome face."

'God Above." Ivar stepped out past Ermanrich. A rush of cold night air swept his cheeks. He'd been breathing in smoke from the fire all night, and his lungs ached with soot. Outside, the rain had stopped, but he still couldn't see any stars. "I'd forgotten how much I hated rising for prayers in the middle of the night."