Medieval 03 - Enchanted

find the baron’s weakness before
he finds ours.”
    “Are you so certain we have one?” Simon
asked.
    “Yes,” Dominic said. “As certain
as Deguerre is.”
    “In the name of God, what is it?”
Duncan demanded.
    “In the name of God, I
don’t know .”

30
    S ilently the four warriors watched
Baron Deguerre ride up to the keep.
    “Lower the bridge,” Dominic
ordered.
    Within moments the bridge creaked down to lie
across the moat. Deguerre rode over the planks without pausing.
Five men came with him.
    None of them wore chain mail or battle sword.
    “The Baron of Deguerre greets you,”

said one of the knights.
    Simon looked at the six men. Instantly he knew
which one was the baron. Like Geoffrey, the baron was as handsome
as a fallen angel. But unlike Geoffrey, there was nothing of
dissipation in Deguerre’s face. Intelligence and cruelty vied
equally to shape his expression.
    Simon found it hard to believe that his passionate
nightingale had come from such a cold man’s seed.
    “Lord Dominic of Blackthorne Keep greets
you,” Simon said neutrally.
    “Which is Lord Dominic?” demanded one
knight.
    “Which is Baron Deguerre?” Simon
returned sardonically.
    One of the knights rode forward until his horse
threatened to trample Simon into the planks of the bridge. Simon
stood in the middle of the bridge, legs braced against the wind,
unmoving but for the whipping of his mantle.
    “I am Baron Deguerre,” said the man who
looked like a fallen angel.
    Simon sensed a stir behind him. Dominic came tostand at his side. In the cloud-ridden night,
the crystal eyes of the Glendruid Wolf flashed eerily.
    “I am Lord Dominic.”
    “What is this nonsense about not wearing
swords within the keep?” the baron demanded.
    “The Glendruid Wolf,” Erik said from
the shadows beyond the torchlight, “prefers to celebrate
peace rather than war.”
    “Truly?” the baron asked in tones of
wonder. “How odd. Most men relish the test of
arms.”
    “My brother,” Simon said, “leaves
idle testing to others. It gives him more time to savor his many
victories.”
    “But when someone foolishly forces Lord
Dominic to take the field,” Duncan added from the shadows of
the gatehouse, “there is no more ruthless knight. Ask the
Reevers—if you can find someone to talk to the
dead.”
    Deguerre’s hooded glance moved from the two
brothers to the gatehouse, where Erik and Duncan waited.
    “I regret that I can’t offer better
hospitality for your knights than the stable,” Dominic said,
“but there wasn’t enough advance warning of your
coming.”
    “Indeed?” the baron murmured. “My
messenger must have gone astray.”
    Dominic smiled at the casual lie.
    “’Tis an easy thing to do in these
lands,” Dominic said. “As you will see, this is a place
where success lies with one’s alliances, rather than with
one’s own sword.”
    Dominic gestured to the men behind him. Erik and
Duncan stepped into the uncertain light.
    “These are two of my allies,” Dominic
said. “Lord Erik of Sea Home and Winterlance Keeps, and Lord
Duncan of Stone Ring Keep. Their presence, and that of their
knights, is why my hospitality must be limited.”
    With emotionless eyes that missed nothing, Deguerre
assessed the men standing in front of him. Most particularly his
glance lingered over the ancient wolf’s head pin on
Dominic’s mantle.
    “So,” Deguerre said beneath his breath.
“It has been found at last. I had heard rumors, but…ah,
well, there are other ancient treasures not yet found.”
    Deguerre’s glance cut to the man who both
wore and was the Glendruid Wolf, noting the match between
Dominic’s ice-pale eyes and the uncanny crystal of the
wolf’s eyes.
    “I accept your hospitality in the spirit in
which it is offered,” Deguerre said.
    “Harry,” Dominic said distinctly.
“Open the gate.”
    Moments later, six men rode through the gate. Simon
and Dominic flanked Deguerre the instant he dismounted.
    “You will find the lord’s solar more
congenial than the bailey,” Dominic said. “Your
quarters are being prepared. If you don’t object to sleeping
in a half-built room that is destined to be a
nursery…?”
    “Nursery,” Deguerre said, glancing
sideways at Dominic. “Then it is true. Your Glendruid witch
is increasing.”
    “My wife and I
have been blessed, aye.”
    Deguerre’s smile was as cold as the
cobblestones. “No offense intended, Lord Dominic. I, too,
married a witch and had