At the end of this corridor was a more consistent glow and the two figures emerged into another stone room. This one had a hearth crudely chiselled into a wall, with one wooden chair by the fire that burned within, and another drawn up to a glassless window on the other side of the room.
“You were awake?” asked the queen, glancing at the fire.
“Watching the lightning.” Bellamus steered her into the seat by the fire and snuffed out the candle between finger and thumb. He crossed the room to fetch the chair by the window and a blanket that lay next to it, bringing both back to the woman. He gave her the blanket and drew up the chair beside her. “So what did the king say?” he asked.
“He said you’re going to war.”
Bellamus let out a slow breath. “We’re invading?”
She raised her eyebrows a little in response, staring into the hearth.
Bellamus laughed; at first a gentle chuckle, until he lost control of it and it became a full-throated roar of triumph. It carried him onto his feet, and he turned towards the queen to perform a little bow. “Well done, Your Majesty,” he said, and he leaned forward to kiss her again, his fingers digging into her shoulders. He broke away but did not resume his seat. “How did you manage that?”
The praise ran off her. “We both managed it. You scared him wicked, the fiery snakes and the flooding put the fear of God into him, and I directed both those fears.”
The fiery snakes. The night before, a cool evening with a clear sky, the sound of wails and screams had drawn Queen Aramilla to her window. Looking out, she saw a sky stained unearthly green. As though a veil had descended from the stars, swaying and billowing in a breeze that stirred this apparition alone. It intensified, resembling a giant pot of emerald ink that had been spilled among the stars, flowing in rivers from one horizon to another. Aramilla had watched, entranced and awed, as the city beneath her began to cry. The streets emptied, some people fleeing for their houses; others to the church to pray for deliverance from whatever this omen signified. It had gone on through the night until the clouds preceding the storm rolled in, obscuring the sight.
“They were beautiful,” said Bellamus. He sank into his seat again. “They did not look like an ill omen to me, but I’m glad if the king saw things differently.”
“Well, they were not an ill omen for you,” replied the queen. “They may yet be an ill omen for the king. I made sure he saw it that way, anyway. The flooding, the plague and now the snakes in the sky. He thinks God is furious.”
“I am impressed. Was he not worried by launching a campaign so late in the season?”
“He was more worried at the thought of enduring a winter with God’s anger unchecked.” She placed a hand on his cheek. “But I’ve sent you to war, my soldier. Don’t make me regret it.” She sounded a little amused, but he grasped her hand anyway.
“You won’t,” he said. “I always come back.”
“Bring me something back from beyond the Abus?” Her pupils were wide, drinking in the sight of him.
He glanced at her. “What should you like? The Anakim have no treasures. They don’t value anything that can’t be put to use.”
“What do they have?”
“Weapons,” said Bellamus. “Bigger and better than anything in the south. I could bring you a splendid axe?”
“Keep thinking,” she said, amused. There came a pause. “I’d settle for the antlers of a giant elk.”
“A trifle,” said Bellamus. “But I intend to present something special to the king. You will not be happy unless you have something equally magnificent.”
“What will you give him?”
Bellamus nodded slightly to himself. “The skull of the Black Lord.” He still spoke mildly.
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and then leaned into his chest. “My upstart. I don’t envy the Anakim having you as an enemy.”
Silence fell for a time. A flash of white light allowed the queen to see this room as it might appear in daylight for the merest instant. Then the darkness swallowed it once more. The queen counted ten heartbeats before a roll of thunder rumbled by and she shivered comfortably. “I wish I could come north. I want to see the Anakim before you wipe them out.”
Bellamus had lapsed into thoughtful silence. He stared into the flames, playing vacantly with her hair.
“Have you ever killed one of them?” she asked. “An Anakim?”
“Once or twice,” he said. “Never a fully armed and armoured warrior though. I leave those to greater heroes than I. But like all of us, they are considerably less formidable when caught by surprise.”
“Is it true about their bone-plates? Or was that just another way to frighten the king?”
Bellamus grinned. “If we are to survive this game, we must stick to lies that won’t be uncovered. That one is true. From groin to neck, they are exceedingly difficult to pierce.”
“My father scoffed at that. He said it was a rumour of war.”
“Earl Seaton is fortunate enough never to have met an Anakim in the flesh. Our borders have been so safe for so long that people have forgotten how severe that threat really is. It is no rumour, my queen.”
She squirmed slightly in his arms. “So why disturb them, then?” she pressed him. “I thought they fascinated you. And however uneasy, the peace has held for years. Why
