“We’ll see how I’m doing in the morning,” she said. “Then we’ll decide when I go.”

A WORTHY SACRIFICE

Grandmother eased her aching bones beside the fire. The chair was hard, but at least it had a backrest, unlike the benches that Birch and his officers sat upon. This was one of several meetings they were having regarding the forthcoming campaign season, strategy and the like. She’d left Terrik in charge of the keep, and Immerez had already returned to assist. More likely, she thought, to keep Nyssa company.

She knitted while they talked, with undyed woolen yarn, what looked like a deranged blanket, or a clotted, sickly web. Birch’s maid, a girl of maybe thirteen or fourteen forced to serve him, brought them cups of weak wine. Her family had been killed when Birch’s troops took the settlement. The men had spared some of the folk for work, mostly females to cook and perform other services. The girl’s face was marked with bruises, both old and new, and she kept glancing at Grandmother with imploring eyes, as if she hoped Grandmother would help her.

Grandmother ignored her as Birch recounted the losses they’d experienced over the winter, from exposure, accident, and illness. She was pleased by the low number. Undoubtedly, occupying the settlement, with its existing buildings and stored foodstuffs and livestock, had proven an advantage. Some of the other encampments had not been so lucky.

He also revealed he’d engaged in negotiations with raiders in an effort to form an alliance. It was true that Second Empire needed help where it could get it, but she didn’t exactly approve of dealing with cutthroats and degenerates.

“They will terrorize the common folk,” Birch explained, “keep the king and his folk busy and second-guessing, while we make our own moves.”

“And what do these raiders get out of an alliance?”

“Whatever they can steal, and autonomy when the empire prevails. Revenge also plays into it after what was done to them years ago.”

Grandmother had misgivings, but she must show confidence in Birch’s leadership in front of his officers. “Be very careful in your dealings with them,” she warned him. “Men of that ilk are not to be trusted.”

“I know, Grandmother. I will keep them in line.”

She certainly hoped so.

The girl approached with a cup and stumbled. Wine spilled on one of the officers, and Birch jumped to his feet and backhanded her. She sprawled onto the dirt floor with a cry and curled up to protect herself when he started kicking her.

“Get up!” he roared. He kicked her again. “Get up, you stupid wretch!”

“She will not get up if you keep kicking her,” Grandmother said as she tied off a knot.

Birch stepped back, his face red. He was a controlled, disciplined military man, but that meant he must find release in other ways, such as the occasional violent outburst. No doubt the girl received the brunt of it.

He straightened his coat and pointed a finger at the girl, and said in a tight voice, “Bring another cup for the lieutenant.”

The girl crawled away. Birch seated himself once more. “The little bitch is in heat for the first time, and it has made her exceedingly stupid and clumsy.”

The girl hauled herself to her feet at the table in the center of the cabin and poured wine. More spilled than went into the cup with the trembling of her hands. She returned to the lieutenant carrying the cup with great care. Her lower lip bled; her face was smeared with tears. She gave Grandmother an imploring look.

Grandmother paid her little heed. She had no pity for Sacoridians, but she was practical. Beating up a servant and rendering her useless was not practical. At least the girl would get some peace from the men while she was unclean.

“About those ice creatures,” Birch said, “that Immerez told us about. Does this mean your spell worked, Grandmother? I thought you were of the opinion it had not.”

“It was a most difficult spell,” she replied, “and I’d seen no evidence that it had.” Immerez’s report of the attack, which had allowed him to escape prison, had brought her great pleasure.

“What of the king and queen?” Birch asked. “Did they survive?”

“There is no way to know. I’ve had no visions, but with winter waning, one of our people will come with news of the city. In the meantime, we can only pray to God that the elemental reached the king and queen and killed them.”

“That would leave Sacoridia in chaos and make it very easy for us.”

“Yes,” Grandmother replied, “but we cannot count on it.”

“You have seen nothing?”

“My visions have been few, and God has not spoken directly to me since I left the accursed forest.” Something had happened in Blackveil to take His voice from her. “My faith is such that God will speak to me once more when He sees fit, and perhaps when I ensnare the avatar of one of the false gods.” She raised the spellwork to show them. Even unfinished, it radiated malignancy, such was the intent she put into each stitch and snag, each loop, each precisely knotted snarl. The men did not laugh or ridicule her art, for they knew well what she could do with even just an inch of yarn. “A worthy sacrifice to please God, don’t you think?”

The men nodded and made affirmative noises. They were, she could tell, in awe. It did not take one gifted with the art to see what a monstrous thing she was creating.

Their talk shifted to strategy once more, Grandmother’s knitting needles clacking in the background. Birch already had his troops preparing for war, training and stocking up on weaponry. They discussed supplies and logistics and communication among their different bases. Birch moved stones and twigs on a rough map he had scored into the dirt floor. Ready or not, war was coming to them.