'I want to go! I want to go!" cried Blessing.

'No." Sanglant beckoned to Breschius. "I need Heribert to attend me at the palace and you to remain here with the ships until everyone is off. You are the only ones who can speak Arethousan. There must be no misunderstandings."

'Yes, my lord prince."

'I want to go see the palace tomorrow with you, Papa!"

'No. You'll stay with the army."

'I don't want to stay! I want to go!" The girl grabbed the railing ready to fling herself over the side and swim for shore.

"No."

The confinement of a sea voyage had not improved Sanglant's temper, nor had a day cooling his heels in the harbor made him patient. When he grabbed his daughter's arm, the girl whimpered.

'I will." Her mouth quivered, but her ga,'e remained defiant.

'You will not." The prince turned to Anna. "You'll go, Anna, to set up camp for your mistress. And take-" his gaze flicked to Matto and Thiemo, pushed to the back during the day's negotiations. "Lord Thiemo, you'll go as well."

'I want to go!" Blessing tried to wriggle out of her father's unforgiving grasp.

'If you give me any trouble tonight, Blessing," her father added softly, "you won't even be allowed off this ship tomorrow when the troops disembark. You'll stay here locked in the cabin until we leave this port. Is that understood?"

Fighting back tears, she nodded but did not resist when Sanglant thrust her into Matte's care. Yet Matto's furious expression could have wilted flowers as he watched Anna. She felt his gaze like the prick of an arrow on her back as she descended the gangplank. Although she stood on solid earth, the ground still moved and it was difficult to keep her feet under her. With Matto and Blessing both so angry, she dared not look back as they marched away. The unsteady ground made her a little nauseated, and the flap of canvas from the rolled-up tent she was carrying that got loose from the ropes and flipped over her eyes only made the dizziness worse. She staggered as they ascended a broad avenue through the town. With the canvas obscuring her vision she could only see her feet, garbage, and an occasional pile of dog shit. The town stank in a way the ship had not; there wasn't enough wind to chase out the smell. Voices rang all around her-the streets were crowded-but she heard not a single recognizable word.

How had she ever come so far from Gent? What if she died here in this land of barbarians and foreigners? Was this God's punishment upon her for her sins? Tears welled in her eyes, but she bit her lip hard until the pain calmed her down. Crying never did any good.

Yet it seemed a long and lonely walk out to the fort. Sunset washed the land with pale gold when she finally negotiated a narrow plank bridge over a steep-sided ditch, a yawning abyss that made her tremble, and found herself in the fort. She allowed the rolled-up canvas to slide down onto the ground. Her shoulders ached, but at least the ground had stopped swaying. It was good to be back on dirt.

As she stretched the knots out of her shoulders, she examined the empty fort. A wall built of stamped clay surrounded the interior buildings, which resembled a bee's hive, a series of cell-like rooms built haphazardly in sprawling units. A number of soldiers wandered out to explore. She followed them.

'Those infidels lived like pigs," observed Lewenhardt as he retreated from yet another chamber filled with mounds of rubbish and dried excrement.

'Or else they kept their animals stabled here," said Den.

'Don't look like cow shit to me," said Surly.

'What do you think, Brother Zacharias?" asked Chustaffus. "Do infidel kings stable their soldiers like beasts? Is there no hall for the men to eat together with their lord?"

Zacharias shaded a hand against the sun. "I don't know the customs of the Jinna, but I see no hall, only these small rooms."

'This one is empty!" shouted Lewenhardt, who had gone on to the next. The majority of the little chambers lay empty, each one just big enough to sleep four men, but no more than that, more like stone tents than proper barracks.

'Enough of that!" called Sergeant Cobbo. "Get to work. We'll need tents set up, and you lot haul whatever you can find over to that gate to build a barrier."

Anna was helping Den post rope lines to keep horses from straying into the tented area when the last of the advance force arrived: a dozen horsemen who had to dismount by the gate in order to lead their horses across the plank bridge over the pit. It wasn't precisely a true gate. The old gates had long since fallen down and, evidently, been carted away, and only the deep ditch protected the entrance, although a fair bit of debris-posts, planks, discarded wheels-had been dragged over to form a makeshift wall on the inner side of the pit.

Was that Thiemo among them? She shaded her eyes to get a better look.

'Hey!" said Den. "Don't let the rope go slack!"

She went back to work, but as it began to get dark, there was no point in doing more. She wandered over to the horse lines but did not find him there. What was she thinking? Usually she shared a bed with Blessing every night. She wasn't used to so much freedom.

She could not stop thinking about finding him, yet she didn't want to appear to be seeking him out. She climbed a narrow staircase that led up to the walkway along the wall, to survey the camp. A pinkish-purple glow rimmed the western horizon, although the east lay in darkness. The town revealed itself as glimmers of distant lamplight. Below, campfires burned and Sergeant Cobbo began singing. A footstep scuffed on the wall, but it was the watchman in the corner watchtower.

'Anna."

When he took hold of her arm, out of the dark, she gasped, and he slipped an arm around her, pressing her close. He was a head taller than her, broad through the shoulders but with a young man's slen-derness in the torso and hips.

'I have something to show you," he whispered, breath sweet against her ear. "Come with me."

'I have to go back-" she began, suddenly nervous. Suddenly elated.

'We're stuck here for the night, Anna. There's no one else who needs us. Come this way."

'I can't see."

'Shhh. We'll go slowly."

In the dark it wasn't easy to retrace their path along the wall, where they could have tumbled off the inner side at any moment and fallen two man-lengths to the hard-packed dirt below. It took a fair bit of groping, and tangling, and holding on to each other, to negotiate the worn steps, and by the time they reached the ground they were both giggling yet trying not to, fearing that Cobbo or some other soldier would find them.

'This way."

Thiemo still had hold of her hand, but as he started along the base of the wall, she hesitated. He turned back to her, ran a hand up her arm to her shoulder to caress the curve of her neck.

'Anna? I found a place where no one will find us. It's clean, too. I left a blanket there."

She wanted him so badly. Even to touch him made her hot in a way the sun's heat never did.

'What will happen then?" The future opened before her like the wide waters of the sea, fathomless.

His lips brushed hers, light as a butterfly's kiss at first, suddenly insistent. When he finally pulled back, they were both breathing in gasps. Anna clung to him. t 'We could be dead tomorrow," he murmured.

What about Matto? But she could not speak Matto's name out loud. Matto would be in Thiemo's place now, had Prince Sanglant sent one and not the other. And if it were the prince himself, holding her in the darkness?

She dared not walk down that path. Thiemo was a lord, but only the eighth child of a minor count. That was why he had been sent to ride in Prince Ekkehard's retinue, to make his own way as a noble servant to a higher born man. He was disposable, the kind of boy sent into the Dragons. Maybe that was why he wasn't as haughty as the other nobles, because he was assured of so little.

'Death is sure " she whispered, and if not now, then later. Some-dav None of them knew what kind of trouble the prince was leading them into. Maybe the prince himself did not know. Anything could happen.

Anything.

'Thiemo." The top of her head barely came to his c wasn't difficult to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him down to kiss her again.

What would she be sorry for, the day she died?

Not this.

V IN the morning Zacharias slept late, having made a bed for himself in blessed solitude in one of the little chambers. By the time he stumbled bleary-eyed into the hammer of the late morning sun, all men, beasts, and belongings were accounted for, Captain Fulk had posted guards at the gate and lookouts on top of the wall, and the men were assembling on the open ground in front of the gates. Lord Wichman, Lord Druthmar, and the other nobles watched from beneath the shaded luxury of spacious awnings, lounging at their ease while they sipped wine and played chess and listened to one of their number playing a lute.

Fulk's speech to the soldiers was stern.

'You will not go into the town unless you have been commanded to by myself or by Prince Sanglant. No markets. No brothels. No taverns. Is that understood?"

Dismissed, they sulked in the dusty fort, having nothing more to look at than each other and nothing more than sour beer to drink.

'No wonder this place looks like prison," said Surly. "That's what it is."

'I always wondered what Jinna women look like," mused Lew enhardt. "Is it true they dance naked through fire to worship their god?"

'You might wish," laughed Johannes, "until you had to do the same thing. And then the fire would burn off your-"

'Hush," said Den. "Here comes the captain."

'Brother Zacharias!" Captain Fulk nodded at his soldiers and they moved away. "The prince wishes a small party to investigate the market, to scout what's available for provisions and guides for the journey east. You've lived in the grasslands, Brother. You'll know what kinds of things we must look for."

'Wagons." He remembered wagons too well.

'You've said so before," said Fulk with the skepticism any westerner might show who did not understand the grasslands. "We don't know how long we'll be delayed here. We'll need supplies and plenty of ale or wine to drink, with this hot sun. Wolfhere will go with you, as will Lady Bertha's healer, Robert, who can speak somewhat of the Arethousan language."

Their departure was delayed at the gate when Blessing ran up. "Take me with you! I hate it here!"

'My lady!" Matto arrived, huffing from the exertion in the heat. "You must come back to the tent now. You know what your father the prince told you."

'I don't want to stay here! I want to go see the governor's palace. I want to see people with big ears like tents. Maybe they have a phoenix in the market." Matto started, looking guilty, as the girl crossed her arms over her chest and glowered. "I want to go with them."

Wolfhere softened as that glare was directed at him. "What harm if she comes with us?"

'Has the sun cooked your head?" demanded Zacharias. "There's a slave market in this port!"

'I want to see the slave market!"

Anger made him clench his jaw, but he struggled to remember that she was only a child. "It's no merry thing to be sold in a slave market, my lady, as I should know. What's to stop some Arethousan thief from seeing what a proud, fine noblewoman you are and stealing you away and selling you to the infidels?"

'I'd bite him!"

'He'd slap you so hard you'd lose your wits," retorted Zacharias, earning himself a sharp glance from Fulk.

Blessing was hopping from one foot to the other; she hadn't heard. "I'd bite him five times, until he let me go!"

'For God's sake, Wolfhere, dissuade her from this foolish notion!"

'A day of freedom would not harm the child," muttered Wolfhere irritably. "I don't like the heat and the dust any better than she does. This is an unnatural place."

'Unnatural, indeed! How can you think it safe for her to go wandering in the market when we don't even know how we'll be greeted by the townsfolk?"

Blessing screwed up that adorable face and put her fists on her hips; she was steering hard for a big storm.

'My lady." Captain Fulk motioned for Matto to step back. "I will personally escort you into the market, but not today. Any disruption may harm your father's negotiations with the governor. You would not want that."

Captain Fulk was the only person besides her father she truly respected. Everyone else she either ignored or had wrapped up tight on a leash like an adoring dog. Her frown was so terrible that Zacharias was surprised that it didn't draw in clouds to cover the heartless sun.

'I'll go anyway," she muttered.

'I must obey as your royal father commanded me, Your Highness, and keep you in this camp. If I do not, he will strip me of my rank and cast me out of his war band, and he would be right to do so."

She could never bear the thought of any one of those she had a fondness for being torn from her. With a wounded sigh, she stalked away, Matto hastening after her while Fulk shook his head helplessly.

'Where is Anna?" the captain asked, but no one knew.

'Let's get out of here," Zacharias said to his companions, "while we still can."

'A willful child," observed Lady Bertha's healer as they hurried toward the gate. Robert was bald, short, and fat, but he had neat hands, nimble fingers, and an easy smile-remarkable considering how much suffering he must have seen in the course of his work. "Yet it seems to me that her body grows faster than her mind does. When shall the one catch up to the other?"

'When, indeed?" murmured Wolfhere.

The guards offered suggestions about what they wanted most from town: wine, women, or at least a sweet apple. Then they had to walk the plank bridge.

The entrance to the fort was guarded by an exceptionally deep, vertically-sided ditch, too steep to climb and dug all the way across the opening. Into this chasm Fulk had lowered Bulkezu. Zacharias saw the Quman begh pacing below. The prisoner looked up at the sound of men crossing the plank bridge that provided the only access into the fort.

'I smell the worm creeping out. Do you go to sell yourself in the slave market, worm? Do you miss it so?"

Zacharias stumbled forward, leaping for solid ground, and did not wait for the others as he hastened along the dirt track that circled around the wall and back toward town. But they caught up to him nevertheless. Mercifully, they did not mention Bulkezu.

'The builders seem to have feared the steppe more than the sea," observed Wolfhere as he surveyed the placement of the fort, with its gates facing the water, not the land.

'They say there are men in the grasslands who can turn themselves into wolves," said Robert.

'Do you listen to everything you hear?" asked Wolfhere with a laugh.

'I hear many strange things, and I've found it unwise not to listen to them." Robert was a westerner from the borderlands between Varingia and Salia. He had never explained how he had come into the service of marchland nobles, far to the east of his birthplace, and Zacharias did not choose to ask, considering that he had once glimpsed a slave brand on Robert's right shoulder. He'd met a few Salians sold into slavery among the Quman tribes, cast out of their homes by debt or poverty. Those whom hunger or abuse hadn't killed had died of despair.

They soon came to the sprawling borderlands of the town, gardens, corrals, orchards, and the hovels and houses of those who could not afford a space to live inside the wall. Children trotted alongside, shouting in their gibberish tongues. They had all sorts of faces; they might be kin to Quman horseman or Aostan merchant, to Arethousan sailor and Jinna priest, to dark Kartiakans or to the sly and powerful Sazdakh warrior women with their broad faces and green eyes. Yet there were no blond heads among this pack. Wolfhere stood out like a proud silver wolf among mangy, mongrel dogs.

The guards at the gate did not wish to admit them into town, but Robert had a few Ungrian coppers for bribes.

They crossed through a tunnel cut into the wide turf wall and emerged into the streets. The lanes stank alarmingly, strewn with refuse baking in the heat, and yet even so they were crowded with folk busy about their errands and mindful of where they set their feet.

'Beware pickpockets," said Zacharias. A few heads turned to look at him, hearing an unfamiliar language. Wolfhere's hair caught attention, too, but mostly they were left alone. Too many travelers came into a port like Sordaia for three scruffy visitors to create lasting wonder.

They passed windowless walled compounds, all locked away, a dozen of the distinctive octagonal Arethousan churches, and once a circular Jinna temple with its stair-stepped roof and central pillar jutting up toward the heavens, tattered streamers of red cloth flapping idly from the exposed portion of the pillar as a lazy wind out of the north teased them into motion. The barest ribbon of smoke spun up along the pillar's length, suggesting the fire within.

'Is it true they burn worshipers alive?" whispered Robert as soon as the temple was lost to view. "That their priestesses copulate with any man brave enough to walk into the fire?"

Wolfhere snorted.

'I don't know." Zacharias glanced around nervously. "But it's death for any person who has witnessed those rites to speak of them. Be careful what you say lest you hit on something true, and find a knife between your ribs."

'Can anyone here understand us?" asked Robert. "I haven't heard a single soul speaking Wendish."