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?"