host and burned and pillaged the city of Dariya. It’s likely that in the course of their invasion they contracted a plague that decimated their numbers. They retreated to the eastern steppe that was their ancient homeland to protect themselves against further incursions by humankind, although humankind had once been their chief allies.”
Burchard coughed. “Are these Horse people you speak of not the same ones who ride with us, as our allies? Does this mean they are still our enemy? Or our friends?”
Liutgard’s mouth tightened as she looked past Sanglant to the honor guard attending at his back. Her forces had taken the worst of the centaur assault. She had no reason to love the Horse people.
Sanglant glanced behind. Captain Fulk and Captain Istvan stood behind his chair, alert to the disposition of his most loyal forces. Capi’ra and her sergeants waited in shadow, seeming at first glance like women mounted on horses, but he could hear their soft whickering commentary although he could not understand what they were saying. Beyond them rested the slumbering griffins with their wing feathers touched by the light of the camp’s bonfire.
Smoke stung his face as the wind shifted. He fanned ahand to drive it away although in truth it made no difference.
“The Horse people are our allies, Burchard,” he said.
“
Your
allies,” said Liutgard.
“Mine,” he agreed, “and thus, for the moment, yours, Cousin. I pray you, Liath, go on.”
“I pray you!” cried a voice from the back, that damned servingman again. “You speak of the lives and empires of the heathen, yet you have not said one word about the blessed Daisan! Do you even believe in God?”
“Hush!” said someone else in the crowd.
“Let her speak!” cried another, the words echoed by a chorus of “let her speak” and “yes” and “shut your mouth.”
“Else we’ll be standing out here in the damned cold all night and freeze our hands to what they’re scratching,” finished a wit.
“Well,” said Liath, raising her voice as the others dropped theirs. She slid easily into the silence. “All here have heard told the life of the blessed Daisan and his chief disciple, Thecla the Witnesser. This we know and believe, that the blessed Daisan revealed to all of humankind the truth of the Circle of Unity, of the Mother and Father of Life, and our belief in the Penitire.” Her gaze had a peculiar way of going flat when she quoted from memory, as if she looked inward, not outward. “‘The blessed Daisan prayed in ecstacy for six days and on the seventh was translated up to the Chamber of Light to join God.”’
Her gaze sought the heckler, and perhaps it found him, because she paused for a moment with a fixed stare, then smiled just a little as a bully might, seeing his prey flinch. The man had by this time moved so that his body was hidden to Sanglant’s line of sight.
“What matters to the story I tell you tonight is that the belief in the Circle of Unity and the Word of the blessed Daisan spread outward on the architecture of the old Dariyan Empire.”
“More than that!” interposed Sister Elsebet indignantly.
“Ai, God! Spare us these interruptions! I’m still scratching!” cried the wit.
Sanglant sighed.
Sister Elsebet stepped forward and glared her audience into silence. “None of us can speak as if this war is ended.”
“Which war is that?” asked Liath. “I thought I was speaking of a war.”
Elsebet pounded her staff twice on the ground. “I will listen, but I will not remain silent on this matter. I pray you, Your Majesty!”
He was caught, and he knew it as well as the cleric did. “Go on, Sister. What is it you must say?”
“That the woman has knowledge of sorcery and history I can see, and perhaps respect. But the war that afflicts those of us who live within the Circle of Unity is never ending. It is impossible to speak of the blessed Daisan without speaking as well of those who have sought to corrupt
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