And suddenly he was up and soaring out over open country, out over forest, free …
Deep in the forest, the leshy paused, frowning, staring into the night. Now, what had he sensed… ? It had the feeling of the human‑magician's aura, yet with a chaotic strangeness to it… Humans were usually unable to bear such chaos. And even stranger, there was nothing of tangible form behind the aura…
Suddenly he had it puzzled out, and said, quite reasonably, «Is this wise? Human‑magician, is it wise to leave your body behind when it has been so weakened? Go home, forest-friend, before it's too late.»
«Too late!» came the echoing mind‑cry. «It's already too late! My cousin has poisoned me. She holds me ensnared! She will slay me, slay me!»
The leshy shivered, leaves stirring about him, confused by the force of human illness, by the unfamiliar tangle of human emotions. Yes, but the man, human or no, had always been a forest-friend. While the woman… Oh, the leshy knew of whom the magician spoke! He knew mat woman well! How many times had he felt her hatred of the forest? How many times had he heard her gloat at the very thought of its destruction?
«I mink I will help you, forest-friend," the leshy said thoughtfully. «Go, now, back to your body," he added, almost gently. «I do believe the forest shall help you!»
LJuba sat on the throne of Kirtesk, her form regal in gold brocade, her face a beautiful, impassive mask. This was the moment of which she'd dreamed, yet right now she could feel no triumph, no pride, nothing but fear.
I can't go through another night like that!
The worst of it hadn't come from Finist—not directly. After that first, terrifying attack on her sanity, Finist had fallen into so deep a slumber that she'd had to check to be sure he still breathed. No, the messages had come from the forest, there'd been no doubt of it, messages of hate, warning her, Walk warily, mocking her with Fool! Your doom is very near! Ljuba surreptitiously clenched her fists beneath her caftan's long sleeves. Those forest devils knew she feared them!
They knew, too‑curse the things! — that she had no way to defend herself against them.
Don't I? thought Ljuba savagely. It's Finist who's to blame, Finist who sent for them, Finist's who's always thought nothing of consorting with those demons. He sent his spirit-self roaming free to summon them—but I will bind it back in his body, bind it fast. He shall not elude me, body or soul. And if any of his demon-friends try to stop me, I will crush them!
«Your pardon, lady," said a voice, and Ljuba started, glancing sharply down from the high dais.
It was old Semyon, dipping his head to her in a brief, formal salute. Ljuba stared at him, unblinking, eyes cold as midwinter ice, till the old fool got the point and went down on one knee before her. She let him stay there long enough to think things over, then calmly bade him rise, smiling thinly at his aura of frustrated anger.
Too bad, old man! Ljuba mocked him silently. You yourself vowed to serve the crown. And, like it or not, right now I am the crown. Aloud, she asked curtly, «What is it?»
«Emissaries from Stargorod have just arrived, lady.»
Ljuba tensed. «What, from Prince Svyatoslav?»
«Ah, no, lady. Not officially. They seem to have no royal backing at all, but — "
«Common messengers?» From the late Maria's family, perhaps? She couldn't afford that! She didn't dare have anyone raise potentially awkward questions, not when her authority was still to be firmly established. «Let them wait," said Ljuba regally.
«But, lady, they — "
«Did you hear me?»
«Yes, of course, lady, but — "
«Then obey me! If these so‑called messengers have no official status, let them wait for an audience, just like any other common folk!»
Semyon started to argue, then sighed, bowing in reluctant submission. «So be it, lady.»
Ljuba glanced about the chamber at the other boyars, seeing them wary, skeptical, hostile, and her thin smile sharpened a touch. Thanks to the edict she'd forced from Finist, they must obey her, or be named traitors to the crown. And in these short days since she'd come to sit as Regent of Kirtesk, she was already beginning to bend these fools to her will, showing them just how spoiled and soft they'd become under Finist's gentle hand—showing them what a true ruler was like!
«Think of me as you will," murmured Ljuba under her breath. «Mistrust me, fear me, even hate me. But—obey me, you shall!»
Chapter XLIV
The Eagle
Maria glanced about bemused. After all that weary time afoot in the wilderness, she had forgotten just how fast a good horse on a—well, a relatively good road could travel.
Of course, her being here at all was thanks to Marfa and Stefan, and the village of Lesielo. Those folk had done more than merely lend her one of their precious horses. It said a great deal for their loyalty to their prince that so many of them had chosen to take valuable time from their farm work to escort Maria safely to the very gates of the monastery. Of course, thought the young woman with a touch of pride, it also says a good deal about Finist's loyalty to his people!
So even with the necessary stops for food, for rest, she and her escort had managed to reach the foothills of the Khomensk Mountains in under a week. Another day had been spent in climbing up to the isolated monastery. Now here she was, staring at the high, grey walls, and wondering if anyone was ever going to answer the visitor's bell.
Wait, here was someone opening the small window set high in the heavy door and peering through. All Maria could make out were two blinking, reddened eyes, Like the eyes of a turtle! she thought in sudden wild humor, and started when the turtle snapped, «Yes? What is it?»
He didn't seem to be pleased to find himself faced by a stranger—a woman, no less, and a young one at that—and Maria, having an image of him simply slamming shut the window again, said hastily, «I've come to see one of your brothers.»
«Have you?» The cracked voice was suspicious. «Which one?»
Maria took a great breath. «I don't know his holy name. But in the secular world he was called Prince Vasili.»
There was the hiss of sharply indrawn breath from the other side of the door. «He sees no one from the outside world! No one save his royal nephew.»
Finist! «Oh, please! I've come on behalf of that nephew!» Feeling those turtle-eyes staring skeptically, Maria continued, «I beg you, take word to Prince Vasili. Tell him—tell him Prince Finist's in peril! Tell him it's quite literally a matter of life and death! Please — "
Suddenly she realized she was speaking to empty air.
How long had they kept her here outside the gate, waiting in suspense? Maria shifted her weight restlessly from foot to foot, thinking that it had been long enough for her to have remembered every worry she'd been trying to forget!
What if Vasili wouldn't see her?
What if he were ill? Too ill for visitors?
What if he wasn't even here, or alive, or—
The anguished groaning of ancient wood startled her. The monastery's heavy door was being pulled slowly open, just wide enough to reveal the figure of a carefully bland-faced young monk—a novice, she supposed.
«Please," he said, «follow me.»
Maria bid a hasty, grateful farewell to her village escort, and squeezed through the narrow opening, only to find herself in a narrow courtyard, facing a second wall. Beyond it were hints of the red-tiled roofs of various buildings, kelü, the monks' individual cells, she guessed, plus the main chapel and whatever else was deemed necessary to an isolated mountain retreat.