Medieval 03 - Enchanted

“’Tis the talk of the land, the love of
wolf and witch. Will you eat and drink?”
    As Simon spoke, he gestured toward the lord’s
table. The servants had been hurrying back and forth, heaping
dishes up until the table fairly buckled beneath the bounty.
    Deguerre cataloged the food with a single
glance.
    “Much more has been sent out to your
men,” Simon said. “I hope it will be enough. No one
seems to know how many retainers are with you.”
    “I would not have you cut into your winter
stores,” Deguerre said.
    “There is no danger of that,” Meg said,
turning back to her guest. “This was the best harvest in
memory.”
    “And all of it lies safely within the
keep’s walls,” Simon added smoothly.
    “How fortunate for you,” the baron
said. “Many keeps to the south of you suffered from untimely
rains. For them, winter will be a season of trial and
famine.”
    “Blackthorne has been singularly
blessed,” Dominic agreed.
    Deguerre grunted.
    Silently Dominic waited to parry the baron’s
next thrust as Deguerre probed for weaknesses within Blackthorne
Keep.
    “I expected a favored knight of mine to greet
me here,” Deguerre said, turning to confront Simon.
    A stillness went through the lord’s solar.
Deguerre appeared not to notice.
    “The knight is a very great favorite of my
daughter’s,” the baron added, looking meaningfully at
Ariane. “Is our well-loved Geoffrey here,
daughter?”
    “Aye,” Simon said before Ariane could
answer.
    “Send for him,” the baron said to
Simon.
    “I have sent your Geoffrey to his last
place.”
    Deguerre’s eyes changed, focusing on Simon
with tangible intensity.
    “Explain yourself,” the baron said
curtly.
    Simon smiled and said nothing.
    “’Tis simple,” Dominic said in a
casual tone. “Geoffrey is dead.”
    “Dead! When? How? I have heard nothing of
this!”
    Dominic shrugged. “’Tis true all the
same.”
    “God’s blood,” Deguerre muttered.
“I heard there was illness and men died, but not
Geoffrey.”
    “Aye,” Ariane said. “There was
illness. Only a handful survived.”
    “Where are they?” Deguerre asked.
    Simon smiled coldly. “I suspect I killed two
of them in the Disputed Lands, and wounded the others. Perhaps they
died, too. Geoffrey the Fair died today, at Blackthorne Keep, by my
hand.”
    Deguerre’s face became as expressionless as a
blade.
    “You are very free with the lives of my
knights,” Deguerre said calmly.
    “When I killed all but Geoffrey,” Simon
said, “they were outlaws wearing no lord’s mark on
their shields.”
    Deguerre’s black eyebrows rose for a
moment.
    “And Geoffrey?” the baron asked
scornfully. “Did you call him outlaw, too?”
    “I could have. He admitted to it before he
died. But before he approached Blackthorne Keep, he painted your
device on his shield again.”
    For a time there was silence. Then Deguerre
grimaced, hissed something beneath his breath, and accepted the
loss of an ally within Blackthorne Keep.
    “A pity,” the baron said. “The
lad had promise.”
    “Rest easy. His promise is being kept in
hell,” Simon assured him. “What of you, baron? Have you
any promises you haven’t kept?”
    “None.”
    “Indeed?” Dominic asked sardonically.

“What of Ariane’s dowry?”
    “What of it?” the baron asked.
    “The chests were filled with rocks, dirt, and
rotting flour.”
    Deguerre froze in the act of adjusting his
mantle.
    “What did you say?” the baron
demanded.
    Dominic and Simon looked at one another, then at
Duncan. Grimly Duncan turned and left the solar, knowing that his
wife would be needed once more.
    Black eyes narrowed, Simon looked back at
Deguerre.
    “’Tis quite simple,” Simon said.
“When the chests were opened, they contained nothing of
worth.”
    “They left my estates filled with a ransom
fit for a princess,” Deguerre retorted.
    “So you have said.”
    “Are you questioning my word?” Deguerre
asked silkily.
    “Nay. I am simply telling you what occurred
when the chests were opened.”
    “What did Geoffrey say when he saw the empty
chests?” Deguerre asked.
    “He wasn’t present,” Simon
said.
    “Who of my men was?”
    “No one,” Simon said in sardonic tones.
“Your fine knights dropped Ariane at Blackthorne Keep and
bolted without so much as taking a cup of ale.”
    “More and more remarkable,” the baron
murmured. “What of my seals on the chests?”
    “Intact,” Dominic said