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church had raised superstition to the very apex of art, and Father Aric was
one of its more skilled artisans, a disciplined practitioner of religious cant
and canon.
Dain debated whether to hold the pose until the priest exhausted either his
piety or his arm, and prudence won. The hour was not so late as to preclude
his hunt. He lowered his hands and moved on, but got no farther than the
corner of the hearth.
Numa blocked his path, her milk-white body trembling, her gaze fixed across
the flames and rising smoke to the far wall. Ragnor was there, and the bitch
liked him no better than any maid, yet it was unlike her to disobey merely to
indulge a fit of personal pique.
"Gå," he whispered, modulating his voice to make the command little more than
a breath.
When she hesitated, he looked once more across the fire, trying to discern
what held her so enthralled.
A pile of rags had been chained to the cresset, and it undoubtably contained
an urchin or, considering
Ragnor's vicinage, a virgin. Still, there were urchins aplenty in Wydehaw and
enough virgins if one gave the definition a broad range.
A swath of white-blond hair tangled in the small heap held his interest for a
moment. Then he moved on, a flick of his cloak against Numa's hock telling her
he would abide no more rebellion.
When he reached the foot of the dais, he found himself turning once again
toward the hearth. For a man compelled by very little besides his own whim,
that he turned at all surprised him. He blamed the deviant behavior on Numa's
unprecedented interest. The face he saw lifting from the pile of rags was
another surprise, and for that he had nothing to blame but an unknown facet of
his own nature. He hadn't realized he harbored a conviction that jewels should
be chained only when they were to be worn about the neck.
Pale blue eyes with the startling crystalline quality of gemstones peered out
at him from gamine features
streaked with blood and mud. Terror marked the maid's gaze, and though he took
pride in his ability to frighten the innocent and the not-so-innocent alike,
he was disconcerted by the girl's reaction. She would have to be made of
sterner stuff if she was to survive a night of Ragnor's attentions.
Dismissing the novelty of a new conviction which brought him up to a grand
total of two, possibly three he returned his attention to the lord and lady of
the manor. He was not above preying upon their more insidious weaknesses when
he had the strength, but he hunted other game this night. His friend, the
Welsh rebel Morgan ab Kynan, had been sighted in the mountains on the Coit
Wroneu, a month late by
Dain's reckoning, but no less welcome. Dain was in need of some good company
after the long winter, and Morgan and his band of men were companionship at
its best.
Also, rumors had been flying for months concerning their old friend, Caradoc,
whom some now called the Boar of Balor Keep an inauspicious name to Dain's way
of thinking. Most of what he had heard was either too fantastic or too
atrocious to hold more than a grain of truth, yet even in the grain there was
that which disturbed him. Morgan could be counted on to have winnowed the
wheat from the chaff.
Page 18
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"Lord D'Arbois, my lady," he addressed the pretty, young pair on the dais.
"Dain, good friend." Vivienne spoke, her voice coy and silky. "I pray our
request has not taken you away from more important concerns."
"I am always ready to serve, milady."
The briefest smile twisted Soren D'Arbois's mouth.
"Aye, 'tis one of your more endearing traits,sorcier, this willingness to
serve."
The lord and lady were a matched set, both high of brow and cheek, with
honeyed hair and fair faces.
Soren was more hawklike in the shape of his nose, but Vivienne's mouth held
the stronger streak of cruelty. Rumor said the old baron had married the blood
too close in the match of his eldest son. Looking upon the husband and wife,
Dain was inclined to believe the story.
"Willingness can be a virtue or a vice, Baron."
"The lady assures me 'tis not one of your vices," D'Arbois answered dryly,
lifting a goblet of wine in feigned salute. He drained the cup and wiped his
sleeve across his mouth. "But to business, Lavrans.
Ragnor has brought me a mystery."
"And I thought he hunted roe," Dain said, softly mocking.
"So he did," D'Arbois said. "The buck escaped, but not the doe." Pleased with
his accidental rhyme, the baron allowed a smile and gestured toward the
hearth. "Behold."
An anguished cry echoed through the hall. Dain turned to see Ragnor hauling
the girl up by the scruff of her neck and gown. Numa trembled at his side,
baring her teeth in a silent growl. To soothe her, Dain traced his finger
along the length of her muzzle.
Ragnor shook the girl, and she cried out again. Fresh blood seeped from the
long gash at her temple, making a garish stripe of red against the colorless
strands of her hair. Numa lifted a paw in readiness to attack. Dain swore
silently and motioned for Elixir to move to his left side and control the
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