was decently covered. 'The matter of the Hierosolyma garrison has come up.'
'What? Did something happen?' Uri's idle daydream of a pert bosom and nut-brown nipples vanished like dew or honey cakes at a wedding.
'No,' Zoe said, eyes crinkling up in a smile. 'I fear something
'Yes,' Uri breathed, suddenly feeling a little sick.
'You are the best man to watch over the city,' Zoe said, putting her hand on his arm. She was standing very close. A faint, sweet smell of orange blossoms tickled his nose. 'Take your men to Hierosolyma. You must make sure nothing is disturbed and proper veneration is paid to the temples and shrines.'
'Yes...' Uri felt a cold knot grow in his stomach.
'I will tell him,' Zoe said confidently. 'I am the Queen and Shahr-Baraz approves. When can you set out?'
'Soon,' Uri said, frowning and rubbing his noble nose. 'We are almost ready. By dark, or morning at the latest, we will be on the road.'
'Well done.' Zoe smiled again, squeezing his hand. Impulsively, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheek. 'The city will be in excellent hands. You must write me if anything happens.'
'Yes, my queen,' Uri said, breathing in a heady perfume of spices, oil and sweat. 'I will.'
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Hills Above Florentia, Italia
Vladimir crept across a drift of leaves, stomach close to the dark earth, nose up, ears flat against his angular head. Despite a thick litter of twigs and leaves under the oaks, he made no sound. Long-fingered hands set down softly on bronzed stones and sharp toes dug into black soil. The oaks were singing softly to themselves, leaves rustling, wrapped in slanting, golden light. The sun was setting, drifting towards the western horizon through ruddy smoke-stained air. Below the hill and west across the river, a city sprawled across the valley. In this deepening purple light, thousands of fires winked, filling the air with tapering gray plumes. The Walach eased to a halt, eyes slitted against the dying light, his nostrils flared.
He caught a familiar spoor. Musty, catlike, redolent of walnuts and soot and unopened houses. Vladimir smiled, skin stretching over a long jaw, exposing sharp, white teeth. He settled lower against the ground, lean body melting into stone and brush. He had been waiting all day for this moment, creeping inch-by-inch across the hillside, trying to catch furtive and wary prey.
A stand of honeysuckle stirred and something small and gray-pelted with a white chest peered out. Black eyes flicked to the left and right, then the tiny creature scuttled forward, hurrying, short stumpy legs blurring as it flitted across the slope. A bulging cloth bag was clutched in a three-fingered paw. As it ran, patterns of leaves and fallen branches flowed across the smooth fur. In the dimming light, the creature faded in and out of visibility.
Vladimir sprang, soundless, and crashed to earth, claws sweeping through the air. The little creature bolted with a squeak, springing across a downed tree, eyes wide. Long, white claws snapped fruitlessly in the air. Dirt spewed away from Vladimir's fleet. He skidded down the slope, crashing into a thicket of brambles. Hissing with pain, he tore himself free. The creature sprang up-slope, walnuts spilling from the bag. Vladimir scrambled up, leaves flying behind him. Branches lashed at his head, drawing red streaks across his muzzle. He burst out of the oaks.
The creature faded from sight as the Walach loped across a meadow of tall, stalk-heavy grass. Clouds of tan dust and feathered seeds puffed up around him. Vladimir snorted a noseful of pollen, sneezed, then came to a complete halt. Sparkling motes flooded the air, catching the sunset. They burned gold and amber as they rose, swirling around him. Heavier seed pods broke loose, flung from long stalks crushed under his feet. They drifted through the trees, shining in golden columns of light.
The gray-and-white creature was gone. Vladimir crouched down, ducking his head repeatedly. Pollen drifted from his face, falling onto crumbling, dry soil. He breathed out steadily through his nose, clearing his nostrils. The Walach slipped forward through the grass, brittle yellow stems bending away as he passed. Clusters of seed- heads swayed, but they did not break.
Ahead, near the edge of the trees, something moved. Vladimir rose up a little, craning his neck. A subtle discoloration against a low wall of fieldstone caught his eye. He focused, ears flattening, teeth baring.
The crisp, clear tone of a bell rang through the twilit woods.
The creature blinked in surprise. Triangular ears canted towards the unexpected sound.
The Walach bolted forward, smooth, controlled. This was no wild leap, but a calculating lunge. The little creature bleated in surprise, faded to nothing and Vladimir's hand flashed out to the right, closing with a
Quite pleased with himself, the Walach padded off through the oak and scrub forest. Behind him, walnuts and a ripped cloth bag lay on the ground among dry grass and faded summer flowers.
—|—
Vladimir jogged down a faint path past huge, wrinkled oaks. The forest giants arched overhead, crowns glowing with the last touch of sunlight. Below, night filled the green tunnel made by their trunks and spreading branches. Despite the gloom, he passed swiftly over round stones and broken paving. The way opened into a shallow dell atop the hill. Vladimir paused, crouching against a moss-covered plinth. Another tall stone stood on the opposite side of the path.
The Walach tasted the air, and grinned in the gathering darkness. Still clutching the bag to his chest, the quivering warm shape inside pressed against the soft nap of his fur, Vladimir slipped behind the menhir, then up through a hedge lining the edge of the clearing.
Nicholas sat in darkness, his back to the bole of an enormous, ancient oak. The Walach crept up beside him, then squatted with the leather bag in both hands. He could smell the human female—crushed rose, pressed oil, hyacinth and lavender layered over sweat and the peppery smell daywalker women wore like a wreath. His toes dug into the earth, feeling roots and dampness.
Vladimir's tongue pressed against the backs of his incisors. He was very happy to be outside.
Lights drifted in the hollow, dancing over lines of age-worn stones. They shone cold on short grass and gleamed from the woman's diadem. Empress Martina sat on a huge, toppled slab at the center of the dell, legs drawn up sideways beneath her. Silver bracelets circled both arms and her dark gown made a sable firmament for chains of jewels and gold hanging around her neck. Dragonflies blurred past and glowing motes danced and spun, rising and falling around her in gossamer veils.
Vladimir could hear the earth singing and he pressed himself against the ground, burying his head in the loam. Martina laughed, voice soft, raising her hands to catch the fireflies winking, shimmering, darting in the air. Full night came striding over the hills and the forest quieted.
The Walach rolled on his back, looking up. The stars burned—keen as a sword blade—between the branches of the oaks. The stiff leaves were shining, taking on their own glow from the faint light spilling down from the heavens.
Nicholas raised a finger minutely. Vladimir rolled over, soundless on the loamy ground.
A greater light entered the hollow, spinning down on starlight. Sharp-edged shadows drifted across ancient stone. Martina turned her head, alabaster neck shining, pale, psymithion-painted face radiant in the golden light. She seemed frozen, unable to move, though the Walach saw her lips part as if she spoke in greeting. Her brown hair, carefully curled and coifed, spilled back over her shoulders. Her round face, in this glamour, was suffused with beauty.
The light drifted closer, spinning and darting. The Walach squinted and then let out his breath in a soft hiss. A tiny woman, only a hand tall, swept past the Empress, jeweled wings blurring in flight. The sprite was naked, clean limbs in perfect proportion, flowing hair like gold, blazing green eyes wide in interest. Martina's eyes
