Medieval 02 - Forbidden

“I will put my seal to the decree setting aside Duncan’s marriage to Amber.”
    “In six days it won’t matter.”
    “Why?”
    “Why do you care, Wolf? War has been avoided.”
    Erik turned on his heel and stalked down the hall. Cassandra was waiting for him at the head of the stairway.
    Dominic watched as Erik took the Learned woman’s hands between his own. Though neither wept, their mourning was almost tangible. Uneasily Dominic looked back at Duncan.
    Duncan’s suffering has begun. Amber’s soon will end .
    The light…She took the light with her, Meggie .
    Abruptly Dominic was afraid that he knew what Cassandra had meant, and what Duncan’s suffering would be.
    It must not be allowed to happen.
    “Simon,” Dominic said sharply.
    “Aye. The war-horses?”
    “Yes. One of us should stay here.”
    “Is Meg riding?”
    Dominic looked over his shoulder. Meg was still kneeling next to Duncan, stroking his forehead. Tears were falling slowly down her cheeks. Duncan’s eyes were open, but he was seeing nothing except what he had lost.
    “Meg,” Dominic said gently.
    She looked up.
    “We’re going to put the hounds on Amber’s trail,” Dominic said. “If it ends in one of the ancient places, would you be able to pick the trail up again?”
    “If Old Gwyn were here, perhaps she could.” Meg looked down at Duncan. “I don’t know if I can. I do know that Duncan needs…something. And I am a Glendruid healer.”
    “Stay here and guard your wife,” Simon saidquickly to his brother. “She’s worth more than all of the Disputed Lands put together.”
    “What of your safety? Sven is still out in the countryside measuring the temper of the people.”
    “I’ll take Erik with me.”
    “He might attack you.”
    Simon’s smile was swift and savage. “That would be a pity, wouldn’t it?”
    Dominic gave a crack of laughter and said no more.
    Shouted orders went out. Soon three horses were thundering over the lowered drawbridge. Two were battle stallions ridden by knights in chain mail. Against all custom, one of those knights carried a peregrine on his wrist. The third horse was a white stallion ridden by a Learned woman whose long silver hair blew in the breeze without restraint.
    A single, large wolfhound waited on the far side of the bridge. There was no hound master in sight.
    “Just one hound?” Simon asked.
    “If there is a scent,” Erik said, “Stagkiller will find it. If the scent can be followed, he will follow it.”
    At an unseen signal from his master, Stagkiller began casting about for Amber’s scent. He found it in a thicket of willows fifty yards from the keep’s wall.
    “Exit from the bolt-hole?” Simon asked blandly.
    If Erik answered, it was lost in the deep baying of Stagkiller as he took to the scent trail. The rough-coated hound ran with the long, tireless strides of a wolf. The horses followed.
    Serfs and villeins looked up as the trio of horses galloped by. When the men saw Cassandra’s unbound hair, they crossed themselves and wondered who had been foolish enough to call down the wrath of the Learned.
    The horses galloped down the cart road until the trail cut to a lane that zigzagged between fields andcottages. Mud leaped from beneath the horses’ big hooves and stuck to the drystone fences that rose from the ground on both sides of the lane.
    Soon the last of the keep’s farmland lay behind. The forest began abruptly, looming up from the misty land in shades of pale bark and rich brown, lingering oranges and yellows and reds, and the startling evergreen fire of holly and ivy.
    Stagkiller coursed the scent with lean intensity, never easing the pace no matter what the terrain or vegetation. After a time, mist-wreathed hills rose all around and a brook glinted darkly as it snaked between hills.
    A long, low ridge of land lifted slowly beneath the horses’ feet. When they crested it, a circle of stones lay beyond. Nose to the ground, Stagkiller loped up to the ancient place.
    And then the hound stopped as though he had run into a wall.
    With a howl of disappointment, Stagkiller looked to his master. Erik sent the peregrine into the air with a swift movement of his arm.
    “Search,” he ordered the hound curtly.
    Stagkiller began casting for scent around the edges of the circle. It quickly became obvious that there was no scent to be found.
    “God’s teeth,” Simon snarled. “’Tis just like Blackthorne.”
    Cassandra gave him a curious look.
    “I tracked