Carolin's army remained encamped in the watercourse for three days. On the third day, Romilly went out to fly the sentry-birds again, Ranald at her side. She was quite aware that she must somehow shield her thoughts from Ruyven; he would not understand at all what had happened. He would see only that his young and innocent sister had shared her bed with a Ridenow lord, and to do her justice, Romilly was more worried that this might spoil the ability of the three of them to work together, than she was troubled by any sense of shame or regret for what she had done. Ruyven would be certain to think that Ranald had played the seducer, and it was not like that at all; he had simply pulled her free from something she had found herself quite unable to tolerate. Even now, Romilly did not know why she had found it unendurable.
"Remind me not to look at you and smile like that," Ranald said, picking up her concern lest Ruyven should know, and she smiled back. She felt soothed and happy, able to look into the pasture by the watercourse where Sunstar and the horses were grazing and pick up her old, close communion with the stallion, with no sense of distaste or unease, no break in her warm sense of unity with Sunstar.
Ranald made it so easy for me.
Maura told me, about something else; horses have neither memory nor imagination. That is why I can pick up where I left off.
Twice during these days she went and joined the Swordswomen's mess, sharing her meal with the women of the Sisterhood. Clea jeered a little at her.
"So you are still one of us, in spite of hob-nobbing with the nobility and all?"
"Be fair," said Jandria, "she has her work to do just as we do, and Lady Maura is as good a chaperon as a whole hostel full of our sisters. One of the handlers is her own brother, too. And if rumor tells true-" but she looked inquisitively at Romilly, "that same Lady Maura will one day be our queen - what do you know of that, Romy?"
Romilly said, "I know no more than you. And King Carolin cannot marry until the Council gives him leave - a noblewoman of Lady Maura's station cannot marry without parental consent, and how much more if the king comes wooing? But certainly, if they have their will, there will be a marriage made."
"And if there is not, the king will get him a bastard to make as much trouble in the kingdom as that gre'zuin Rakhal," said Tina scornfully. "Nice behavior for a leronis - I know from her waiting-woman that she spent two nights in the king's tent; what sort of chaperon is she for Romy, then?"
Ranald had taught her to shield herself a little; so Romilly managed neither to blush nor turn away her eyes. "Between three ugly birds and my brother, do you truly think I need a chaperone, Tina? As for Maura, I have heard she is kept virgin for the Sight, and I cannot believe she would endanger that, even in a king's bed, while the war still rages; but I am not the keeper of her conscience; she is a grown woman and a leronis, and need account to no man."
Clea made a contemptuous sound. "So she might sell her maidenhood for a crown, but not for love? Bravely done, leronis!" she made an applauding gesture. "See that you profit by her example, Romy!"
She had thought that among these women, who were free to follow their own wills, she might have been able to speak of this thing that bad happened to her; even now, she felt, if she could speak with Jandria alone, she would like to tell her ... but Jandria was already rising to attend on Carolin's advisers, and there was no other, not even Clea, whom she had thought her friend, to whom she felt she could talk freely. Not after their scornful words. No, she would not speak of Ranald. They would not understand at all.
She knew that she had not disgraced her earring, nor brought the Sisterhood into contempt. Her oath bound her to nothing more; and at least she had not sold herself to that elderly lecher Dom Garris in return for riches and the prospering of her father's horse-trade with Scathfell!
So on the third day, when she went out to fly the birds, with Ruyven and Ranald, her spirits were high. The day was grey and drizzly, with little spats and slashes of gusty rain coming across the plains, and even when a rare break came in the clouds, the wind was high. The sentry-birds huddled on their perches, squalling with protest when they were put on their blocks; they did not like this weather, but they needed exercise after two days of full fed rest, and Carolin needed to know where Rakhal's armies moved in the countryside.
"Somehow we must keep them low enough to spy through the mists," Ranald said, and Romilly protested, "They will not like that."
"I am not concerned with their liking or the lack of it," Ranald said curtly, "We are not flying the birds for our own pleasure nor yet theirs - have you forgotten that, Romy?"
She had, for a moment, so close she felt to the great birds. As she tossed Diligence free of her gloved hand, she went into rapport with the winged creature, flying on strong pinions, high over the ranges, then remembered, forced it into flying lower, hovering, guiding the bird eastward to where they had last seen Rakhal's armies.
Even so, and with the bird's extra keen sight, she could not see very far; the drizzle clouded vision, so that she had to fly the bird low enough to see the ground, and the rain, slanting in from the northeast, dimmed sight further. This kind of flight bore no relationship to what she had known last time they flew, soaring in headlong flight, hovering high and letting the picture of the ground be relayed through Ranald to Carolin. Now it was slow, sullen effort, forcing the bird's will against the stubborn wish to turn tail and fly home to huddle on the perch till fine weather, then forcing it down against the instinct to fly high above the clouds.
Sentry-birds; spy-birds. Like all of us I am a tool for Carolin's army to strike. How angry her father would be! Not only the runaway son he had disowned, but the daughter he had thought compensation for one runaway son and one worthless bookish one . . . how was Darren managing, she wondered, had he resigned himself to handling hawks and horses now?
She had lost track of the bird, and a sharp sense of question from Ruyven recalled her to the flying in the rain, chilled and battered by the icy gusts of sleet which buffeted her ... or Diligence? She must risk flying lower, for they could see nothing through the thick curtain of wet They were linked three ways, and now she set herself to follow Temperance, flying ahead strongly toward a break in the clouds. Below them the land lay deserted, but low on the horizon she could see smoke which she knew to be Rakhal's army where it waited out the rain. Behind her she could actually feel the displacement in the air where Prudence flew at her tail. At the same time a part of her was Romilly, balanced carefully in her saddle, and a part of her still Carolin, waiting for intelligence through the minds of bird-handlers and birds.
A speck against her sight, swiftly growing larger and larger ... of course, she should have known that they too would have had spy-birds out in this weather! She - or was it Diligence? - shifted course ever so slightly, hoping to miss unseen the oncoming bird. Was it Rakhal himself, or one of his advisers, behind the hovering wings of that bird, poised to intercept. ...
Would it come to a fight? She could not hope to control the bird if raw instinct took over; there was not much difficulty in controlling the mind of the bird if all was well, but in danger instinct would override the shared consciousness. Temperance was still flying well ahead, and through the link with Ruyven's mind she too could see the outskirts of the enemy camp, and a wagon about which something black and sinister was hovering . . . she was not sure she saw it with her eyes; was she perceiving something through Ruyven's mind or the bird's? Birds - Maura's phrase, echoing in her mind, neither memory nor imagination - could only see with their physical sight, and could not interpret what they saw unless it concerned them directly, as food or threat.
It was taking all of her strength to hold Diligence on course. The wagon was there, and a curious, acrid smell which seemed to sting her, whether her own nose or the bird's she was not sure; but the blackness was something she must be perceiving through one of the minds linked in rapport with the sentry-birds spying. She was vaguely curious, but so sunk in the bird's consciousness that she was content to leave it to Carolin to interpret.
Something was in the air now . , . danger, danger ... as if a red-hot wire had seared her brain, she swerved, shrieking and then there was a slicing pain in her heart and Romilly came with a cry out of the rapport, fighting to hold to it... pain . . . fear . . somewhere, she knew, Diligence was falling like a stone, dizzy, consciousness fading out, dying. . . . Romilly, seated on her horse, physically clutched at her breast as if the arrow which had slain the sentry-bird had penetrated her body as well. The pain was nightmarish, terrifying, and she stared wildly around her in anguished disorientation. Then she knew what must have happened.
Diligence! She had flown her bird deliberately into the danger of those arrows, over-riding the bird's own sense of caution, its instinct to fly high and away from danger. Guilt and grief fought within her for dominance.
Someone very far away seemed to be calling her name . . . she came up out of grey fog to see Ranald looking at her, with deep trouble in his face. She said, strangled, "Prudence .. Temperance ... get them back ..."
He drew a long breath. "They are away from the soldiers; I sent them high up, out of range ... I am sorry, Romy; you loved her."
"And she loved life!" she flung at him wildly, "And died because of you and Carolin - ah, I hate you all, all you men and kings and your damned wars, none of them are worth a feather in her wing-tip-" and she dropped her head in her hands and broke into passionate crying.
Ruyven's head was still flung back, his face glazed with intent effort; he sat unmoving until a dark form dropped from the clouds, sank down to his gloved hand.
'Temperance," Romilly whispered, with relief, "but where is Prudence-"
As if in answer from the clouds came a shrilling cry, answered by another; two dark forms burst through the layers of mist and rain, locked together, falling joined in battle; feathers fell, and the screaming and shrilling died. A small dark limp body dropped at their horses' feet; another sped away, screaming in triumph.
"Don't look! Ranald, hold her-" Ruyven began, but Romilly was off her horse, crying wildly, catching up the small blood-spattered form of Prudence, still limp and warm with recently-departed life. She clutched it against her breast, her face wet and furious. "Prudence! Ah, Prudence, love, not you too-" she cried, and the bird's blood smeared her hands and her tunic. Ranald dismounted, came and gently took it from her.
"No use, Romilly; she is dead," he said quietly, and his arms caught her to bun. "Poor little love, don't cry. It can't be helped; that is war."
And that is supposed to be the excuse for all! Romilly felt fury surging within her. They play with the lives of the wild things and hold themselves harmless, saying it is war ... I question not their right to kill themselves and one another, but what does an innocent bird know or care of one king over another?
Ruyven was gentling Temperance on his fist, sliding the hood over her restless head. He said, "Romilly, try to be calm, there is work to do. Ranald - you saw-"
"Aye, I saw," Ranald said shortly, "Somewhere in Rakhal's train there is clingfire and I know not where he means to use it, but Carolin must know at once! Time may be short, unless we want to burn beneath the stuff, and I for one want none used against me, or any of the lands hereabout."
"Nor I. I saw what clingfire can do, in Tramontana," said Ruyven, "Though not in war. Carolin has pledged he will not use it against folk who must live in his lands. But if it is used against us, I know not how he can fight it."
Romilly, still standing silent, demanded, "What is clingfire?"
"The very breath of Zandru's forges," said Ranald, "Fire flung which burns and keeps on burning as long as there is anything to feed it, through skin and bone and into the very stone... fire made by wizardry and laran."
I doubt it not. Folk who would kill an innocent bird for some king's claim, why should they stop at killing people too?
"You must come with us." Ranald gently urged her into her saddle. "Carolin must know of this and he will need all of his leronyn - Maura has sworn not to fight against Rakhal, but I do not think she will hesitate to stop the use of clingfire against her own people, no matter what she may still feel for Rakhal!"
But Romilly rode blind, tears still streaming from her eyes. She knew nor wished to know nothing of the weapons these men and their kings and their leroni used. Dimly she knew that Ranald rode away from her, but she reached out blindly for contact with Sunstar, feeling, in the reassuring strength of the great stallion, an endless warmth and closeness. He was in her and she was in him, and drawn into the present, with neither memory nor anticipation, without imagination or emotion save for the immediate stimuli; green grass, the road under foot, the weight of Carolin, already beloved, in the saddle. She rode unseeing because the best part of her was with Sunstar, loss and grief wiped out in the unending present-moment of timelessness.
At last, comforted somewhat, she came out of the submersion in the horse's world, half aware that somewhere they spoke of her.
She was very fond of the sentry-birds, she is very close to them. It was so from the moment we first saw her, we spoke of how ugly they were, and it was she who pointed out to us that they had their own kind of beauty....
. . . her first experience with this kind of loss, she must learn how to keep herself a little separate....
. . . what can you expect, then, of a wild telepath, one who has tried to learn without the discipline of the Towers. ...
She thought, resentfully, that if what they taught in the Towers would teach her to be complacent about the deaths of innocent beasts who had no part in men and their wars, she was glad she had not had it!
"Please understand," Carolin said, looking at the three bird-handlers, "No blame attaches to any one of you, but we have lost two of our three sentry-birds, and the remaining one must be sent out at once, danger or no. Which of you will fly her?"
"I am willing," said Ruyven, "My sister is new to this work and she is deeply grieved - she has handled these birds since they were young and was very close to them. I do not think she is strong enough to work further now, Sir."
Carolin glanced at Ranald and said, "I shall need all my leronyn if we are to destroy the clingfire in Rakhal's hands before he can manage to use it. As for Romilly-" he looked at her, compassionately, but she bristled under his sympathy and said, "None but I shall fly Temperance. I know enough now not to take her into danger."
"Romilly-" King Carolin dismounted and came toward the girl. He said seriously, "I am sorry, too, about the birds. But can you look at this from my point of view, too? We risk birds, and beasts too, to save the lives of men. I know the birds mean more to you than they can to me, or to any of us, but I must ask you this; would you see me die sooner than the sentry-birds? Would you risk the lives of the birds to save your Swordswomen?"
Romilly's first emotional reaction was, the birds at least have done Rakhal no harm, why cannot men fight their battles without endangering the innocent? But she knew that was irrational. She« was human; she would sacrifice bird or even horse to save Ranald, or Orain, or Carolin himself, or her brother.... She said at last, "Their lives are yours, your Majesty, to save or spend as you will. But I will not run them heedless into danger for no good reason, either."
She saw, and wondered, that Carolin looked so sad. He said, "Romilly, child . . ." and broke off; finally, after a long pause, he said, "This is what every commander of men and beasts must face, weighing the lives of some against the lives of all. I would like it better if I need never see any of those who have followed me die-" and sighed. "But I owe my life to those I am sworn to rule ... in truth, sometimes I think I do not rule but serve. Go, send your bird," he added, and after a time Romilly realized, in shock, that only the last four words had been spoken aloud.
I read his thoughts, and he knew I would read them . . . he would not have spoken such things aloud before his armies, but he could not hide his thoughts from anyone with laran.....
It was bad enough that such a king must lead his people to war. She should have known that Carolin would waste no life, needless. And if by sending sentry-birds into danger he thus could spare the lives of some of his followers, he would do so, there must be responsible choice; as when she had chosen to let the banshee go hungry, because for it to feed would have meant death for all of them. She was human; her first loyalty must always be to her fellow men and women. She bowed, rode a little away from Carolin with Temperance on her saddle, and raised a gloved fist to send the bird into the rainy sky again.
She was flying, hovering over the field . . . and not far away, she heard the thunder of charging horses, as Rakhal's army swept down over the brow of the hill and the troops charged toward one another. There was a tremendous shock, and Romilly saw through the bird's eyes....
Horses, down and screaming, sliced open by swords and spears . . . men lying on the ground, dying . . . she could not tell whether Carolin's men or Rakhal's, and it did not matter.... A picked group of men swept down toward where the blue fir-tree banner flew over Carolin's guard ... Sunstar! Carry my king to safety . .. and a part of her rode with the great black stallion, thundering away with the king, to form a compact group, awaiting the charge again.
Flames seemed to seat the air; it was filled with the acrid smell of burning flesh, men and horses shrieking, and death, death everywhere....
Yet through it all Romilly kept still, hovering over the field, bringing the bird's-eye pictures of the battle to Carolin's eyes so that he could direct his men where they were most needed. Hours, it seemed, dragged by while she swept over the field, sated with horrors, sickened with the smell of burning flesh....
And then Rakhal's men were gone, leaving only the dead and dying on the field, and Romilly, who had been in rapport with the remaining sentry-bird (she knew now that it was Ruyven who had siezed her bridle and led her horse to safety atop a little hill overlooking the field, while she was entranced in rapport with the bird) returned to her own awareness, sick and shocked.
Dying horses. Seven of them she had trained with her own hands in the hostel . . . dead or dying, and Clea, merry Clea who had talked so lightly of death, lying all but dead on the field, her blood invisible on the crimson tunic of the Swordswoman. . . . Clea, dying in Jandria's arms, and an empty place, a vast silence where once had been a living, breathing, human being, beloved and real....
There was no rejoicing on this battlefield; Carolin had felt too many deaths that day. Soberly, men went to bury the dead, to give the last few dying horses the mercy-stroke, Ruyven went with the healers to bind up the wounds of those who had been struck down. Romilly, shocked beyond speech, set up the tent aided only by Ruyven's young apprentice, who had a great burn on his arm from the clingfire that had rained down on the army. Three perches were with the baggage, but only one bird perched alone, and Romilly felt sick as she fed her ... the carrion smell was now all around them. She could not bring herself to sleep in the little tent she had shared with Lady Maura; she searched through the camp at the edge of the battlefield till she found the rest of the Sisterhood, and silently crept in among them. So many dead. Horses, and birds, who had been part of her life, into whom she had put so much time and strength and love in their training . . . the Sisterhood had set her to training these horses, not that they might live and serve, but that they might die in this senseless slaughter. And Clea, whom Jandria had carried dead off the field. Two of the Sisterhood called to Romilly.
"Sister, are you wounded?"
"No," Romilly said numbly. She hardly knew; her body was so battered with the many deaths which had swept over her wide-open mind, which she had felt in her very flesh; but now she realized that she was not hurt at all, that there was not a mark anywhere on her flesh.
"Have you healing skills?" And when Romilly said no, they told her to come and help in the digging of a grave for Clea.
"A Swordswoman cannot lie among the soldiers. As she was in life, so in death she must be buried apart."
Romilly wondered, with a dull pain in her head, what it would matter now to Clea where she lay? She had defended herself well, she had taught so many of her sisters to defend themselves, but the final ravishment of death had caught her unaware, and she lay cold and stiff, looking very surprised, without a mark on her face. Romilly could hardly believe that she would not laugh and jump up, catching them off guard as she had done so many times before. She took the shovel one of the Swordswomen thrust into her hand. The hard physical labor of digging the grave was welcome; otherwise she caught too much pain, too many wounded men, screaming, suffering, in silence or great moans, their pain racking her. She tried to shut it all out, as Ranald had taught her, but there was too much, too much....
Out on the field, dark flapping forms hovered, waiting. Then one swept down to where a dead horse lay, already bloating, and thrust in his beak with a great raucous cry of joy. Another flapped down and another, and then dozens, hundreds . . . feasting, calling out joyously to one another. Romilly picked up a thought from somewhere, she could not tell whether from one of the Swordswomen beside her at the grave, or someone out of sight on the dark campground, the defeat of men is the joy of the carrion-bird, where men mourn the kyorebni make holiday . . . and dropped her shovel, sickened. She tried to pick it up, but suddenly doubled over, retching. She had not eaten since morning; nothing came up but a little green bile, but she stayed there, doubled over, sick and exhausted, too sickened even to weep.
Jandria came and led her silently inside the tent. Two Swordswomen were tending the wounds of three others, one woman with a clingfire burn on her hand which was still burning inward, another unconscious from a sword-cut across her head, and still another with a leg broken when her horse fell and rolled on her. One looked up, frowning, as Jandria led Romilly inside and pushed her down on a blanket.
"She is unwounded - she should be helping to bury our dead!"
Jandria said gruffly, "There is more than one kind of wound!" She held Romilly close, rocking her, stroking her hair, soothing her, but the girl was unaware of the touch, lost in a desperate solitude where she sought and sought for the dead. .. .
Romilly wandered in a dark dream, as if on a great grey plain, where she saw Clea before her, laughing, riding on one of the dead horses, and Prudence perched on her fist.. . but they were so far ahead, no matter how she raced, her feet were stuck as if she waded through thick syrup and she could not catch up with them, never, never....
Somewhere Romilly heard a voice, she felt she ought to know the voice but she did not, saying, She has never learned to shut it out. This time, perhaps, I can give her barriers, but there is really no remedy. She is a wild telepath and she has no protection.
Romilly only knew that someone . . . Carolin? Lady Maura? . . . touched her forehead lightly, and she was back in the tent of the Swordswomen again, and the great desolate grey plain of death was gone. She clung to Jandria, shuddering and weeping.
"Clea's dead. And my horses, all my horses . . . and the birds ..." she wept.
Jandria held and rocked her. "I know, dear. I know," she whispered, "It's all right, cry for them if you must, cry, we are all here with you." and Romilly thought, in dull amazement, She is crying too.
And she did not know why that should seem strange to her.