Medieval 03 - Enchanted

tactician,” Simon said.
    “Deguerre or Dominic?” Duncan asked
dryly.
    “Deguerre,” said Dominic.
    “Dominic,” said Simon.
    The Glendruid Wolf smiled sardonically.
    The four men stepped into the bailey. Ice gleamed
sullenly in the backlash of torchlight.
    “Erik,” Dominic said, “I ask you
to conceal your cleverness. Let Deguerre think you
are…”
    “Stupid?” Erik suggested.
    “That would be too much to hope,”
Dominic retorted. “Deguerre is diabolically shrewd. But if
you are silent, there is at least a chance of surprising him with
the clarity of your mind.”
    Erik smiled like a wolf. “I didn’t
think you had noticed.”
    Simon swallowed laughter as he picked his way
across slick cobblestones. Erik’s ability to see patterns
where others saw only chaos had set the Glendruid Wolf and the
Learned sorcerer at one another’s throats more than once.
    To Dominic, Erik was very much a double-edged
sword. Yet Dominic could not help but respect the younger
man’s courage and uncanny mind.
    When the four men were close to the gatehouse,
Harry the Lame pushed open the door. Inside, a fire in the brazier
burned like a great orange eye set amid an ebony chill.
    “Do you think Deguerre will surrender his
arms?” Duncan asked as he stepped into the gatehouse.
    “Why shouldn’t he?” Simon asked
blandly. “You and your knights did. So did Erik and his
knights. Neither of you owes fealty to Dominic. Particularly the
sorcerer.”
    “Aye,” Erik said under his breath.

“The Glendruid Wolf has given me nothing but
trouble.”
    “Thank you,” murmured Dominic. “I
didn’t think you had noticed.”
    “What if Deguerre doesn’t accept the
ban?” Erik asked, ignoring Dominic.
    “Then he sleeps in the fields with ice for
his pillow and wind for his blanket,” Simon said.
    “You sound as though you relish the
prospect,” Dominic said.
    “I would prefer the baron slept in hell with
his beloved swine-knight than in the clean fields of Blackthorne
Keep,” Simon said.
    Dominic gave his younger brother a wary look.
    “Have no fear,” Simon said tightly.
“I am yours to command, so long as it doesn’t add to
what Ariane has already suffered.”
    Duncan and Erik exchanged a glance in the wavering
torchlight. It was the first time either man had heard Simon put a
boundary on his loyalty to the Glendruid Wolf.
    “And if more suffering is required?”
Dominic asked.
    “Then, Glendruid Wolf, you had best restrain
me more carefully than before. I find I am fed to the teeth with
men who would torment a helpless nightingale.”
    “Not quite helpless,” Dominic said
dryly. “You saw the marks upon Geoffrey’s
face.”
    “Aye,” Duncan muttered. “Lady
Ariane must have fingernails like daggers.”
    “Not nails,” Erik said. “A dress
from the most accomplished weaver the Silverfells clan has ever
produced.”
    “What do you mean?” Simon asked.
    “Serena’s weaving responds to Ariane as
though she were an ancient Learned warrior commanding skills we
have long since lost,” Erik said.
    “Explain,” Dominic said bluntly.
    “For Ariane, the dress is armor and weapon
both. I wonder if Cassandra foresaw that.”
    “Just as you are wondering how you can use it
to your advantage,” Duncan said rather grimly.
    As much as Duncan liked Amber’s brother,
Duncan hadn’t forgotten who had set in motion the dangerous
events that had ended with Duncan betrothed to one woman, married
to another, and foresworn in the bargain.
    “To my advantage?” Erik challenged softly. “Nay. To the
advantage of the Disputed Lands. Like the Glendruid Wolf, I prefer
peace to war.”
    The sound of many horses trotting toward the keep
made the four men look at one another.
    “A pity Deguerre isn’t a peaceful
lord,” Erik said. “How many fighting men does he have
with him?”
    “I shall know when Sven returns,”
Dominic said.
    “Ah, yes. The Ghost. I could use a man like
him,” Erik said. “There are places in the Disputed
Lands that are…closed…to me.”
    “Should we manage to blunt Deguerre’s
sword, you may have Sven with my blessing. And his,” Dominic
added dryly. “Peace bores him.”
    “Lord,” Harry said. “A knight
comes.”
    “Alone?”
    “Aye.”
    A chill moved through Simon.
    “’Tis more like a parley between
enemies than a visit from a father-in-law,” Duncan said under
his breath.
    “Simon,” Dominic said. “Can you
control your temper long enough to speak for