"I am come from Quedlinhame, my lady. Prince Sanglant was crowned as regnant in the presence of Mother Scholastica and at least five or six biscops, and many noble lords and ladies."

None murmured in shock or alarm. No one exclaimed out loud in surprise or indignation. This news was expected.

"You rode as quickly as you could to bring us this news?" she asked him.

"I did, my lady."

"Must we expect an attack soon?"

"We have yet some time. He turned east, to ride his king's progress through Saony and into the marchlands. So that the populace could see him and the nobles acclaim him. He will ride west once he has made himself king throughout Wendar by displaying his crown and his sword. Afterward, he will march west, into Varre."

"We must be ready," said Sabella. "Captain Lukas!" She gestured, and he came forward. "It is time to make ready our attack."

"Past time," muttered Conrad. 'As I've been telling you. We need Kassel's grain stores."

"There is one other thing, my lady," the messenger added, hesitant to continue. "Difficult to believe, yet I saw with my own eyes."

"Go on."

"Griffins, my lady."

"Griffins?" asked Conrad, sitting up. "What do you mean?"

"The prince marches with a pair of griffins, my lord duke. He captured them in the east. They follow him like . . . like dogs."

Courtiers glanced at Sabella to see if she would believe this outrageous tale.

She merely nodded. "Now you see, Conrad, why we need a guivre to counter this threat. A guivre will allow us to strike first, before Sanglant expects battle."

"We are already striking first, by allying with one he trusts."

"Perhaps. But a guivre will guarantee victory." She smiled bitterly as she shifted her attention. "Do you not think so, Lord Alain? Would this not be a wise strategy?"

Alain nodded. A sense of peace settled over him. He had done the right thing by coming here. He saw now what he had to do. "Yes," he said, "a guivre will grant victory."

3

ONCE. the necessary formal greetings were fulfilled at the shore, once folk began to unload the cargo of Alban goods, Stronghand climbed the slope of the valley. He walked into the shadow cast by the heights and across the skin of soft green grass that surrounded OldMother's hall. Late-blooming snowdrops speckled the ground. SwiftDaughters eyed him from where they stood by the mouths of their cave. Their hair swayed like a glamour, and he paused by the threshold, distracted by their beauty. Wind trembled against his back in an unexpected gust, and he shook himself and walked forward.

He crossed into a gulf of darkness too large to be confined in any finite space, much less the eaves and timbers visible as the outside dimensions of the hall. A tremor teased the ground. He heard as at a great distance a breathy piping like a wheezing breath. No stars shone; blackness veiled the heavens. It was as still as if wind had never been known in the world, utterly silent and cold as the skin of stone in the dark of winter.