“A Quman warrior takes hardship as well as any soldiers I’ve ever seen. How can I win their loyalty?”

Was that sweat breaking out on Zacharias’ forehead. “What do you want of them, my lord prince?”

“If there are any willing to swear allegiance to my cause, why not take them into my army?”

“My lord prince!”

Captain Fulk had heard, as had Lord Druthmar, Lord Hrodik, and several of the other noblemen.

“Do you think it wise to allow Quman into our ranks, Prince Sanglant?” asked Druthmar. “What’s to prevent them from murdering us in our tents at night once they have the run of camp?”

“Come, Brother Zacharias,” said Sanglant, “how can I convince Quman soldiers to ride in my army, under my command, without having to watch my back ever after?”

“Will they take gold?” asked Lord Hrodik.

Zacharias laughed. “Yes, they’ll take it and then murder you afterward to see if you’re hiding any more on your person.”

“Might they swear a binding oath?” asked Captain Fulk, “as a good Wendishman would?”

“They’d swear an oath as easily as they’d spit in your face just before they cut off your head.”

“Are they such savages that they can’t be trusted at all?” demanded Lord Druthmar. He was an able man and a decent enough companion on the march, but Sanglant had discovered that he lacked imagination and ambition.

Zacharias laughed, a choked sound that annoyed Sanglant. “I pray you, forgive me,” he said at last, shuddering. “Griffin feathers, my lord prince.”

“Griffin feathers! Like those my mother had at Verna, when she shot the creatures that attacked us.”

“Just so. Bulkezu’s feathers, those were.” A nasty gleam lit Zacharias’ gaze as he savored a memory. “I remember how she defeated him.”

“Truly, a remarkable feat. If only she would have stayed to lend some of her skills to my cause. But she never told me it was Bulkezu she had bested.”

Zacharias smiled wryly. After all, he, too, had been abandoned by Alia when she no longer needed him. He surely had no illusions about her loyalties. “Nay, my lord prince, do not think she tried to deceive you. I doubt she ever knew or cared about his name. But he’ll not have forgotten her as easily as she forgot him.”

“I suppose not.”

“He’s a madman, my lord prince. Nay. Do not shake your head as if I were a poet crowing for my supper. I mean it in truth. He is mad.”

“So was I, for a time. But he wasn’t so mad that he couldn’t stalk and kill a griffin.”

Heribert was listening. “It seems to me that a man must be mad to stalk a griffin. Are you really saying, Zacharias, that the Quman will follow a man wearing griffin wings even if he has nothing else to offer them? What of loyalty? Necessity? Family honor?”

“Have you ever seen a griffin, Heribert?” asked Zacharias.

“I have not.”

“Then you’d not ask that question.” He snorted, but not entirely with contempt. “Any man in the tribes can turn his back on his begh and take his tent and his herds and his family out into the steppe. Any man among them can live like a prince and his wife like a queen, if he chooses to leave the tribe behind. If he doesn’t mind the solitude and is content with a small herd that he and his family can care for alone.”

“Do you mean to say they’re entirely faithless?” demanded Druthmar. “Not even honorable enough to swear vows and keep them?”

“They’re the most loyal soldiers I’ve ever seen. Never once would a Quman rider complain of hardship. They’d die rather than utter one word against the begh they follow.”

Lord Hrodik had taken a liking to Druthmar, who put up with him, and he exclaimed loudly in protest, looking as if he would like to spit at the helpless prisoners. “If you love them so much that you praise them like kings, then why did you flee from them, Frater?”

“I hate them,” said Zacharias softly. “Never doubt that. They treated me like a dog, and worse than a dog.” Sanglant had noticed now and again a certain expression on Zacharias’ face, a way the disreputable frater had of wrinkling up his nose as at a bad smell, or as if he were trying not to snarl contemptuously—or yelp in fright. He had that look now. The frater looked the prisoners up and down and even swaggered forward two steps, well out of reach in case one should try to kick him. The Quman studied him with those unnaturally blank stares, then glanced away dismissively. But Zacharias wasn’t done. A string of words emerged fluently from his lips, swift and sweet. The aloof demeanor of the Quman slaves snapped so fast that poor Lord Hrodik yelped, startled, and leaped backward. The slaves growled and swore, spitting. One yanked so hard against the cords that bound him that the post to which he and his comrades were tied, driven deep into the ground, rocked alarmingly. Druthmar drew his sword. Bayan’s Ungrian guards came running. Sanglant laughed, feeling the old familiar surge as his heart pounded and excitement raced along his limbs.