Medieval 02 - Forbidden

curved. It wasn’t a pleasant smile.
    When the pilgrim saw Erik’s expression, the odor of greed gave way to the acrid scent of fear. The hounds stirred and snarled softly among themselves. The biggest of them stood and stretched, yawning widely, giving the nervous guest an excellent view of teeth sharply gleaming.
    “Stagkiller,” Erik said, “quit teasing it.”
    The hound’s jaws snapped shut. He scratched at the fragrant rushes with long, strong nails, turned around three times, and lay down.
    “Great lord,” the pilgrim said, stepping toward Erik.
    The hounds came to their feet in a single, lithe rush.
    “Come no closer,” Erik said calmly. “They smell fleas on you. They can’t abide the creatures.”
    Alfred began coughing, only to stop at an incisive glance from Erik.
    “Speak,” Erik said to the pilgrim.
    “I hear there be a reward for knowing of the Scots Hammer,” the man said.
    Erik nodded.
    The pilgrim darted a quick glance at Alfred.
    “You may leave,” Erik said to his knight.
    Alfred, on the edge of objecting, caught a slight motion of Erik’s dagger.
    “Yes, lord.”
    When the sound of Alfred’s boots had faded from the great hall, Erik gave the pilgrim a hooded glance that was chillingly like that of the peregrine.
    “Speak quickly and to the point, pilgrim .”
    “I be in the forest and hear a scream,” the man said in a rush, “and I run to see what passes and—”
    “In the forest?” Erik interrupted. “Where?”
    “Yonder a few hours’ walk.”
    Erik followed the direction of the man’s dirty finger.
    “Near the Stone Ring?” Erik asked.
    The pilgrim crossed himself nervously and started to spit on the floor, then thought better of it.
    “Aye,” he muttered.
    “What were you doing on my estate? In the forest . Have you a taste for venison, perhaps?”
    The smell of fear redoubled, making the hounds stir.
    “I be a pilgrim, lord, nae a poacher!”
    “Ah, you were on God’s mission, then,” Erik said gently.
    “Aye!” the man said, obviously relieved. “I be a right reverent son.”
    “Excellent. I’m always pleased to have reverent pilgrims on my estates rather than poachers or outlaws.”
    As Erik spoke, the falcon cocked her head and watched the man with unblinking, predatory eyes.
    “Continue,” Erik said. “You were in the forest, heard a scream, and ran to see what was happening?”
    “Uh, yes.”
    “And what was happening?”
    “Some ruffians come upon a man and a maid. They be checking the fit of the other’s stockings, if you take my meaning.”
    Tawny eyebrows lifted. “Aye.”
    “The ruffians sees the maid’s amber gems all shiny and—God’s bleeding wounds!”
    The peregrine’s shrill whistle had cut off the pilgrim’s words and brought the hounds to their feet.
    “The maid,” Erik said very gently, not looking away from the dirty guest. “Was she hurt?”
    “Nay, lord,” the man said hurriedly. “’Tis what I be trying to tell you.”
    “Did an outlaw lay hands upon her? Was she touched ?”
    “Uh…I…” The man swallowed. “She be dragged from her horse and cuffed a bit for sticking a dagger in the one what be taking her jewelry, ’tis all.”
    Erik closed his eyes for an instant, afraid that the false pilgrim would see what lay inside and flee before he finished his tale.
    “She was dragged from her horse,” Erik said with great gentleness. “And then?”
    “The man be dragged with her, but he lands on his feet and starts to swinging a hammer.”
    A cold smile etched the line of Erik’s mouth.
    “God blind me, but he be a wizard with that hammer,” the false pilgrim continued. “I sees right soon that I—er, the ruffians—be overmatched no matter that they be ten to his one.”
    Erik’s smile widened but became no warmer.
    “Then the maid sets to cursing in a heathen way and I sees that the ruffians got themselves that amber witch I hear talk of, the one what lives nearby this keep?”
    A nod was Erik’s only response.
    The outlaw let out a silent sigh of relief that the lord wasn’t going to ask any more uncomfortable questions.
    “Some of the ruffians goes around the man’s back to get under the hammer,” the false pilgrim said quickly. “Just before they has him, the witch yells and the warrior give a great leap up and turn around in the air and come down facing what his back be facing before and the hammer keep humming without a hitch and it all happen quicker than I be able to blink