Medieval 03 - Enchanted

excellent
teacher.”
    “Your wife?” Cassandra asked.
    Dominic nodded.
    “The rune stones say much the same as your
wife’s dreams,” Cassandra said. “Death stalks the
Disputed Lands.”
    “Death stalks all life.”
    The Learned woman smiled, but there was little
comfort in the cool curve of her lips.
    “Does that mean,” she asked,
“that you want no information about where death might first
strike?”
    “No. It means that we are having an early,
cold autumn that will likely be followed by a harsh winter in which
the weakest will die. It means that men have fought and died in the
Disputed Lands since long before the first Roman scribe scratched
words on parchment. It means—”
    “—that death is common,”
summarized Cassandra.
    “Let’s just say that prophesying death
in the near future takes no more skill than a rooster prophesying
dawn,” Dominic said neutrally.
    Cassandra laughed with genuine amusement,
surprising Dominic.
    “You and Simon share much in common,”
Cassandra said.
    “We are brothers.”
    “You are very stubborn clay.”
    “Then stop trying to mold us.”
    “I?” Cassandra asked. “I am but
clay myself. ’Tis God’s hand that shapes us, not
mine.”
    Dominic made a sound that could have meant anything
from agreement to displeasure.
    “When Sven returns with information about the
countryside, will you make certain that Erik is present?”
Cassandra asked. “Erik has a gift for taking odd incidents
and finding the pattern lying just beneath.”
    “Of course. Erik is Blackthorne’s ally,
just as Duncan is. Both have my confidence.”
    The sound of voices calling from the bailey seeped
into the great hall. Much more clearly came the clatter of shod
hooves over cobblestones as men rode across the bailey toward the
keep itself.
    A peregrine called from outside the building. The
falcon’s voice was high, sweet, and wild to the last pure
note.
    “Erik comes,” Cassandra said.
    Dominic didn’t doubt it. The call of
Erik’s peregrine was a sound not easily forgotten. No other
falcon sounded quite like it.
    A horse neighed and stamped impatiently. A steel
shod hoof rang on the cobblestone.
    “Sven comes,” Dominic said.
    Cassandra gave him an enigmatic look.
    “His was the only shod horse to go out this
morning,” Dominic said coolly. “A shod horse has just
crossed the bailey from the outer moat. Logic, not
witchery.”
    Cassandra’s smile was as enigmatic as her
silver eyes. “Each man believes that which comforts
him.”
    One of Dominic’s black eyebrows rose
questioningly.
    “For your comfort,” Cassandra said,
“let me assure you that Erik’s logic is far superior to most men’s in all
things save one.”
    “And that is?”
    “Understanding women.”
    Smiling, Dominic said, “’Tis reassuring
to know that Erik is more man than sorcerer.”
    “It would be more reassuring if he used his
head at all times,” Cassandra muttered.
    Before Dominic could reply, Sven and Erik came into
the great hall.
    “Where is Duncan?” Erik asked.
    “Checking the armory,” Dominic said.
“He wasn’t satisfied with the steward’s
inventory.”
    “We may need every blade and then
some,” Erik said. “There are outlaws nearby.”
    “Enough to threaten the keep?” Dominic
asked instantly.
    Erik shook his head.
    “Not yet,” Sven said. “But three
of the outlaws ride shod horses. From the size and depth of the
tracks, I would swear they are battle stallions carrying knights in
chain mail.”
    “What else did you discover?” Dominic
demanded.
    “They are renegades. They attacked the
household train of a northern lord who was traveling to his winter
manor.”
    Dominic grimaced and said sardonically, “A
brave knight indeed, to attack servants, children and kitchen
goods.”
    “Fortunately, the lord’s own knights
came back to check on the progress of the train,” Sven said.

“At least, that’s what it seemed from the
tracks.”
    “It fit the pattern,” Erik said.
    “Pattern?” Cassandra asked sharply.
    “Rumors have come from Sea Home in the past
few days,” Erik said. “Rumors of a knight who fights
for Satan rather than Christ.”
    “What does this knight look like? For which
lord does he ride?”
    Sven shook his head. “None. ’Tis said
that the design on his shield was burned off in the very fires of
hell.”
    “More likely he destroyed the design
himself,” Dominic said. “If word got back to his true
lord, he would be hunted down