When the day of their departure finally arrived, Charis climbed reluctantly into the carriage beside her mother. She stared sullenly as the carriage wheels rolled out upon the Processional Way and over the ordered succession of bridges, passing through the three concentric zones of the city. As they reached the Avenue of Porticoes, Queen Briseis turned to her daughter and said, “Cheer up, Charis, you will come back again one day.”

Yes, I will come back, she thought. I will make this city mine. Thereafter Charis ceased looking over her shoulder and set her face to the road ahead-the road which would one day bring her back.

The next days were as much the same as if they had been drawn by the same hand from the same well: Bel’s disk rose and set, they slept under cloudless, star-splashed skies, and the white road passed slowly beneath their wheels.

One morning early in the second week of the journey, the long train of coaches entered the dark fastness of forest at the far border of King Seithenin’s lands. Glad for a respite from the hot noonday sun, Avallach allowed them to linger in the shade-bound coolness after their midday meal. He and the queen napped, as did the rest of the retinue, all stretching out under leafy bowers to sleep oif the thick, noonday torpor.

Charis could not bear the thought of a nap, however, and instead wandered the nearby forest pathways plucking late-blooming wildflowers and gathering a small bouquet of delicate acacia roses and camellias, humming the song she had begun singing the night of the bull sacrifice, her voice falling like small silver rain into the silence of the forest.

She did not realize exactly how far she had strayed from camp until she heard a distant shout and knew that someone had been sent to fetch her. She turned at once and began running back, dodging along the winding path, hoping to recover the distance before she was found.

Closer, she heard more shouts. Men’s voices, taut and fearful. She dropped the bouquet and ran faster. Horses screamed. She heard the solid ring of weapons as they clashed in the shattered stillness. “What is happening?” she wondered, suddenly terrified. What could it be? Moments later, out of breath, heart lumping terribly in her chest, she reached the place where the traveling party waited.

An unthinkable horror met her eyes: men staggered bleeding with cloven heads, or, limbless, sat in mute shock contemplating their severed members. Many more lay on blood-soaked ground staring upward out of cloudy eyes, arrow shafts bristling from their throats and chests.

Avallach was nowhere to be seen, nor was Briseis or her brothers. Charis shrieked and rushed into the nightmare, panic a cold fist in her stomach. She raced among the dead and dying, crying for her family in a voice choked with terror.

She stumbled over something on the ground, fell headlong over it to discover herself in the unfeeling embrace of the half-headed corpse of the queen’s maidservant, Dean. She gathered her feet under her and reeled away. “Mother!” she screamed. “Mother! Where are you?”

The queen’s coach still waited where it had stopped beside the road. One horse had broken free of its harness; the other lay sprawled, sides heaving, four arrowshafts protruding from its stomach. Charis went to the coach. Queen Briseis lay on the ground beside the rear wheel, a long, ragged gash at the base of her throat and another on her wrist where she had thrown up a protecting hand.

Her skin shone with the waxy pallor of death and her unfocused eyes stared fixedly at the vast blue nothing of the sky above, as starkly empty as the eyes that beheld it. There was blood, too much blood everywhere; blood stained the ground beneath her head, stained her broken skin and the torn clothing, and still it flowed from the deep and savage wounds.

“Mother…” whispered Charis. “Oh, Mother…”

Briseis’ eyes shifted but remained empty and softly veiled. “Charis,” said her mother thickly. Crimson bubbles formed at the corner of her mouth. “I… cannot see you, Charis…”

“I am here, Mother.”

“Charis… can you hear me?”

“Yes… I hear you,” she said and bent close, taking her mother’s face in her hands. “I am here. We are safe now.”

“Oh… The others?”

“Safe, too, I think. I cannot find them. I cannot find Father.”

“It is cold here… Cover me, Charis…”

“Yes…” Charis reached for a travel robe from the carriage and arranged it over Briseis. “Is that better?”

“I am tired…” Briseis’ eyes closed slowly. “… so tired… Hold me…”

“No. Please, no!” Charis cradled her mother, pressing her cheek against Briseis’ forehead.

“Take care of them, Charis…” The queen’s voice was the breath of a whisper. “There is… no one else…”

Briseis coughed once as a tremor passed through her body, and then lay still.

When Charis lifted her head a little while later she saw Annubi’s long form shambling through the carnage. She rose from her mother’s side and went to him, catching his hand as he stumbled along. “She is dead… My mother is dead.”

“This should not have happened,” he said, turning neither right nor left. “This was not foreseen.”

“Where are my brothers, Annubi?” demanded Charis shrilly. “Where are my brothers?”

“Safe. I kept them safe,” he answered.

‘ ‘And my father, Annubi-where is he?” She was sobbing again.

“Rode after them… Nestor’s men. They attacked while we slept-slaughtered us in our sleep. Treachery. I have been asleep.”

He stopped and turned to Charis, his features quickening once more. “You said something about your mother?”

“She is gone!” Charis cried. “Oh, Annubi, she is… dead… dead.”

“Where?”

“Over there,” replied Charis, pointing toward the coach.

The seer went to the body, knelt down, and placed his hand against the queen’s cheek. “I am sorry, Briseis,” he murmured. ‘ ‘We saw but did not see… So blind… I should have seen this; I should have prevented it. A royal death… I thought… the High King’s…”He shook his head wearily. “I did not think there would be others. I was asleep… too long, too long.” Charis, standing near, began to sob.

He stiffened and turned abruptly, taking Charis by the shoulders. “No, Charis, there is no time for tears now.”

“I do not understand,” she cried. “I was picking flowers… I heard… I found her…” Her chin began to quiver.

“I know. But you must not think of yourself just now. There are others to tend to. We will mourn later; now there is work to do. I need you to help me with the wounded.”

She sniffed and wiped at her eyes, and together they began surveying the horrid scene, searching among the bodies, separating the living from the dead and administering what little aid they could.

Charis worked without thought, senses numb, her hands and feet moving to Annubi’s direction. She helped bind wounds and set broken bones-pulling here, holding there, lifting, tugging, wrapping, tying as Annubi instructed her. They were still so engaged when they heard the sound of horses on the road ahead.

“Hide yourself!” Annubi hissed.

Charis stood unmoving. The seer took her arm and spun her around. “Under the carriage. Quickly!”

At that moment a chariot flashed into view. Avallach, bleeding from wounds to his shoulder and chest, lit from the chariot and came toward them. Charis ran to him, throwing her arms around him. “Father, are you all right?”

Avallach disentangled himself and moved slowly to the queen’s carriage, stood a moment looking down, then knelt and gathered up the body of his wife. He carried his queen to the shaded place beneath the tree where they had been asleep before the attack; he lay her down gently and folded her hands over her breast.

Charis came to stand beside Mm and reached for his hand. “She came back for you,” said Avallach without looking at her. “She was safe but came back to find you.” He pulled his hand away.