Second Sunday after Michaelmas, 1198

The halls were like cathedrals, the courtyards vast and the ramparts as if built for giants, but the frozen castle was peopled only by echoes. No light shone, no sounds of a household, even one at sleep, met the ear. Only a rustling of an unfelt breeze through the deadened ivy about the gate welcomed them.

“And yet we are not alone,” Stephan whispered as they passed through yet another churchlike hall. The doors and passageways were of such a size that they had even their mounts with them, though the steps and scant furnishings indicated owners of earthly stature. Michi nodded; they had been tailed by a furtive shadow since entering the castle. When it was pointed out to Gaspard, the magus called to the shape: “Siocán, come forward!” After a moment a small form detached itself from the deep shadows about a column and moved slowly forward: like a young dark-haired lad, only smaller, crested in crystalline wings, and naked in the cold. “What is this place?” Gaspard demanded.

Siocán stood hunched, glancing furtively about. His voice was little more than a whisper. “His castle, kind Man,” he said. “The Horned Man. My mistress he has taken.” Michi interrupted: “The Huntress? Where is she now?” Siocán answered that she was further within, and they continued forward.

They found neither the Huntress nor the Horned Man, but instead another magus. Though the man was bathed in a magical light, his face was obscured by a swirling darkness that revealed only a single huge, penetrating eye. “You are a prisoner of this realm. Give me the fraction now or be destroyed here,” he commanded. “We know of no such thing,” Gaspard replied. “If that is your answer, so be it,” the magus said, and then the Horned Man made his appearance. He stood half again the height of a tall man, on furred legs ending in cloven hooves. His head was crowned with a massive rack of antlers, and though its form showed elk-like in silhouette, even as he passed through the magus’s light his face remained shrouded in darkness, as if a shape in the night. Only the reddish glow of his eyes and the misty huff of his breath could be discerned.

The Horned man raised a hand toward Michi, and the latter was instantly encased in a sheath of ice a hand or more in thickness and as hard as granite. Gaspard called upon his magic and Stephan, upon Renfrogne, charged the magus, but one by one they were each of them encased. Madeleine appealed to the Horned Man—“why do you do this man’s bidding here in your own realm?”—but though he cast a dark look toward the magus, nonetheless she too was imprisoned in an icy grasp.

The dark-shrouded magus approached Gaspard, melting a gap in the ice to pull free the purse with the black gem. “This is Callidus’s!” the magus exclaimed. “Where is yours? Where is the Triamore fraction?” When Gaspard wouldn’t cooperate, the magus briefly examined the others. “We’ll start with this one,” he said, indicating Cyril. “He reeks of fear.” There was a rustle among the vines about a nearby column as they twisted themselves into a slender, woman-like form. The Horned Man released Cyril from his ice and the woman of vines pulled him away. The magus and the Horned Man followed.

Gaspard drew heat to melt the ice away from himself. He was about to free the others when the woman of vines returned. Just as she was about to call the alarm, Siocán emerged from the darkness, casting a glamour that lowered her into a sleepy trance. Gaspard freed his comrades. “We must find Cyril!” Stephan said. “But surely the Horned Man will freeze us again just as quickly,” Madeleine responded. “Maybe the Huntress can deal with him,” said Michi. “The little guy can lead us to her, and then she’ll help us get Cyril.”

Cautiously, wary of any more hidden guardians, they crept further into the castle. They found the Huntress in a high chamber, frozen as if of stone. “How do we free her?” Michi asked. “Do you not know?” Siocán replied. Stephan turned upon the pixie. “Tell us how to free her or I’ll kill you!” he said, roughly grabbing Siocán. “I have no key!” Siocán replied desperately. “Only the Horned Man has the key—or the Black Annis!”

The weeks around Michaelmas, 1198

The letter was delivered by a lad from Liege. An Imperial messenger on his way to Bruges had left the letter with a merchant headed for Arbois, and he in turn had had his boy deliver it to Bois de Haillot when visiting the nearby manor. It was a large parchment, its wax seal as heavy as it was ornate.

Daria was uninterested, simply waving it off at Gaspard and Madeleine. “Frederick Hohenstaufen Rex Regis Sicily,” Madeleine read. “Imperator Nomine tenus Romanorum. Emperor Nominee of the Romans. It is a letter from the Frederick, the man who will be Holy Roman Emperor!” The letter, signed in his very hand, summoned Daria to Swabisch-Hall, the seat of the Hohenstaufens and the site of many of Frederick Barbarossa’s courts. “To discuss your position and that of your order in my court,” Madeleine translated.

Daria could not be convinced to make the trip, so Gaspard and Madeleine set out within the week, taking Stephan, Michi, and Celestine, along with Cyril, Gigot, and Wart. The journey to Swabia would take several weeks.

The harvest was in its latter days as they left Bois de Haillot and entered Luxembourg. The weather favoured them but the luck of the road did not, and they passed Michaelmas in a German town many days behind their intended schedule. It was just a day or two beyond that when they met the magus.

“Well met!” he greeted them when he recognized one of his own. His name was Blaise and he had come from his covenant of Hölhe Glänzend south of Munich on his way to Ghent to purchase lab supplies. He travelled alone, with just three armsmen in trail.

They shared lunch and Gaspard and the magus discussed the news of their order. Blaise had heard about Etien’s assault on the covenant and cheered them on, but warned of another visit from the Quaesitori. Blaise’s armsmen sat sullenly apart. “If he is from Germany,” Wart whispered to Gigot, “why do his men mutter to each other in Italian?”

The lunch ended and Blaise rose to continue his journey. But as he returned to his men Gigot suddenly cried out and charged, drawing his sword. The foreign armsmen had weapons at hand, and Blaise was calling up a spell as he turned on Gaspard. But they had lost their surprise, and the combined force of Gigot, Stephan, and Michi quickly forced them into a defensive knot around their magus. Blaise produced a small block of wood, ornately decorated, and cast it on the ground before him where it burst into flame. Seeing an opportunity, Wart thrust one of the armsmen into the fire. But rather than burst into flame, the man disappeared in a green flash when the fire enveloped him. “The magus seeks escape!” Michi cried, leaping forward and striking the mage before Blaise could step into the fire. The blow cleft the magus’s skull clean in two, and the treachor fell to the ground. Their master defeated, the remaining armsmen were quickly overcome.

“A black gem!” Madeleine said, “Just like the magus who attacked us at the Robber Baron’s keep.” The irregular black rock, like a small lump of coal, hung on an ornate chain around the corpse’s neck. Gaspard took it from the body and placed it in a purse. “What did he want?” Michi asked. “I’ll ask,” Gaspard answered, calling to his magic. “Spirit of this slain man, I call you across the black gate. What is your name?” “Callidus,” came the whispered answer. The spirit was evasive, but when pressed confessed the nature of the black gem. “In the East was kept the head of Saint John. This is a fraction of it, but it carries great power.”

Three days later the party reached the town of Bad Füssen, nestled tight against the wooded hills at the feet of the white wall of the Alps. The season was late, and few guides were taking parties into the passes. A Swabian named Lenhard agreed to lead them by the high road, the weather still holding clear, to save nine days over the lower pass. They spent the first evening in a monastery on the brink of sheer valley—by the next night they would gain a sheltered shrine in the pass, and would be descending into Swabia on the third day.

“Nearly there,” Lenhard told them the following afternoon, “Another two hours, maybe three.” But he kept looking over his shoulder, where dark clouds were piling up. Within an hour the storm reached them, and they were soon engulfed in blinding sheets of snow and bitter wind. The light was failing, and the way back was six hours at least along the edge of a precipitous chasm. “We go on,” Lenhard pleaded. “There is shelter and firewood at the shrine—another hour perhaps!”

But the way was blocked. A wall of darkness loomed across the path. Thorns, thickly layered in windblown snow, forming a wall five paces high and extending as far as could be seen to either side. “Is this usually here?” Madeleine asked, but Lenhard only shook his head with a worried look. “Well if we stay here we’ll quickly freeze,” Michi said, and Gaspard cast a lance of flame to burn a hole through the thorns. The path continued beyond. “A faerie realm?” Michi asked, to which Gaspard simply shrugged.

The storm quickly fell away, though the air was if anything colder. The party crunched through a thin layer of frost and snow as stars found their way through the parting clouds above. Suddenly Stephan stopped with a gasp.

Ahead, limned in frost and moonlight, the trail was straddled by a castle of gargantuan proportion.

Lammas, 1198

Lammas day dawned cloudless and hot. At Prime Michi brought his horse from the stable and saddled up for more practice at the quintain. The animal was one of several taken in the battle, and Michi had named it Etien—more accurately, he had given the name only to the animal’s hindquarters, leaving the rest of it anonymous. Michi was a poor horseman by the standards of Stephan or Johannes, and was still much more formidable on foot, but he could be no knight if he could not ride.

The castle was alive with cheerful giggles and hearty back-slaps in anticipation of the day’s events, as Madeleine made a round of the doors and windows, pouring salt and posting other wards. At Terce she sought out Michi and dragged him into the solar for a bath. Gaspard was found hiding in a tree, and it took the efforts of Stephan and several of the turb to get him out.

The household gathered in the great hall at Sext, where Michi gave his oath before Stephan: “I here swear solemnly by Almighty God and His name fealty and due homage to the Holy Roman Emperor; to ever be a good knight and true, reverent and generous, shield of the weak, obedient to my liege-lady, foremost in battle, and courteous at all times. I swear too by all that is holy and dear unto me, to aid those less fortunate than I, to relieve the distress of the world, to champion the right and good, and to fulfil my knightly obligations. Thus swear I, Michael of Bois de Haillot.” And Stephan then made him a knight, and presented him with a new shield decorated with a colourful flaming sword.

The entire household then walked the half-mile to the church, where half the village was waiting about the steps. Stephan and Pere Hugo had brief words, then Morris came forward with Celestine, blushing under a weight of summer flowers, on his arm. The wedding ceremony, held on the porch under the hot sun, was brief, then all who could crammed into the church for mass.

The wedding feast kicked off at Nones, held in the castle bailey where just five or six weeks before the feast of Saint John had led to the betrothal. Madeleine had ordered fine cakes from Liege, and there were casks of wine from the Champagne and many a butt of ale from the village. The day was still hot and clear, but towering clouds were piling up on the western horizon.

At Vespers Michi and Celestine returned to the village, trailed by a parade of onlookers, to tour five or six repaired and rebuilt homes for the luck of the households and themselves. When they returned to the castle they were called into the great hall for the presentation of the dowry and wedding gifts: a brass-bound chest from Morris and an embroidered blanket from Beatrice and the household; a fine sword belt from Hugh; a pair of gold and pearl earrings from Isabel and an illuminated book of poems by Effugio from Richildis. And from Daria a gold cross with four rubies for Celestine, blessed personally by the Cardinal Bishop of Westphalia, along with the dowry of 30 shillings.

Shortly thereafter Michi and Stephan helped Gaspard investigate a man in verdegris armour, whom the magus had seen watching the castle from the forest. They found no sign of the onlooker.

At Compline Michi and Celestine retired to their room, a tower chamber off of Gaspard’s laboratory. The room had been decked out with garlands of lavender, rosemary, and thyme. In the bailey the feast continued, with courting couples—along with a few others—jumping the bonfire. Events were brought to a premature end by a torrential thunderstorm.

Feast of Saint John, 1198

Midsummer’s night—always a time of idle plays and japes, carolings, the making of fool countenances, smiting, wrestling, dice, football, blind-man’s buff, bowling, cockfighting, and baiting. This year the villagers had spent four days burying their dead and tending their dying, repairing their homes and hedgerows, and counting their losses in the fields. Little of the village had burned, and though the crops were trampled in places the damages were slight. It might be a hard winter, but famine was unlikely. And now that the shock of battle was passing, the feast would surely be one to remember.

The festivities began in the afternoon after mass. The bailey rang with shouts and laughter throughout the afternoon, with events moving to the village green for the evening bonfire. Stephan beat all comers—even Michi—at arm-wrestling, while Michi took honours at the footrace. Madeleine spent the first half of the day attempting to interest Celestine in Gigot. Gaspard set to entertaining children with stories of their exploits, augmented by his illusions, but the imagery frightened the smaller children and the effort soon failed.

Michi was comforting Gaspard when an idea struck him. “Why don’t you make me up ta look like the lady, there, and I’ll tell a few stories!” Gaspard complied, and Michi immediately set about the tables, mimicking Lady Madeleine’s voice as best he was able to any who would hear him. His comments and propositions hardly befit the lady, though, and it wasn’t long before Madeleine found him out. She marched him back to Gaspard. “You change him back this minute!” But Gaspard became confused, and soon it was Madeleine looking like Michi, and the latter still like the lady. Even more confused now over who was whom, Gaspard plied his magic once more and gave each the voice of the other.

Much bickering ensued, to the further confusion of Gaspard and great amusement of a somewhat tipsy Stephan. The spells would defuse by daybreak, but until then it was agreed that laying low would best serve everyone.

A tearful Celestine, her tongue perhaps a bit ale-loosened, found the ostensible Lady Madeleine in the library. “Why does Michi claim to be married?” she asked. “Everyone knows no faerie can enter a church—so how could he really be married to a Fey lady?” Michi, in Madeleine’s guise, could only dissemble in horror. “You don’t think—“ Celestine’s tears ran heavier. “You don’t think he prefers the company of boys?” The false Madeleine was rescued by the false Michi, who suggested it might be time for Celestine to retire. But that brought up a conundrum: Like most servants, Celestine slept in her mistress’s bed. Would she go to bed with Madeleine and wake up with Michi, or go to bed with Michi and wake up with Madeleine?

When the erstwhile Michi made another attempt to steer Celestine toward Gigot, Stephan intervened. “Why are you so concerned to see her into a man’s bed?” The false Michi was taken aback, but eventually, out of Celestine’s earshot, confessed her agenda: “Celestine’s abduction at Vikten was no coincidence. When we returned, Lady Daria told me that Celestine’s father belonged to a black mass. He conceived her under infernal guidance—for no other reason than to be murdered in a ritual. But her mother sent the infant away in secret with her maid, and they ended up here. Now it seems they know who and where she is!” The others were shocked, but Stephan pressed: “What does that have to do with Gigot?” “Celestine is of use only as a child—an innocent. Once she is married and no longer a maiden, they will not come after her. So we believe. Daria commanded me to arrange her marriage—and quickly.” The false Michi seemed close to despair. “But Cyril is too young and Johannes is too old. She has no eye for Stephan, and I cannot get Gigot to even see her.” Madeleine spoke next: “Why just those few—surely she could have her choice of the manor’s young men?” There was a lengthy pause. “Because her father was Robert of Poitiers. A nephew of Eleanor. Of Aquitaine. She is a bastard, got on Robert’s mistress, but she is of the blood of Richard Coeur de Lion. Daria will not have her marry a village boy, and neither will I.”

There was quite a silence. Then Stephan said, “And her eyes are only on Michi. The one she always goes to when she needs a cask lifted or a horse brought out. The one who cut her from the cross in the pit at Vikten.” He crossed himself as all eyes turned toward the false Madeleine.

“Michi is an accomplished warrior and a hero of Etien’s attack,” Stephan said after a moment. “With Daria’s blessing I could make him a knight, and no man could say I was wrong to do so.”

The false Madeleine looked over her shoulder, as if Fey spies might be about them even then. “Have you forgotten that I am already married?” But the actual Madeleine turned to Gaspard. “What of this faerie marriage? Is it real?” Gaspard shrugged. “There was a feast of some kind. It might have been a wedding. Somebody’s, I suppose.” “There you have it,” the false Michi said. “For no comprehensible reason the girl is in love with you, despite your faerie delusions. I know you have eyes for her. And now Stephan will make you a knight. What of it?”

The next day, flowers in hand, a restored Michi stumbled through his first day of courtship with a delighted Celestine.

Friday before the Feast of Saint John, 1198

Vraagen’s visage was a death mask, but more than just the way he moved with a semblance of life, a great fear seemed to flow from him like a miasma. Madeleine swooned, and Gaspard fell to his knees, clutching his face and screaming. The creature commanded Daria to be still, but it had no hold on her, and with a blaze of fire the maga scorched a broad circle into the floor. But Vraagen had been a magus once, and he rushed the circle before Daria could cast a ward upon it.

Stephan, bruised and cut, threw himself in the creature’s path before it reached the prima, while Michi blocked the course of the lesser creatures. The things fought with strength they had never had in life, but Vraagen’s power was not in melee, and Daria’s spells leached the force from its attacks. Soon the creature fell to its knees, and the fighters moved in quickly, dismembering the corpse. Daria stepped over and pulled the aegis token from its crumbling neck.

“He made me do it!” Gaspard cried, arms around his knees. Cyril tearfully relayed how he had met the creature in the hog wood on one of his pre-attack errands, and it had taken control of his mind. He had fetched Gasard to Bar du Sud under false pretences, all the while knowing what he was doing, but all the while unable to stop himself. There the creature had made the magus his thrall. “I stole the aegis token, and awaited his further commands,” Gaspard said. “He bade me hide my role from everyone, and I could not but comply!” “But why? What did it want?” Michi asked. “Vengeance upon those who interred it?” Madeleine responded. “He was of Daria’s house. The better question is why the Count’s soldier dug him up.”

In the hall, Juliana begged to be sent back. “If I stay, the Count will not have to trump up grievance against you. And if I do not return soon to the camp soon, I will be missed. Let me return with him—but we will meet again!”

Etien had lost three knights and dozens of men; those remaining were dissipating into the night, chased by mobs of villagers, and could not be rallied. By the time dawn arrived the Count’s camp was broken and his train headed for Arbois and back to Frois Pont. “He underestimated us and did not plan a sufficient assault,” Johannes assessed the situation. “He won’t do so again, but I doubt he’ll be able to raise a large enough force to return before the end of summer.”

End of Chapter Three

Friday before the Feast of St. John, 1198

“Who else has committed high treason against the Holy Roman Emperor and his rightful vassal in this manor? Who else has bargained the lives of his comrades for a handful of the Count’s silver?” Daria stared at the two cotters. The great hall was silent; even the mice in the rushes had gone still.

Diederick, one of the village yeomen, had brought in Staas. “I caught him in the forest with three of the Count’s soldiers,” he had explained. “He was guiding as they marked a path. The soldiers fled, but this one was not so fleet of foot.” Staas’s cousin Erich was also brought in. He confessed to taking silver to sour the castle well, but found he didn’t have the stomach to complete the task.

“The punishment for high treason, by the immutable laws of the Holy Roman Empire, is dispossession, torture, and dismemberment,” Daria continued, her voice low. “By right I should have your eyes gouged, your tongue rent from your throat, and every bone in your feet broken one by one before I have you drawn and quartered. But there is not time.” She turned to other business, waving dismissively. “Hang him. Not here—down in the village.”

A crowd had gathered by the time Staas was dragged behind Stephan’s great destrier to the old oak by the green. Staas had lain at the center of many a village dispute over the years, and traitors are hated by all. But troubled times breed troubled minds, and the Count had worked hard to sway the villagers’ loyalties. “The Count is strong, and they say he will bring a real army,” Erich had said, before Daria dispossessed and exiled him. “He tells everyone he will put a new lord in the castle, and many believe him!” Indeed, a furtive mumble passed through the assembled villagers, and many a brow was creased.

And then there was Etien, surrounded by his men, watching and jeering from the edge of his camp. Stephan rode calmly into the center of the green, high in his saddle, and fixed the crowd in his eye. “Villeins of Bois de Haillot! We are each of us, from your Lady Daria to the poorest cotter on this manor, and all between, vassals of the Holy Roman Emperor. We are all bound to his law, and we all owe our allegiance to him. Soon it may come to be that we will have to account for our duties with our very lives.” Here he was interrupted by hoots and cries from the Count’s camp, but a steely glare in that direction quieted them. “I will be the first to defend our homes and our honour,” Stephan continued, looking from villager to villager, then sweeping his arm back toward Gaspard and Madeleine, “as will all those from the castle. No amount of silver will sway us from our duty.” He lowered his voice. “If there are any here who would shirk from that duty, let him now speak.” The crowd was silent, then one man stepped forward and spat on Staas. Another hissed, and others scrambled for dung and stones to throw at the hapless traitor. Michi swung the rope over a branch and fixed the noose around Staas’s neck. He hoisted it with a merciful jerk.

Etien scowled as the villagers jeered the hanging man, his eye meeting Stephan’s for a moment as the knight turned back toward the castle.

The rest of the day was spent in preparation. With the Count inciting treason—even the poisoning of the well—it seemed clear he did not intend to depart without control of the castle, however gained. The levies were drawn up and armed; the remaining villagers called to the castle. After much debate, Daria agreed that their duty to hold the Emperor’s fief superseded the terms of their Imperial charter (which forbade the improvement of the castle), and raised stone along the never-finished perimeter of the bailey wall.

The Count’s attack came late, after Compline, with a hail of arrows from the dark as a ram was run up to the newly-restored gatehouse door. An intense exchange drove the attackers back with the gate unbreached, but it was a feint only, and a further assault drove at the broad flank of the bailey wall. That very morning a man might have scrambled through the gaps, but Etien had not counted on that; the attackers had ladders and soon gained the wall. They were trained men, and fierce, and eager for easy glory against a pathetic cadre of untrained and poorly armed defenders. They cut easily through the levy, slicking the wall-walk with blood, but the defenders had determination and numbers on their side.

The din of fighting was drawing down when Madeleine cocked her ear. “A woman calls out—beyond the walls!” Below, just emerged from the brush of the surrounding forest, Lady Juliana struggled against a pair of soldiers. Stephan was over the wall in an instant, Michi, Gaspard, and Madeleine just behind. They cut quickly through the attackers and pulled Juliana back to the shadows of the curtain wall. “Why are you here?” Stephan demanded. “I had to warn you,” Juliana replied. “My lord Etien has built ladders in secret—tall ladders; much bigger than these.” They scrambled back into the castle and deposited Juliana in the hall with Daria and Johannes before climbing up to the roof of the keep.

They were just in time. The keep had never been finished above the second floor, and the uncrenellated walls offered little protection against the rain of arrows decimating the small contingent of levy stationed there. But that was coming to an end, as the Count’s soldiers were planting their long ladders and beginning to climb. Michi and Stephan rushed to the wall, but the attackers were already pouring over, led by the knight Geert. Etien’s man fought like his namesake, tenaciously and with no concern for his injuries, and by the time Stephan had dropped him another dozen men had gained the wall.

It was a true melee. Men fell screaming to their death, while others met axe or sword. The rotting floorboards ran slick with blood and offal, and everywhere was the din of steel on steel, of screams and shouts. Daria appeared, and her command of the winds blasted a handful of attackers from the wall. Michi and Madeleine forced over the last of the ladders, and slowly, finally, the fight came to an end.

And in the quiet that followed there was a rasping, cough-like laugh. Everyone turned. On the wall opposite, above the cliff face looking down upon the Meuse, a figure tottered into the meagre torchlight. Like Thorold, its flesh was the colour of brick, but thin and papery, stretched taut over near fleshless bone. It was dressed ancient opulence, robes embroidered heavily in the arcane symbols of the Order of Hermes. It stepped forward, pointing at Daria, while two more creatures, red and bloated and once soldiers of the Count, crawled over the wall behind it. Around its neck, on a simple leather thong, swung a fired clay disk with the mark of Triamore--an aegis token; the same key given visiting magi so that their magics might not be hindered by the covenant's protective spells. The most closely guarded of Triamore's treasures, and the key to unlock all its defenses.

Thursday before the Feast of Saint John, 1198

The bailey was alive with activity--a castle's preparations for war--so the peasant was little regarded as he made his way over to approach Stephan. Hat in hand, he held out a small square of folded paper. "Who from?" the knight demanded. "The lady, in the encampment," the villager stammered before taking a quick leave. Stephan regarded it, then unfolded the vellum. The hand within was neat, but it might as well have been Aramaic: Stephan could not read.

He found Madeleine in the library. "From the Lady Juliana," she confirmed, then looked sheepish. "It is supposed to be a secret, for you alone." "Just read it," Stephan replied. "She says she will ride in the hog wood at Sext, and asks that you find her there, alone. She will have only her maid." Stephan studied the stonework at the far side of the library. A message, a love letter—or a trap of some sort. "I do not trust her," Lady Madeleine opined. "Maybe we should talk to Gaspard."

The found Michi outside Gaspard's door. "There's somethin' wrong with Gaspard," he said. "He went out last night and was gone for hours, but won't say where he's been. It's as though he's got a mind of his own all the sudden." "Cyril went about for some hours after Compline as well," Stephan said. "He claimed Gaspard sent him on an errand." They entered the lab to find Gaspard huddled under a blanket. "You have suffered a shock!" Madeleine exclaimed, but try as they might, they could get no further details from the magus.

Sext was approaching. Stephan had Cyril saddle Renfrogne, then set out into the hog wood. The note called for secrecy, but Michi, Gaspard, and Madeleine were not far behind--along with Gigot and Celestine, whom Madeleine had been tasking together quite a lot recently. As the letter promised, Lady Juliana was riding her palfrey along the hog-trodden paths, her wizened maid trailing behind afoot. Both dismounted and walked. "Please forgive my manner," the young lady said. "I am unaccustomed to treachery. But it is no secret my lord Etien covets this castle, and he will seek to take it." "So why do you speak to me?" Stephan asked. Juliana looked troubled. "I have not been long in my uncle's court, but I see that he gets no good council. His knights fear him, and will not oppose his temper--he has none so bold as you. Surely there is some way to bring this to a peaceable conclusion?" "I am a man of war," Stephan replied, "and though I may love peace, I do not have the skills of a diplomat. What can I do?" "In one of the many squabbles among the Bavarian princes, my mother served as a hostage. My Count would have this castle--but he also offered marriage. Perhaps a token of trust would assuage his ambition--enough so he would see no threat in the castle, even if he cannot hold it."

It was nearly Vespers. Stephan had returned from his secluded rendez-vous with much to think on and a promise to meet again the day after the morrow, and had spent the afternoon giving Cyril some rather harsh lessons in swordplay. Suddenly a man rushed through the gate. "The Count attacks!" Stephan called for Renfrogne and sped from the bailey, Michi, Madeleine, and Gaspard in tow. It was no full-scale assault--rather, a wagon on the road approaching, just beyond the trees, beset upon by soldiers. Stephan put the spur to his destrier, but Madeleine's eye was caught by a commotion in a copse concealed by a nearby hedgerow. Someone had disturbed an angry raven: More soldiers, and a knight as well. No sooner had Stephan and Michi reached the cart than the knight--it was Gervais, from the feast--charged their flank, his lance seeking Stephan's heart. The blow caught Stephan's shield, and the latter knocked it wide. Arming swords were drawn, and the two armored horsemen jostled in a struggling circle, raining blows upon one another as they sought opening. Madeleine climbed into the cart (the driver having fled) and started from the battlefield, while Michi faced down the Count's soldiers.

Gervais was a powerful and determined opponent--the toughest knight Stephan had ever faced. Both were bloodied and bruised when Gervais rang a powerful blow off Stephan's helmet. The latter was dazed, and might have given his opponent the opening needed for a killing blow. But Gervais was in little better shape, and as he positioned for the final attack an unexpected strike from Michi dropped him from his courser, bleeding and unconscious. The tiny field of battle was suddenly silent in the evening half-light: The Count's men had all fled or been felled.

Wednesday before the Feast of Saint John, 1198

A new character has joined the heroes of Triamore covenant—or has at least been following them around for a few days. His name—Wart—is almost as obscure as his origins, but he is hardly the first ragamuffin to seek a home in the forgiving shelter of Hermetic society. (Truth be told, there is some clue to his history in the constant hint of tannery odor that seems to follow him everywhere.) Wart does not yet enjoy the same regard as his more veteran covenmates, so to rectify that he tells following tale in his own words.

It all started on a foul foot when the doxy with the Frenchy way of talking let a plague victim fall on her. Good fortune I was there to save her with my handsome new spear. The big fellow with the shiny sword helped.

Truth, this is a strange group of folk. One is this man who mumbles and thinks he can talk to animals and foolery. Everyone says he is a maggot or something. Another is a knight in mail who hits me whenever I go near. He is good with his sword though and he’s really noisy so he is great to hide behind because no one can hear me. Also there is the doxy (such is what my old master would have called her) and she has a woman with her they are both gorgeous but I think the doxy has mistaken me for someone called Hunculous or monkulous. Every time she sees me she points and shouts it and then gabbles away in her gobbledy-gook. She talks a lot as well, she never stops. She is also really good to hide near. There is another fellow in a cloak as well. He is a little creepy but at least he is quiet. I think the doxy and the big fellow with the sword like each other. My old master reckoned it was a sure sign of love if two people were always arguing all the time. The big fellow has something wrong with him because he talks in gobbledy-gook as well, but it is not the blather of the Normans but something else even harder to understand.

Anyway after we rescued the doxy from the dead man with plague they stuck her in a cell. It was the nicest cell I have ever seen with a carpet and everything. It was not too cold and there were only a few rats. So that is what the cells for the ladies and lords are like.

Anyway in the morning she still didn’t have plague so they let her out. Her and the fellow that mumbles went to the library. They have so many books. I’m sure they wouldn’t miss one or two.

Eventually we went off to the forest again following the stupid dog that used to belong to the huntsman, who was the man with the plague. We must have walked forever. Occasionally the strumpet would shout “munkulous” at me then the big fellow started sniffing everything and people made me go away as if I smelled. I don’t smell of anything. The other lads at the tannery never complained.

I found the trail for them but did they say thanks? Poxy nobles. Eventually I led them to a hole in the ground that had a big box for putting people into made of stone. Someone had dug the person up and everybody got nervous. Not me though. I think they need me to inspire them to acts of bravery. After that the doxy and the mumbler went back to the library again.

Now we’re looking for somebody’s trembling house and some stranger named “aaagh” or “yurgh” or something else dumb. I’m not really sure though, for they never really explain anything to me. But also, there is some Count hiding soldiers in the woods and giving villagers money and everybody thinks he’s going to attack the castle. Nobody has told me how much he’s paying though. The big fellow with the shiny sword thinks that the lord Count is going to attack the castle. He didn’t last night though.

Oh I almost forgot. They brought me a crossbow and I have my own spear and boots!!! Truly this is a place of riches.

Certes, that is all that happened—or all I can remember.

Second Tuesday before the Feast of Saint John, 1198

Activity at the gatehouse drew Stephan and Michi over. Johannes had the village smith and a gaggle of peasants labouring on the gate all morning, struggling to work through the rust that had bound the hinges open for two decades at least. But this was something different.

“It’s Vasten!” Wart, a slight, unkempt youth who sometimes helped around the stables, was rubbing the ears of the huntsman’s favoured hound. “But where is Thorold?” The huntsman had set out hours before—nothing strange about that—but for the hound to return alone was an poor omen. Gaspard joined them. “Have you asked the dog?” he said.

The long-legged, shaggy hound’s ears and tail were drooping. “Thorold is still in the wood,” Gaspard reported after a casting of magic. “The dog doesn’t want to go back, but it is ashamed to have left its master.” Stephan stepped up. “Can he take us to where it happened?” “Yes,” Gaspard replied after checking with the hound. “Go, then,” Johannes commanded.

They set out within the hour, as the springtime sun was moving from Sext toward Nones. Cyril led the way with Vasten and a scent hound on leads, with Stephan and Madeleine on horse, despite the promise of forest ahead, and Gaspard behind with Michi, and Wart trailing them. They crossed the great field toward Ville de Haillot hamlet, then the western waste, then entered the forest. Nones came and went, and still the hound led onward.

There was a scream ahead, and a crash through the undergrowth. They were in the woods, but it was not so dense as to force the riders from their horses. Stephan put his spur to Renfrogne, and the destrier leapt forward, but what crashed toward them was neither beast nor warhorse but a small palfrey with a slight rider. Stephan grabbed at the reins as the panicked horse charged past, pulling it quickly to a stop. The rider was Lady Juliana, niece of Etien of Namur, with her servant struggling on foot behind her.

“Dead men,” the young lady sobbed. “In that thicket. Butchered!” Michi investigated, trailed by a curious Wart, as Stephan checked the area and Lady Madeleine calmed Juliana. Four dead men: soldiers, in the livery of the Count. Their encampment was in a little bowl, hidden among rocks and trees in a dense stand of brush. The men had fought against their death; weapons were in hand or scattered about. The fire was cold, but the ashes had not been rained upon: They could not have been dead for more than a day. “An hour before Matins last night,” Gaspard reckoned, employing his spells upon a corpse. He cast another magick, then blanched as he watched events the others could not see. “A thing like a man came upon them, only it was bloated with flesh the colour of rust, like a livid corpse. It chewed upon their flesh after they died.”

Back at the castle, Stephan sought out Johannes. “I don’t know what should trouble us more,” he reported. “This murderous beast, or that the Count is sending his men into our forest.” “South of the Sambre is no part of the Count’s holdings,” Johannes concurred, “even if the forest isn’t truly ours either.”

Madeleine and Gaspard reported to Daria. “Return the girl to the Count’s camp,” she instructed, after hearing their story. “And inform him of his loss. But give him no cause against us—and on the morrow, find out what has become of Thorold.” They escorted Lady Juliana down to her uncle’s camp. Though he received his niece with relief, his face turned red at the story of the dead men. “You murder my men and then bring me this tale of faeries?” he roared, the veins showing at his temples. His knights and footsoldiers were moving to encircle them, but Stephan stared the Count down. But then Wart broke and ran, and suddenly weapons were ringing from sheaths. Juliana stepped up, grabbing the Count’s elbow. “Please, my lord,” she begged. “I know not how this blood was shed, but credit them at least for their aid to me.” The Count’s rage cooled the slightest, but his words were still forced through his teeth. “For the sake of my niece,” he said, turning away.

The day ended as it had begun: with a fluster and flurry at the gate. It was well past Compline, and Refrogne was for once as willing as Roos to be led to the stable. “Thorold has returned,” came a cry from the gate, which groaned on its rusted, but now useable, hinges as the guards pulled it open again. Outside, in a circle of torchlight, Thorold sat on the ground, shaken and panting. “I must have fallen; perhaps I struck my head,” he mumbled. “I do not feel well at all . . . .” Two guards helped him to his feet, but no sooner was he up than he doubled over again with a piteous groan. The now substantial crowd gathered closer for his aid, but when he looked up his face was the colour of brick, his lips drawn back over his teeth.

His first blow drove one of the guards to the ground, and the servants and covenfolk scattered, screaming. Michi drew his sword and charged, with Stephan as well and even Madeleine producing her curved Saracen blade. As they closed the creature lunged at Madeleine, throwing her against the tower wall and driving its teeth into her throat. Stephan and Michi fell upon it, and soon cut it down. “A revenant!” exclaimed Michi, hacking head from body as Gaspard rushed to Madeleine’s aid. “Her wound is not severe,” he reported. “Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t,” retorted Michi, “But creatures like this one, they carry their curse to their victims. That thing was Thorold once—what if the same should befall Madeleine?”

Two and Three Weeks following Trinity Sunday, 1198

Madeleine looked thoughtful when she finally departed Daria’s chambers. The covenant’s prima rarely called anyone into her presence, so Madeleine’s summons was as unexpected as the visit was lengthy.

It was a week later when the knight appeared. “In the village, my lord,” the peasant panted, having run the mile uphill to find Stephan in the outer bailey. “He rides up to the castle now!” Stephan called Michi over and quickly organized a squad of men. A lone knight was not likely looking for mischief, but he could do a lot of damage if he caught the complement unprepared. “What is his heraldry?” Stephan asked. The villager shrugged. “I do not recognize the colours, sir, but he bears a badge of Namur.”

Sure enough, the knight was on an errand for the Count. “My lord Etien of Namur will arrive tomorrow,” he informed Daria in the great hall, as Gaspard, Madeleine, and Stephan looked on. Geert de Das—that was the knight’s name—reckoned a party of six or seven with Etien, but to that would be added a score at least squires and servants, armsmen and pages and camp-followers. The castle burst into activity as soon as the knight departed: animals to slaughter and trenchers to bake for the feast; the great hall to be swept, new rushes laid down, and tables brought in; heavy rotas to be planned for the watch and the security of the village. Stephan would be Daria’s bodyguard, while Gaspard relied as always on Michi. Remi was not at the covenant.

The Count was a giant of a man, thick-necked and red in the face, with quick, calculating eyes and a manner that promised a sudden and dreadful temper. He arrived after nones with Geert and another knight Gervais, and a sandy-haired monk whose white habit with a red cross Maltese said as much about his vocation as his alert stature and wiry, upright build. A young lady, quiet and perhaps frail, was introduced as the Count’s niece, and another man in embroidered robes proved to be a mason. Each had a servant or squire, and a jongleur followed them in. The great hall was splendid, but despite the apparent honour given the Count, Morris seated him at the second table. The Count did not acknowledge the slight, but he did become restless when after a quarter hour Daria had still not appeared.

She swept in from the library with Stephan on her heels. There was little conversation as the meal was served, but eventually Daria addressed the Count. “The borders are a concern for me,” Etien told her, “Limburg is raising an army.” Daria was unconcerned. “Duke Waleran recognizes our status as an Imperial fief, just as I’m sure you do, my lord Count.” “What good is an Imperial charter when there is no Emperor?” demanded Etien. “Frederick Stauffen is excommunicate, and Otto doesn’t have the support of the German princes. If you hope a new Emperor will protect you, you will have years to wait—years of war, I think. And what of this?” A servant produced a document, which Daria gave only the quickest glance before waving it toward Gaspard. It was a letter from an agent of Duke Waleran, confirming a plot with Daria to bring troops of Limburg to Bois de Haillot. “A forgery,” Daria responded calmly. Etien didn’t press the issue. “I’m concerned for your safety here—you have nothing but academics to protect you. I can fortify your castle.” He was willing to formalize the agreement with a marriage—Daria to one of his knights, or even himself—but she replied that Triamore’s oaths prevented her from any such worldly entanglements. Etien grew angry, knocking over his chair. “Take what I offer now,” he demanded, “or by Christ’s wounds you’ll have nothing later!” If Daria was impressed she made no sign. “The lord who brings an army here will weep for his losses and curse the day he saw his fortune in these stones.”

Most eyes were on this exchange, but Michi noticed something else: The jongleur had slipped out—perhaps to the kitchens—but had not returned. With Daria retired, Michi caught Stephan’s eye and they went looking for the missing jester. They found him in the covenant’s vault beyond the pantries; he had opened two gates and was now considering the locks on the strong boxes. “Don’t kill me; I have taken nothing!” the young man exclaimed. Godwin was his name. “What are you after?” Stephan demanded. The thief looked puzzled. “The silver, of course. And other treasure. What else would there be?” They contemplated putting him to the sword right then, but Michi had a different idea. “Return to tha camp down there, and find out what tha Count there’s got in mind for us. You be our spy, see, and I won’t have ta cut out your liver.”

The feast wound down, and Etien returned after some hours to his encampment in the fallow field outside the village. [???] wandered down a little while later. Many of the villagers had departed to the safety of the castle bailey or the outlying hamlets, and all had surely buried their valuables. But a handfull were making a few pennies selling ale and trading news with the soldiers and servants of the camp, and [???] had little trouble finding a game of dice. He could learn little, but it was clear at least that the small force was not preparing an imminent attack on the covenant. But then, neither were they preparing to depart on the marrow, and there was definitely a sense that their business at Bois de Haillot was not concluded. And from the Count’s tent [???] did catch one small snippet of conversation: The mason, Evrard, talking to Etien. “I would need a more detailed tour to make a full assessment, my lord,” the mason was saying, “but the main work would be in the keep and the bailey. I’m confident the castle could be defensible by next summer, and possibly complete within a year—but it is a grand building, and it will not be finished cheaply.”

The Templar showed up at the gates the next morning. “I confess to curiosity about your doings here,” he told Gaspard and Madeleine when brought before them. “Much is said of wizardry, but I hear also that many scholars visit your library.” His name was Brother Chretien, from the Templar commanderie at Huy. “My lord Etien seems to have made up his mind about us,” Madeleine said. “I am not Etien,” the Templar responded. They gave him a brief tour of the keep and library. Conversation turned to the dragon in Verdun and the destruction of the robber-baron of the Ardennes, and Chretien seemed to warm to his hosts. Eventually they talked of the Count’s business at Bois de Haillot. “Etien owes the order a great deal of money,” Chretien explained, “and my preceptor Thierry le Bacheler is personally accountable for those loans. He has begun to worry that Etien will not be able to repay if he doesn’t complete his plans—which include owning this castle. I was sent along for a first-hand look at your community; I think Thierry is rather hoping I’ll uncover some witchcraft worthy of Templar intervention.” “And what have you found?” Madeleine asked. “I will advise my lord Thierry against direct support of Etien. But make no mistake about the Count’s intentions. And know that my voice is but one, and I fear it carries limited weight.”

Tuesday before Whitsunday, 1198

Michi spent the evening under a spell of Gaspard's that made him invisible. While that was a great aid in the attack on the temple of Nemestrinus and the chambers beneath, which Gaspard reckons might have been an infernal regio, it left Michi concerned that his heroic actions went unobserved by his fellow covenfolk. To rectify this, he provides the following account of the action that evening. To ensure his contributions are fully credited, he begins by covering some of the events leading up to that dreadful night.

Gaspard has aall his baies an' frack in a twist cos o' some Quasitoril or somit is comin' ta ask about t' dragon what I sar aff in t' town, so oi tells him nat tay worry and set 'em straight about what 'appened. Now 'im and Madeline 'ave been tryin' ta read the books oi nicked for 'em, but ets in code or summit but oi tells 'em it aall looks loike sqiggles tay me and they will have tay do with out while oi show wolf boy the ropes af guardin' an' stuff.

So dis fella an lass turn up an' ask aall tha questions and oi tell 'em aall about tha wolf lady and tha dragon that oi drove off and tha creepy little naked fella that led us to the fairies, an' they seem preety pleased about all that.

So dere we were all a loungin' in the great hall when this back woods hick turns up lyin 'is arse orf about cultist in the woods havin' kidnapped his mate. So off we trot after the wotsits had argued, turn up in dis guys shed a couple o' days later, kit up and leave d'squire and totty behind we head off to where the cultin' is supposed to be taking place.

Gaspard works his jazzan'. Oi vanish, takin t' oppertunity if'n you know what oi mean.

So we heads in and make shart work of 'em wit tha help of an imaginary giant head, but when Gaspard (lad's got legs) catches and questions the victim it turns out that lyin chops who brought us in is in the cult. So we hightail it back to tha barn and the beggers havent just run off wit' th' totty.

So more hocus pocus and some slippers an' we're on the trail, heading off deeper into the woods in th' pourin' rain.

Madelin meenwhoile is draggin her big wet dress an' chatting about 'em being "romans" or some such but oi tole her they were kidnappers and the romans have been gone for years. She said "par-dong" and on we went.

So we follow th' dogs and the magics to this old place full a' pillars and behind it there's this cave, now still bein' all see t'rough oi sneak on in and have a bit of a look, an' dere's dese two fellas standin' behoind a palisade. So oi knocks 'em out with tha faader helpin while Madelin tries to talk to 'em. "Kidnappin' cultists, love," oisay. "No sense in talkin, lets get to th' hittin'." So behind em's a big pit and a bunch o' clothes, so oi'm tinkin', "Neked Celestene, won't that be nice!"

Then behoind it is this statue of some goat boy purple magic wand and hairy sack of magic an' all, an on this mural behind him theres some steps, so there is all sorts of faffin' around and eventually Gaspard gets this mural to turn into stairs wit magic or bowin or sometin' oi dun know.

So we head on down these steps and it starts gettin' well creepy, I kin tell you. I wusnet happy about going on down there, so aboot half way down the stairs something goes wrong wit de' spellin' makin' me see through and now no one can hear me oider. So right at the bottom there's these two arches; the left one (oi tink) is covered in all da preety people and down dere, there was this mirror which shows things like they really are. And the other arch this was covered in people getting tortured, only the others are all too busy chatting about rescuin' to notice, so oi gets em ta see by makin' em walk into me and on we go.

So there we were deep in the depths of the earth, bein very very quite, hunting cultists. And we finds em in this big round room with Celestens (dutifully neked) spread eagled on a big X, now Oi didn't think she was into dat sort o' ting but this culty fellow liked it so . . . and they had shaved off all of her hair and there was dancin and all sorts goin on.

"Gaspard," whispers brother Cornelious, "What have you got that can kill the entire room?" "Michi?" answers Gaspard and we set upon 'em.

So tha black priest isn't too pleased about an invisible pikey killin all his boys and he starts cuttin on Celesten and tryin to drop this big bowl of hair and blood and stuff into the big burnin pit in the middle of th' room. So we kill im and his mates and he calls in all sorts of demon chums and we kill them as well but he still drops his bowl in the fire. Now oi'm gettin a bit worried about this but then Madelin needs me ta pretend to be an angel to help question the remanin' cultist who were weein' der pants der so dey were.

Den in the fire pit dis big fallic lookin mess o' shadows and tentacles starts eatin' the questionees and callin all th' wierd lookin' bugs into the room to be eatin us, and we set about it and Gaspard does some of his jazzin' on it, now tings aren't lookin' too good at dis point and Gaspard is orf it so I shouts for the fadder to run and oi leg it—oi don't remember the magic as gone wrong and 'e can't hear me till oi catch up to dress boy and were off on our toes.

Oi ope is God bless' i'm an' aall dat cos the good brother held back that ting whoile we legged it and once we got topside we messed that mural right up so it couldn't get out and den robbed all them cultists clothes along with thier cash, of which they had a pile o' silver in a box, and hightailed it back to the covenant.

Michi fails to mention that Celestine was brought out of the temple alive, though quite traumatized.

End of Chapter Two

Tuesday before Whitsunday and the weeks before, 1198

The Redcap arrived two weeks ahead of the Queasitori, bearing news of their imminent arrival. "All of Normandy--and half of Chistendom--talks about the dragon at Verdun," he told them at the modest feast that marked his arrival.

"Confronting a dragon is certainly no crime," the Queasitor Bonhomme said when he arrived with his partner and entourage, "Even in a city, surrounded by mundanes. But why was it there? And why you were there? And what of this rogue maga?" His partner was Vertidas--younger, less experienced, and considerably less dour. "Nobody suspects you of violating the Hermetic Code," she said, "This is all routine for an event like this." They questioned Gaspard in great detail, though pulling details from his sieve-like narrative was an exercise. Madeleine and Michi were next.

In the mean time, Daria had tasked Gaspard and Madeleine with deciphering the contents of their newfound books--or rather, the copious notes with which they were filled. The handwriting was quickly found to be that of two people, and further identified as that of DuCraindre and Pietre. Many leaves had been inked, pumiced, and inked again, but much of the handwriting was in code. "Look at this," Madeleine pointed out to Gaspard. "Garden of Eden?" he read. "Should that mean something to me?" "There's a lot about it here," she replied.

The books, their notes, and the connection of Pietre to Triamore eventually became the focus of the Queasitori's investigation. They questioned Daria at length, but if they found anything damning they didn't bring it to light. Eventually they departed.

Shortly after, a peasant begged an audience with the magi. His accent was thick with the back woods, and his Dutch more of a pidgin than the language. He seemed to indicate that he had a relative in the village, and sure enough when Andries was called up he was able to translate the talk, which he claimed was that of distant cousins in Luxembourg, though he didn't actually know this stranger. The supplicant called himself Wulfram, and said his village--Vikten--was terrorized by a dark cult. "They have taken a young man from the village called Alfons," Andries translated. "He says they are planning a black mass, and will kill the man then in sacrifice." "Why do they not seek help there?" Remi asked. "Their priest leads the black mass, and their lord holds other lands, and seldom visits. They heard Triamore might be able to help them."

Gaspard was quickly dispatched with his usual retinue. It would take nearly three days to reach Vikten; Wulfram, whose speech was becoming more intelligible, would guide them there. "We will not enter the village, for they will see you," Wulfram explained. "A woodcutter's cottage is a league away; we trust the old man and his wife. We will hide there until we hear word." The journey took them across the Meuse and into Luxembourg, where the terrain was hilly and forested and the villages huddled in tiny patches of field. Late in the third day, just a mile or so from their destination, they were accosted by a putrescence. "What is that?" said Madeleine, pointing to a mass of rotting flesh nailed to a post. "The first lamb of Spring, of course" Wulfram replied, surprised by her ignorance. "For fertility, and a good harvest this year."

At the cottage they found the woodcutter in a worry. "They're holding the black mass this very night!" he said. "At the old chapel." The compatriots quickly shed their gear and prepared for action, leaving their pack animals at the cottage with Stephan's squire Cyril and Madeleine's maid Celestine.

It was a dark night, and the rain poured down. The old chapel was a ruin, a rectangular shell at what might have once been a village, but was now overtaken by forest. A few moments' observation confirmed what the old woodcutter had told them: On a makeshift alter lay the hapless Alfons, while behind it a hooded figure prepared his knives. Two or three worshippers knelt before the sacrificial scene. A quick scouting identified two additional cultists, hidden among the rocks and bracken outside the church.

With Gaspard's spells masking their approach, it was quick work. "How did you find me," the villager asked when Bruder Cornelius finally cut him free. "Wulfram sent us," Cornelius answered, but rather than calm the man, it sent him into a panic. He raced from the chapel, and it was only when Gaspard cornered him into an illusion of fiery walls that they took him once more. "Wulfram is one of them!" the man protested.

Stephan quickly searched the area, but Wulfram had disappeared. Bewildered and apprehensive, they returned to the woodcutter's cottage.

Inside the rainsoaked structure, the woodcutter's few belongings were tossed about. Cyril lay on the floor, blood oozing from his head. The baggage was still there, and the pack animals outside. Nothing had been taken, it seemed. But of the woodcutter and his wife there was no sign--nor any sign of Celestine.

Thursday following Easter and the days after, 1198

Gaspard lay unconscious until morning. They had investigated just enough of the keep to satisfy themselves that they were alone, then made a quick camp for the night in its lower hall. They were clearly not the first: Though a ruin, the keep had recently been home to a large band. There were coarse bunks, and the fireplaces had been used for cooking. The inhabitants had not been concerned with niceties--in addition to living under a rotting roof and mossy walls, they were careless with the debris of their meals and even their own filth.

But not everyone had lived in squalor. Cornelius found the chapel in an upper tower room; it had been made into living quarters with a bed of fine linens and a quality chest. "A lady lived here," Madeleine commented, noting a handful of dresses still in the chest and some few personal items. "If you think that's something, come see what I found," reported Michi. At the bottom of the spiral staircase, in a deep cellar, a wooden door was covered in arcane markings. "Wards," confirmed Gaspard. "A hedge wizard or a magus--but someone who understands such things."

Inside, the cellar had been a laboratory, with tables and shelves, tools and space for conjurations. Whoever had used it had, like the rest of the keep's inhabitants, cleared out, but one table was still layered in sacrificial blood.

The trip back to Verdun took nearly two days. Within sight of the city, a familiar form appeared on the road ahead: Gigot. "I am so glad you have returned safely!" he said, seeming genuinely pleased. The others confronted him. "What sort of spells is your mistress casting on the count? Or is she in league with a rogue magus?" Gigot became angry, and headed back toward the city. "He'll warn DuCraindre that we suspect her!" Bruder Cornelius said, and Gaspard caught up with the youth, casting a spell that wiped the encounter from his memory. "I'm so happy you've returned safely!" Gigot exclaimed again, having forgotten all about their meeting moments before. "We're pleased to see you, too, Gigot," Madeleine said. "What news of the city?" "My mistress spends much time with the count," Gigot answered, "but his children do not seem to like her."

In the city, Michi's informant Juste confirmed what Gigot had told them. "She's clearly involved with the robber-baron--perhaps she is the robber baron--and somehow she caused the attack on the countess," Madeleine reasoned. The next day, Michi unearthed further proof: Rendered invisible and silent by Gaspard's spells, he crept into DuCraindre's townhouse, stealing past her servants and lounging armsmen after she went up to the castle. In her chamber he found arcane tomes and implements.

Cornelius had gone to speak with the count about taking his children under his spiritual wing. He returned after nones, meeting the others at Lapidary's house. All were convinced of DuCraindre's role in the countess's death, but how to proceed? What binding proof could they present?

Suddenly Lapidary's apprentice announced a guest for them. It was Gigot, downcast, with a basket under his arm. "She asks too much of me!" he exclaimed, tears forming in his eyes. He lifted a cloth in the basket, revealing three small rabbits. "I am to take them to the river and drown them," Gigot explained. "At dawn they change back into the count's children, and when their bodies are found there will be nothing to indicate they did other than wander off and fall into the water." DuCraindre was a powerful sorceress, according to Gigot, and changing people into animals and animals into people was her favourite trick. "She makes birds and mice into servants. Her men-at-arms are wolves, sometimes bears or boar." So she was the robber baron? Gigot confirmed that she was, and that they had lived in the ruined keep for as long as he could remember. What of Slavek? Gigot didn't know what he was--unlike all of the others, he had never seen Slavek reverted to his natural form.

"And what of you, Gigot?" Lady Madeleine asked softly. He did meet her eyes "I am like the others." Perhaps when DuCraindre was defeated he would turn back into a wolf--and be free. Gigot was horrified at the idea: "The wolves that killed Lady Cecilia were from our band. I would not have that blood in my mouth! When I become such a creature, slay me--I beg you!"

But Gaspard didn't think that would happen. If Gigot had been made from a wolf, his true nature would still be that of an animal--so he would be affected only by magics that worked upon animals, and not those that affected men. He tested his theory with a harmless spell, concluding that Gigot was, in fact, human. The youth remained unconvinced. Nor could he aid in any confrontation with his mistress; he could not stand up to her in confrontation.

There was little time. DuCraindre would miss Gigot if he did not soon return from his errand. And he would not be able to lie to her if he did not complete it. They headed for the castle and sought out Valprés, laying all the evidence before him. "The count puts no stock in such things," the steward said. "We will have to draw her out--unless she reveals herself, we cannot lay a finger on her." They left Gigot and the basket in the solar and found DuCraindre in the hall, along with Slavek, the rat-faced man, and another of her armsmen. At first she denied all, but the evidence was too compelling. "The curse of Circe will stay your tongue," she told Valprés, and seconds later a terrified hog stood in his place. Michi drew his sword and charged the rat-faced man. Cornelius slammed into the table that stood between him and DuCraindre, but Slavek prevented him from pinning the rogue maga to the wall. "Free me!" Slavek demanded of DuCraindre as he struggled to keep her from harm.

He was a ferocious fighter, but the others were pressing in. Gaspard and DuCraindre traded spells, but neither seemed to affect the other. Michi and Lady Madeleine, who wielded her curved Saracen sword, drove the two armsmen back, and the rat-faced man soon fell. "Free me!" Slavek demanded again, and this time DuCraindre acted. She reached up and pulled the torque from his neck.

And where he had stood a vast dragon now took form, dwarfing her and the others and filling the hall's rafters with its great wings. The pig that had been Valprés squealed and struggled for a hiding place. DuCraindre's last armsman dropped his sword and ran. The others simply stared as the dragon regarded them, its gaze moving from one to another.

And then it attacked. Roaring in fury, it turned on its erstwhile master, and, free after years of her dominance, ripped DuCraindre's head from her body. Then it beat its vast wings against the rafters above while DuCraindre's bloody torso crumpled to the ground, the torque still in her grip. Finding no weakness among the heavy rafters, the dragon opened its jaws and loosed its fiery breath upon the woodwork, setting the roof ablaze.

It would take a moment for the fire to work its damage upon the roof, and while it waited the dragon turned its fury upon those remaining. It lashed out against Cornelius and Michi. Madeleine scrambled for the torque and tried vainly to secure it to the dragon's leg, but the creature threw her to the ground. Gaspard ducked out of the way as the dragon again employed its terrible fire, and Cornelius and Madeleine were horribly scalded. It had its victory, but just then the roof tiles began to fall in, and, sensing its freedom, the dragon instead leapt skyward, bursting through the now-blazing roof.

It was nearly a week later when they set back out for Bois de Haillot. Hundreds of townsfolk had poured into the streets when smoke had been spotted rising from the castle, and it seemed half the city had seen the dragon burst skyward, bellow a challenging roar as it pause on the parapet of a tower, then take flight eastward. At dawn the next morning Valprés and the children resumed their human form, shaken but no worse for wear. A few days later Eidelmann arrived in the city, and Triamore's business was finally settled.

Word had quickly spread of the heroes' deeds, and they were often hailed on the streets. But they were as often met with turned backs, suspicious glances, and signs of the cross: Verdun had been subject to magic and dragons, and for all they had done, the emissaries of Triamore were part of that dangerous world that no townsman wanted within their walls. It seemed the count felt the same way for, though Valprés allowed them to sort through DuCraindre's chattel before it was inventoried, they were not welcome again at the castle nor allowed to the countess's funeral.

They returned to Triamore with Gigot and the tomes and vis taken from DuCraindre's house. Daria and Remi took in their tale with great interest. But it was when they examined the books that Daria's interest sharpened. The tomes were beaten and old, their margins scribbled with notes in DuCraindre's hand and at least one other. "These books are no strangers to Triamore," Daria proclaimed, absently clenching her firescarred hand. "They were taken from here some twenty years ago--taken by a rogue apprentice called Pietre."

End of Chapter One

Tuesday and Wednesday following Easter, 1198

"The dogs!" Cornelius exclaimed, running to where they strained at their tethers. They were scent hounds, and eager for the chase, and they picked up the wolves' trail just beyond where the count and his entourage gathered about his lifeless lady. The trail skirted the pond and then  headed through the demesne woods, east and north. For an hour or more they crossed waste and field, skirted hedgerows, and hopped from one patch of woods to another, slowly curving north around the town. Along the way they passed villages and fields with peasants at the plow, but no sign of carnage. "These wolves came a long way to kill the countess," Madeleine remarked.

It was nearly vespers when they returned to the castle. The hounds had been keen, but Cornelius was hardly a tracker, and the trail had eventually been lost. The four of them climbed to the castle and were admitted to see Valprés. "The count has put a new bounty on wolves," he told them. "A shilling per hide." Michi whistled. But his jaw dropped agape when Valprés continued. "For the big one with grey-tipped ears: one-hundred pounds of silver. I advised against it--these wolves are not natural, and many peasants will lose their lives seeking this bounty." Valprés had an ear cut from one of the day's attackers, and Gaspard employed his magic upon it. But such spells were not his strength, and it told him little: "The wolves went north. And I see a building, a tower or such in the forest. . . ." Valprés had seen such a thing before. "Since the Romans, many have attempted to establish a stronghold in the Ardennes. I recall once seeing a keep or tower on a ridge over the Meuse--but it was deep within the forest, thirty leagues perhaps."

They set out before prime the next morning--it would be two days, at least, to this forest keep, assuming they could even find it. They entered the forest an hour or two before vespers, keen to gain as much distance as possible before stopping for the night. An hour or so later, as the evening gloom was starting to deepen, they found themselves in a dell between rocky ridges. A mist was descending, and the trees grew scattered and leafless as the ground became wetter. Soon they had lost sight of the mountains around as the mist became thicker. They turned back, but could not find their path

"Lost! Lost!" came a little voice, with a laugh. A figure appeared from behind a nearby tree: Like a child, perhaps 8 years old, only half that height. Naked and pale in the now-frigid mist, and with a pair of crystalline wings folded between his shoulders. "We offer no threat!" Gaspard addressed it. "We're merely passing through, looking for wolves." "Wolves? Why? Are you hungry?" the creature responded, running its tongue over sharp teeth. "They have killed our friends," Madeleine responded. "Oh, vengeance!" the creature replied. "I will take you to someone who knows where the wolves are!"

They followed the creature through the mist. The ground became even wetter, with ice crusting the stands of dead weeds and skirting the ponds that their path how threaded between. "She knows!" the winged child exclaimed as there was a splash from ahead. As they approached a bog, a woman appeared. Her head and shoulders emerged from the icy water, which bouyed her pale breasts and long hair. In the dark water below her body was invisible. "I will take you to the wolves," the water-faerie agreed, "I will swim you through my pond to the river by the wolves' home. But I am hungry. If you will not give me one of your number, I will have your dogs." Gaspard made a spell that would let them each breath in the water, and he was the first to enter the frigid bog. But no sooner had he descended beneath the surface than the faerie grasped him to pull him to its depths. Here beneath the surface there was no pale face or long hair--just a black, skeletal shape like a dead fish with claws. Gaspard pulled free and sputtered to the surface, his friends pulling him from the water just as the furious faerie resurfaced and grasped one of the hounds.

"What now?" exclaimed Michi, his sword gripped tightly at the ready. "We're lost in this place and who knows where that creature might emerge?" Just then there was the sound of a horn, and hunched shapes appeared in the mist around them. An enormous, antlered beast emerged from the mist, its eyes glinting a fiery red as it snorted impatiently. Astride it sat another woman, her hand grasping a half-dozen silver chains leashing a wretched entourage that stumbled around her mount. "I thought the hounds had scented something interesting," she stated, dismounting and pulling her thralls behind her. "You trespass in my lands, bearing arms of iron no less." "We became lost, my lady," Madeleine explained, "Perhaps you could help us find our way back to our realm, then we would be no trouble to you." The faerie lady considered, looking each of them over as she walked among them. "What price could you offer for such a favour on my part? Perhaps instead I might just add you to my entourage?" Her eyes fell upon Michi's sword. "Bladhmlonrach!" she whispered. "Very well. The sword then, and I will guide you from these lands." But Michi wouldn't consider it. "I've another idea. I wrestle with one of your hounds, there. If I win, we get outta here. If I lose, I join your gang there for a year and a day." The lady smiled. "Very well. If you win, I will give you a guide." She tugged on one of her chains, and a hunched creature sidled forward.

It was a short fight; within seconds the creature was on the ground. "Here is your guide," the faerie lady said, calling forth the pale winged child, "You can call him Siocán."

Siocán sullenly led them through the forest, and after some time they emerged from the mist onto a rocky slope. It was well after compline, and above them among the trees a tower stood silhouetted against the night sky. There were no lights, but as they approached they saw movement. Several men-at-arms stood near the entrance of the keep, and a robed figure emerged from the doorway. They were spotted as they approached, and the men-at-arms moved quickly to attack. The robed figure began calling to magic, first calling up poisonous mists, then conjuring the skeletal forms of beasts from the bones among the debris and the base of the keep. Michi pushed his way through the bodyguards to the conjurer, striking the dark-faced man once, but before he could hit again the man clutched a black gem about his neck and disappeared. His bodyguards fought on, to the very death, and before the battle was over Gaspard lay unconscious and the others staggered, bloody and panting.

Saturday before Easter through Tuesday following Easter, 1198

The Brochet et Sangolier had not been noisy, as town taverns can be, but this night a group of four men were filling the hall with raucous laughter, with shouts, curses, and cheers. They were throwing knucklebones, and did not seem to mind--or even notice--who they jostled or annoyed.

One--a lean but powerful man with a whiskered, narrow, ratlike face--grabbed a serving girl and demanded a meal. Unhappy with the price, he instead stood, leaned over the next table, and, without a word or apparent concern, simply took Michi's supper. Within a moment fists were flying. When one of the thugs flipped over a table, Bruder Cornelius grabbed bench and clocked the rat-faced man.

"Stop!" came a shout, and all hesitated to look toward the inn's door. There, under the gallery, stood a young man--Richard, the boy from the hue and cry the night before. His eyes travelled the entire room, wary of every detail. He balked slightly when his eyes fell on Michi and Cornelius, but he said nothing. Instead he addressed the four thugs, any one of which was half again his weight and age. "You were given no leave to wander. Get back to the house."

One of the thugs had already drawn his knife and seemed for a moment ready to challenge. But getting no support from his comrades he backed down, helping his companions lift the rat-faced man from the floor. Richard followed them out, never turning his back on the room, like the rearguard of a raiding party.

Michi quickly grabbed a pair of kitchen boys. "Here's a farthing for each of you. There's another when you come back and tell me where those fellas went to. But don't be seen!" Ten minutes later the boys returned. "They went into the alley by the DuCraindre house. It leads to the croft behind."

Easter Sunday dawned bright, clear, and warm. After a lengthy mass at the cathedral, Bruder Cornelius, Gaspard and Michi, and Lady Madeleine with her girl Celestine all headed up the hill toward the castle. The bailey was decked out for the feast, with spring garlands all along the walls and performers beginning their acts. Crowds streamed into and out of the hall. The count's table was on the dias at the end of the hall, while the second table (several tables, actually, to handle the crowd) was at the far side and the third table opposite. The fourth table (like the others, actually a long row of trestles) was set up out in the bailey where the guests were ogled by the commoners who enjoyed the feast on foot or sat on the cobbles.

Lady Madeleine was seated at the second table, where she found herself in conversation with the count's steward, Valprés. The older man still bore vestiges of a strong build, though his close-cropped hair and beard were greying. "Tell me about that young man over there," Madeleine asked him after some conversation. "I've run into him before--I believe his name is Richard." Valprés followed her gesture across to the third table, where Richard sat, gloomy and embarrassed, a few places down from Bruder Cornelius. "Richard? No, his name is Gigot. He's the captain of Lady DuCraindre's guard." "Captain?" asked Madeleine. "He can't have more than seventeen summers--maybe twenty. How is he the captain of anyone's guard? Her illegitimate child, perhaps?" Valprés pointed out Lady DuCraindre, where she sat at the first table sharing a laugh with the countess. "He is young, but she isn't more than a few years older. Whatever his secret, that isn't it."

Cornelius spoke briefly with Gigot, but found the youth less than responsive. Gone were the composure and assertiveness of the night before, replaced by edgy nerves and a few words of awkward, sullen conversation. The young man did speak several times with another seated beside him--an exotic looking fellow of indeterminate age. "Where are you from?" Cornelius asked, but Gigot's companion would say only, "east." "There are mountains to the east," Cornelius replied. "Yes," agreed the man, "from beyond the mountains."

Michi and Gaspard were seated at the fourth table in the bailey. "Let's pay our respects to the host and hostess," Michi suggested, taking Gaspard by the arm. They approached the first table in the hall and spoke briefly with the count--aptly called Montaigne, for he was a bull of a man. "That's a fine lookin' boy ye got there," Michi told the count as the latter's children came in. The boy, introduced as Jean, was perhaps eight, and immensely proud to sit for a few moments by his father's side at the high table. There was also a beautiful but shy little girl a few years younger, and a vivacious third child, no more that four. "If we let her, she'll take over the entertainments," the countess laughed, as the smallest child launched into a song for the benefit of anyone who would give her their attention. Lady DuCraindre, seated next to the countess, looked on in amusement.

"Do you have any interest in falcons?" Valprés asked Madeleine. "We are falconing in a few days--more of a social occasion than a real hunt, I'm afraid. You and your companions are welcome to join us."

The falconing trip was on Tuesday. The party gathered outside the town's southern gate--Madeleine and Gaspard, along with Montaigne and the Countess Cecilia, the bishop DiLimoge, Valprés, Lady DuCraindre, and a knight called Lars de Calais. There were a few armsmen along as well, including Michi and Gigot, and Bruder Cornelius joined the train of servants, his well-loaded mule in tow. Before departing the count and countess said goodbye to their children, Montaigne mussing his boy's hair. DuCraindre spoke briefly to the easterner from the feast, before sending him away. And Valprés was approached by a sergeant of the guard, nodding grimly at the news he was brought.

"Another wolf attack, near a village by the forest," he explained when asked. "Three villagers killed this time. This makes three attacks in the past week."

True to Valprés's word, there were only a few with birds, and only the count and the bishop seemed serious about the hunt. After a few hours they reached a pond on the demesne where the servants had set up for lunch. Talk had turned toward hunting stories: The count talked about facing down a bear alone when he had gotten ahead of his huntsmen and hounds, and Lars showed off a massive scar left by a boar that broke the stops on his pike. Then faces turned expectantly toward Valprés, whose reputation as a hunter was becoming clear. "Tell the story," his friends encouraged him. "You know which one!" Eventually he agreed.

"It was many years ago. I had been hunting this stag all summer. He knew all the tricks, and I'd lost him six or eight times. He would confuse the greyhounds, or double back across the beater line. But his favourite trick was to cross through some dense undergrowth--like at the edge of a clearing--then make a sudden turn while we couldn't see him.

"I had him in sight. The dogs were exhausted; my horse was flagging, but he was tiring too. We were deep in the Ardennes--five leagues, at least, into the forest--and we'd long ago left my beaters and huntsmen behind. I saw him bound toward a clearing along the ridge, and I knew if he broke the brush and we lost sight of him, he'd cut one way or the other--and the ground was rocky; I might not be able to find a track. So I put the spur to the horse and drove forward, desperate to keep him in sight as he crashed the thick growth at the edge of the clearing. My horse found new feet and charged, but just as we hit the brush, out came the stag, at full gallop, right past us! I tried to turn, but the horse had too much speed, and we wheeled into the clearing. And there, dead in front of me, I saw what had sent the stag running back: A huge dragon, right in my path! The horse practically threw me trying to turn, and as he slipped on the rocks we almost drove into the beast. What choice did I have? I drove my pike into the creature's shoulder as the horse spun, and then--"

Suddenly there was a scream. Then another.

Michi was on his feet in a second, dashing toward the trees by the pond. He arrived alongside Gigot just in time to fend a wolf from Lady DuCraindre. Just beyond, Countess Cecilia was being dragged to the ground, three wolves snarling and snapping and pulling her down while others moved in. The others came running, shouting, the few that came armed drawing swords. Gaspard called forth a noxious cloud that drove the wolves from the countess, leaving several writhing on the ground. Bruder Cornelius produced a sword and shield from the baggage on his mule, charging into the pack as they turned on their attackers. Montainge struggled toward his wife, getting to her as the wolves began to break and flee.

The countess lay on the bank of the pond, her eyes gazing without life at the branches overhanging above. About her lay a scattering of her own viscera, torn from her body with a fury. Four wolves lay dead, but several others had turned tail, including the large dark animal with grey-tipped ears that had pulled the countess down--then fled with her blood on its snout.

Thursday and Friday before Easter, 1198

In his homespun robes the preacher did not look much like a warrior, but his moves betrayed hard years of fighting in the Levant. No sooner had Michi raised the alarm than Bruder Cornelius was on his feet, walking stick now a weapon. With his hounds at his heels he rushed the wolves that were now snarling and snapping at the hobbled mounts. The mules and horses struggled with their restraints, crying and braying and rolling their eyes in terror. Michi had already struck one of the attackers down, but several others surged in from the opposite side of the camp as soon as he had turned his back.

"It's the horses they want!" cried Madeleine, grasping a smoldering branch from the fire. Cornelius struck another of the wolves, and his dogs rushed in as well, snarling and barking. The wolves backed off, but Madeleine's palfrey, its flank streaked with blood, broke its hobble and galloped away. The line broken, the other animals struggled free as well, and were soon disappearing into the dark--all but Stephan's destrier, held back by Madeleine just long enough for Stephan to take the harness. Three wolves now lay dead; the others backed off and did not give chase. Stephan quickly set out after the mounts while his companions tended wounds and rebuilt their shattered camp.

The morning was grey and frigid, and the group broke camp quickly for one more day's journey. They reached the gates of Verdun in the hour after nones. The city sat on two low hills embraced by a curve in the Meuse, with the glow of an early spring sun picking out the castle on one hill and the cathedral on the other. "Four pence for each of you," the guards demanded at the gate, recognizing them as outsiders, "and a shilling for each animal. Who sponsors you in our city?" Gaspard fumbled for the letter Daria had given him. "Lapidary, I believe he is called. Francis Lapidary?" The guards knew him, and gave Gaspard directions to his home on the Chandler street while Cornelius negotiated down the toll.

Bruder Cornelius halted the group in the market square, at the foot of the great steps leading up to the cathedral. "I told the guards we were pilgrims, come to see the relics," he said. "And so we are." He led Madeleine, Gaspard, and Stephan, along with Celestine, inside, while Michi waited in the square with the animals. He was soon an island in a sea of lepers and cripples. "I might have alms for ye," he replied to their calls, "but first what news of this town?" He soon fell into conversation with a man named Juste, whose wits were not dimmed by his lack of eyes. "There is a new lady, arrived just a week past. The granddaughter of DuCraindre, who died last fall. She arrived from outremer with an entourage of soldiers, and will inherit her grandfather's six manors."

They met Francis Lapidary at his home not far from the square, where he kept shop with his wife, children, and two servants. It was a prosperous establishment, and all were well-fed. "I can keep two of you here--and your servants, of course. For the others I have secured the private room at the Brochet et Sangalier. The master of the house has a vouchsafe from me, so you are welcome for as long as your business keeps you. I have heard from your contact; he will not arrive in Verdun until a week after Easter day." That word was met with some dismay--it meant it would be a week at least before they returned home. "Oh, and one other thing: The count holds an Easter feast. All are welcome, and half the town turns out. For visitors of your station," here he addressed Gaspard, Stephan, and Madeleine, "I have secured seats in the hall."

Michi, Gaspard, and Stephan and his squire were consigned to the inn, where they did indeed find the room waiting for them, with two large beds and no other guests to share them with. The next day was spent in general business about the town. Curious about the robber-baron, operating little more than a day away, Michi plied locals about his reputation. "He recruits his band from Brabant, on the other side of the forest," one townsman told him. "No man of Blois has been seen among his gang. The duke of Brabant should do something about that scourge--it's been twenty years he's been operating, and no-one lifts a finger to stop him."

That night Gaspard supped at Lapidary's house, and it was well after fire curfew that Michi and Stephan came to fetch him back to the inn. The three of them had gone only a few paces from Lapidary's when a cry came from the darkness ahead: "Stop! Murder!" The moon was just past full, but the narrow street was draped in shadow beneath the tall houses on either side. Other voices were taking up the hue and cry as a shape appeared in the dimness ahead: a person, running. Michi gave chase as the figure turned a corner. His target was fast, but Michi tackled the young man just before he reached the market square. Two guards came panting up behind, followed by a growing crowd.

"We seen him, down by the canal," one of the guards explained, his breath thick and white in the cold nighttime air. "Him and a buddy on the shore, pushin' in a body." The prisoner seemed unable to explain himself. "I've done nothing!" he sputtered, cringing. Townsfolk were reaching in from the crowd, shoving him and calling him names, and even throwing the occasional rock.

"Let's see what you were about," the guard said, leading them down to the edge of the canal. Behind the crofts of the nearby houses a dirty strip ran along the canal that fed the mill. The soft mud was crusted with ice, but even the deep chill did little to suppress the odor of the nearby tannery. Not far down the shore, where the guard pointed, a long heavy bundle lay just out of the water. "Now we'll find out who's suffered your treachery," the guard declared as Stephan knelt to cut open the bundle. But where he expected a face he was met by a blunt, hairy snout. Not a dead man--a dead bear!

The crowd was briefly silent, then some broke into laughs. "There's your murder!" one voice called out. "I'm slaughtering a pig on Monday--shall we call the hue and cry for that as well?" joked another. The guards were bemused, but not ready to release their captive. "Where did he get a bear then?" one asked. "Have you seen one in town lately? And why was he toying with it?" "Maybe he's a bear-baiter?" one townsman said. "Maybe he just found it," someone else replied, and the youth echoed that: "Yes, that's it. I just found it." He glanced about nervously, as if he expected the crowd to lash out at any moment. "I  was--I went out for a piss and just saw it here." It was hardly convincing, but the it was late and cold and most of the townsfolk were in their night clothes. The crowd was thinning; the novelty was wearing thin. Reluctantly, the guards conceded that they had no crime. "But I'll be watching for you--Richard, was that what you called yourself? Make sure you stay out of any more trouble."

Cornelius watched as the youth quickly made his way into the maze of Verdun's streets, but Madeleine, who had joined the onlookers, was more interested in the dead bear. "Its throat was cut," she pointed out. "But not here. Look--there's very little blood in the wrappings. And look at these other wounds." Gaspard examined them. "It looks like ritual woundings, though I know of no arcane rite that would involve such a design," he said. "It's almost like some kind of sacrifice." The clotted, bloody fur gleamed dully in the moonlight. "Aye," said Bruder Cornelius. "But sacrifice to what?"

Monday following Palm Sunday, 1198

"For Christ's love, leave us with our lives!" the man pleaded. "Do you not have everything else?"

Michi hesitated, his silvery great sword held high. He looked past the man, bruised and dirty, who had just a moment before been his attacker. A woman, her face bruised and bloody, crouched in the bracken beyond. Further in, hidden among the undergrowth, stood two dirty mules; on one a passenger hunched insensate, tied to the beast to keep him on its back.

The preacher pushed past him, clutching the hem of his homespun robe. "They think us more of the robber-baron's troupe," he said, dropping to his knees to examine the woman's wounds. "Clearly ambush is not their trade." Michi lowered his sword, but Stephan was more cautious with his, eying the trees about before lowering it as well. For a moment there was no sound but the dripping of snowmelt from the trees about them.

The famed robber-baron of the Ardennes had given the strangers--a wine merchant and his company, bound from Norman Blois to Liege--good reason for wariness, though their attempted ambush (they feared they were being set upon again) had been ill-conceived. "They demanded a fifth-part of our goods," explained the merchant, a Brendan of Ulm. "I had brought an armed man, and thought we could resist. There were five of them, as brutal as mad Saracens. Give them what they ask, when you meet them!"

Gaspard, the ostensible leader of the group from Triamore, was indeed prepared to do so. They had a quantity of coin among their own mules, just to placate the robbers. "Do not waste yourselves in contest with the robber-baron," Daria, the princeps of their covenant, had instructed the magus. "The robbers will not recognize the value of your cargo; the taking of this coin will satisfy them. And attempt no deception, even by magic, for you will have to return through the forest and cannot risk the robbers' ire on the way back--when the value of your cargo will be more plain!"

And so the company had set off from Triamore: Two days southeast, first along the Meuse and then into Luxembourg into increasingly wooded lands. Then a turn south on the third day, into the forest, under the thick branches of primordial pines along a rocky and rugged path that bruised their feet and lathered their mules. It was in that late morning that they fell into Brendan's poor ambush.

They left the merchant and his battered companions with some provision and a few coins from Madeleine's purse. A few hours later they found more evidence of the robber-baron's work: a flapping of heavy wings and an angry chorus of caws met them on approach to a clearing. From the branches above hung body cages--a dozen at least, their grizzled occupants lounging within, shreds of skin and sinew black over dirty bones. One was more freshly occupied, and it was this that the ravens made their prize. A body no more than a day old: clearly Brendan of Ulm's armsman.

But the robbers made no appearance, and the band continued on. Darkness came, but the travelers were eager to leave the forest behind them before setting to camp, so Michi and Bruder Cornelius led them stumbling on through the forest's blackness. At last they emerged into pasture, with the hedges of a village field a mile or so beyond. With the sky over their heads, they hobbled the mules and horses and set camp.

It was during Michi's watch that the wolves began to prowl.