FRANCIS was glad to see Philippa and Winter Sunset circling above the tumbled huts of Onmarin. He had watched for her all day, and darkness was already creeping across the bay. She gave him and Rys a brief greeting and went straight to the village to meet with the bereft mothers and visit the graves of the dead.
The village prefect had turned over his modest house to Francis and Rys, and one of the village women had come to cook for them. The hour had grown very late when Philippa joined them at last, bringing the scent of horse with her and a slight tang of fish. She sat at the table, where they were finishing a simple meal of chowder and some sort of sour black bread.
Philippa pulled off her hat and her gloves and laid them on the table. “It’s too cold to leave Sunny outside,” she said. “I’ve had to stable her in the hut next door.”
Rys pushed the bread platter toward her. “What did the family have to say about that?”
“They’re afraid of her,” Philippa said. “They gathered their things and vanished the moment the prefect told them what we needed. Sunny’s none too easy in that fish-smelling house, either. I’ll have to sleep there with her.”
“We hope to make an early start,” Rys said. “Before the snow comes back.”
“You know, then, that snow is a problem for me.”
He nodded. “All we need is for you to find them,” he said. His voice held an edge, and his lips set. All vestiges of the urbane diplomat Francis had known in Arlton had vanished. “My captains have fought the Aesks before. We have thirty-five men, and a half dozen matchlock guns. The challenge is to get a clear shot for our marksmen.” He waved one slender hand. “Archers are more accurate, but the barbarians’ spears are no defense against bullets. Just the sounds of the matchlocks terrify them, though I doubt we’ve actually hit one of their people. We have to ascertain if the children are alive—”
At Philippa’s wince, he made an apologetic sound. “I know, Mistress Winter. But these are the facts of the case. And, in fact, we must tread carefully. The Aesks are not above slaughtering hostages in order to deter us.”
“I understand,” she said.
“Then Philippa can return to Onmarin once we’ve found them,” Francis said. He was gratified to hear that his own voice was steady. Rys had even suggested that he need not accompany the war party, but Francis knew he could never live with the idea that he was not brave enough, or strong enough, to face the barbarians. He knew well enough that most of Oc—and especially his brother—considered him soft and bookish. He did not relish the idea of the conflict ahead, but he could not imagine standing by while others did what needed doing.
“It would be best if she did,” Rys said.
Philippa inclined her head. “We never risk the winged horses unless we must,” she said. “If you believe in any gods, pray the weather holds.”
Rys smiled. “Do you, Horsemistress? Do you believe in the gods?”
Philippa’s answering smile was wry. “I’m afraid not, my lord.”
Before they retired, an old woman appeared at the door of the house, wrapped in a shawl, her gray hair falling in tired strands around a careworn face.
“Mistress Brown,” Philippa said, when she saw her. She stood up and crossed to the door, holding out her hand to the woman, escorting her to the table, and urging her into a chair. Francis watched, bemused, as Philippa pressed tea on the woman, asked her if she was hungry, if she was warm enough.
Apparently satisfied that their visitor was comfortable, Philippa turned to Francis and Rys. “This,” she said gravely, “is Evalee Brown. Our stable-girl, Rosellen, was her daughter. Lissie, whom we hope to rescue, is her youngest.”
Francis opened his mouth, but he could think of nothing to say. “I—I am so sorry for your loss,” he finally stammered. “Oc—Oc grieves with you.”
The look she turned on him, bitter and wise, told her she knew that Oc had done nothing to help her. Shame burned in his heart, and he dropped his gaze.
Rys seemed more confident. “We will do everything we can to bring your daughter home,” he said, leaning forward. “You have my solemn promise, Mistress Brown.”
The bereaved mother said softly, “I came only to thank you, me lords. For trying.”
Rys said, “We will do more than try.”
She nodded, but Francis saw that there was no hope in her dull eyes.
She didn’t stay long. Philippa rose to see her to the door, but Francis shook his head. He got up himself and went out the door with Evalee Brown. “I will escort you home, Mistress,” he said gently.
She sighed. “Safe enough here in Onmarin, me lord. That is, until—until it happened.”
Francis put his hand under the old woman’s arm. Her elbow felt light as pigeon bones beneath his fingers. He walked with her through the cramped and crooked streets until she stopped before a tumbledown hut.
“Mistress Brown,” he said impulsively. “I want to apologize for my brother. For the Duke.”
She gave a shrug that was almost imperceptible in the darkness. “Fisher-folk are of no account in the White City, I suppose.”
“I pledge to you that will not be the case,” Francis said formally. As he said the words, he felt purpose form in his breast, a need to make them true. “Every citizen of Oc matters.”
She squinted up at him. “I’ll be holding you all in my prayers,” she said.
He bowed. “I thank you for that,” he said gravely. “It may make all the difference.”
EARLY the next morning, Francis stood on the dock of Onmarin. The drying racks lay in ruins, smashed by the barbarians, and bloodstains still marked the boards beneath his feet. He looked out to the bay, where Rys’s ship bobbed at anchor. A cold salt wind riffled his hair, and he pulled his cloak closer around him. For the first time in a week, he had slept soundly. Meeting the villagers of Onmarin, seeing the ruined huts and freshly dug graves, had strengthened his determination.
It seemed that Rys, too, felt called to their purpose. Francis had reconciled himself to the thought that the Baron had made a political decision in trading this enterprise for his daughter’s future. But now, as Francis watched him give orders, confer with his captains, plan their foray against the Aesks, he believed Rys was as committed as he himself was. Whatever happened, whatever fate awaited all of them, there was nothing else they could have done.
And now, in the cold light of morning, with the glacier gleaming dully from across the sea, it was time.
The weather was steady. The clouds were high and flat above the icy water of the Strait. The glacier was a smear of dull white in the distance. The Klee ship, a narrow-prowed craft built for speed and maneuverability, was turned toward the distant shore, aimed like an arrow at their goal. The Klee soldiers, in blue wool uniforms, stood in orderly ranks on its deck, awaiting their captains, who were even now rowing out from the beach in a flat-bottomed dinghy.
“Ready, Francis?” Rys said.
“Yes.” Francis pulled on his gloves. “Philippa, good luck.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly. The ground beyond the dock was slick with moisture, and Francis noted that she did not use the standing mount she was known for, but stood on a wooden block to fit her foot into her stirrup. Mounted in the flying saddle, she saluted him with her quirt and turned Winter Sunset toward the dunes. She would launch from there, where the ground was dry. The mare’s folded wings began to open as she trotted away. Her tail arched, and fluttering in the wind, a proud plume of red against the gray sand.
Francis and Rys boarded the second dinghy and set out for the ship. As they climbed the rope ladder, Francis glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Philippa and Winter Sunset launch. He paused, one foot still on the ladder, to watch their ascent. What must it be like to shake off the bonds of earth as the two did now, to rise into the air with the freedom of a great bird, to look down from aloft on those who were tied forever to the land? It was perhaps no wonder that his brother William, always intense in whatever took his interest, had become obsessed with the winged horses.
But now was not the time to worry over William. Francis climbed aboard the ship and joined Rys in the bow as they turned their faces toward Aeskland and the mission at hand.