The Iron Hound

by Tim Akers

  “I offer my condolences on your father’s death,” he continued, “and greet you in the names of just Cinder and loving Strife.”

  Sophie was silent for a moment, finally tearing her eyes away from the black barbs of the hearse to look directly at Lucas. There were no tears in her eyes, though some emotion roiled in their depths. It was not the grief Lucas had expected.

  “I will accept your condolences, but it is not your place to offer the bright lady’s greeting, inquisitor,” Sophie Halverdt answered. “Her light has no home in your heart.”

  Anger, then, Lucas thought. Well enough. I would be angry, too, if my father had suffered the lies of Tomas Sacombre, and died as a result.

  “There is more to my faith than my title,” Lucas said, “but I will not argue the point. I have spent much of my life in the company of Strife’s faithful. Years in the field, doing the church’s work, with a vow knight at my side.”

  “And where is your vow knight now, frair?”

  “There is unfinished business in the north. She remained behind.”

  “Such is always the way,” Sophie answered sharply. “Knights of the vow finishing the business of the inquisition, and frairs of Cinder telling their stories. Is that why you are here? To tell me the story of my father’s death?”

  “I come only to carry your father’s remains and to honor his passing,” Lucas answered. “Whatever our differences, he was a man of the church, and deserves the respect of its priests.”

  “I have my own priests, inquisitor. Return to Cinderfell, and to your god of dying and silence.”

  “My lady shouldn’t speak to a priest of the church in this way,” LaGaere said.

  “It’s no matter, Warhome,” Lucas said. “The girl has a right to her anger. It was a priest of Cinder who deceived her father, after all.” He waved LaGaere off, then nodded to Sophie. “The high inquisitor will pay for his crimes, my lady. We escort him to Heartsbridge, to face his judgment.”

  “Sacombre is with you?” she asked. Her face remained carefully neutral, betrayed only by the curiosity in her voice.

  “In chains,” LaGaere answered, though there was a hint of dismay to his words. “Caged with a witch.”

  “Cinder’s judgment sees no difference between pagans and heretics,” Lucas said, though he knew that to be untrue. “With your leave, Lady Sophie, we will escort your father’s body to the doma.”

  “Of course, though only this honor guard may join you,” Sophie said. For the first time she looked the party over. “Warhome and the prince of Stormwatch may join us at our table. The rest will have to make do in the barracks.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” Lucas said. “We have much to discuss. You may have noticed the army to our south. I was hoping to speak with you about their intent.”

  “You can ask them directly. Their commander rode ahead of the column, and awaits us inside.” Sophie gave Lucas a knowing grin, then turned back to the castle. “I’m sure you have much to talk about.”

  * * *

  The walls may have been left to ruin, but inside Greenhall was a different place. The roads were strewn with garlands, and fresh banners celebrating the sun hung from every window of the narrow streets and alleyways that branched off the main thoroughfare. Every corner sported a bonfire, and the guards that roamed the village wore crowns of flower and vine.

  “If I didn’t know the calendar, I would think they were preparing to celebrate the Allfire,” Martin said. A chorus of women passed by, their feet and shoulders bare, singing the evensong prelude. He turned to watch them pass. “Aren’t they cold?”

  “Strife warms the body as well as the heart,” Lucas said. “Though she won’t protect them much if these clouds break. This is all very odd,” he mused.

  The approach to the castle had been scrubbed cleaner than any street Lucas had ever seen, though the buildings that lined the street showed signs of fire damage. The gates themselves were twined with ivy and hung in cloth of gold and crimson, stitched with the icons of Strife.

  “Lady Sophie certainly brought her faith with her,” LaGaere said.

  “One faith, at least,” Lucas answered. “I haven’t seen a sign of Cinder.”

  “It was the High Inquisitor of Cinder that brought her father low. Be glad she stays true to the church at all.” LaGaere stripped off his riding gloves and tucked them into his belt. “Can you blame her for raising up Strife, and slighting Cinder’s dull cowl?”

  “Not yet,” Lucas said. “Not truthfully.”

  They were escorted into the courtyard. The stables were bustling with activity, as were the barracks and doma. The doors to the doma were thrown open, and waves of heat rippled into the cold evening air. The evensong filled the stone chamber. Lucas paused to listen.

  “The springtide,” he said quietly. “They’re singing in the summer.”

  “This way, my frair,” one of their escorts said, motioning to the great hall. Lucas allowed himself to be drawn inside, along with Stefan LaGaere and Martin. The rest of the procession, bearing the body of the fallen duke, continued into the doma.

  The hearth at the end of the hall was ablaze with a fire so hot that at first Lucas winced away from it. The flames burned clean and nearly smokeless, constantly attended by a pair of maids. The girls were drenched in sweat. A table ran the length of the room. Much of it was empty, with only the head closest to the hearth set with linens and ware. The guards motioned toward that end of the table.

  “Are we going to be given the opportunity to refresh ourselves?” LaGaere asked. “We have been in the saddle for weeks, and have not seen a proper washroom since the war began.”

  “Her ladyship will be with you shortly,” a guard said. Then he and his companions went to stand at attention by the door.

  “Well, this is madness,” LaGaere muttered. He began stripping off his armor and the heavy wool of his doublet. “We’re as likely to broil as be fed in this place.”

  “There will be food,” Lady Sophie said. She swept in from one of the chambers that bracketed the hearth. She still wore her armor, though her mendicant’s robe had been traded for a light frock of cream silk. Her brow beaded with sweat as soon as she entered. “And wine, and whatever else you require. I am not rude, my lords. Merely cautious.”

  “Your father was a cautious man, as well,” LaGaere said. “Cautious to a fault.”

  “His fault was in his faith,” Sophie answered, “not his caution.”

  “I always held Gabriel’s faith as his greatest virtue, my lady,” Martin said. “Our families disagreed on many things, but he was always faithful to the church. There should be no shame in that.”

  “I misspoke,” Sophie said quickly, looking Martin over slowly before she motioned to the seats. “Let us eat, and be at our ease.”

  Servants brought in food and wine, then left the party alone. The vast expanse of the great hall echoed with the clatter of goblets and plates as the knights tucked into the first real meal they had seen in months.

  “When will your other guests be joining us?” Lucas asked.

  “Soon enough,” she answered. “Has the rest of your party performed their duties?”

  “Your father rests in the sanctuary,” Lucas said. “I sent Sir Horne back to the caravan, carrying orders to make camp.”

  “Don’t get too comfortable, frair,” Sophie said. “You won’t be with us long.”

  An awkward silence followed, filled only by the crackle of the hearth.

  “A fine spread, my lady,” LaGaere said finally, raising his glass. “Quite a change from your previous arrangement, I’m sure.”

  “You recall the meals of the cold halls of Cinderfell, sir. Even the humblest shrine of the bright lady knows how to enjoy a good meal.”

  “Tell us of your time among the faithful of Strife, my lady,” Martin said. “Your father sent you away quite young, didn’t he?”

  “I was a child,” she said.

  You still are, Lucas thought, but kept to hims
elf.

  Sophie grinned into her cup of wine as she continued. “He wanted to protect me from the north. His court was no place for ladies, he always said.”

  “With your mother gone and no brothers, it’s hardly a wonder Gabriel wanted you elsewhere,” Martin said, “but he could have warded you with another court of Suhdra. You would have been welcome in Stormwatch.”

  “I’m sure you would have been more than happy to welcome me into your home, Sir Roard,” Sophie said with a smile. “However, I think he wanted more for me than a wardship and a courtly marriage. He could have sent me to the Lightfort, I suppose. I’m eternally grateful that he didn’t. The convent life was better for me.”

  “You certainly dress the part of a knight,” LaGaere said, nodding to Sophie’s armor. “Have you trained in the gentleblade?”

  “I have trained in the sword and the spear, though I hope to never use them,” she answered. “Most of my time was spent in prayer.” Her face calmed, her eyes becoming unfocused as she stumbled onto a memory. “I was at prayer when they brought me the news of my father’s death.” She sat quietly for a moment, the table awkwardly silent. The moment passed, and Sophie forced a smile. “At least the food was good.”

  “Sir LaFey complained endlessly about our meals on the trail,” Lucas said. “Doubtless she missed her days in the Lightfort.”

  “I’m not so sure,” LaGaere answered around a cut of ham. “The sworn of the vow are a hard lot.”

  “They are faithful to their calling,” Sophie answered. “I’m sure you can attest to that, Frair Lucas.”

  “I have never known a purer heart than Sir LaFey,” Lucas said. “Though she could be dreadfully stubborn on occasion.”

  “A lesson the inquisition could learn, perhaps,” Sophie said. “Stubborn in faith, to both gods and men.”

  “We all mourn the betrayal of Tomas Sacombre, and the deaths to which it led,” Lucas replied. “Your father’s chief among them.”

  “Let’s not hold Adair blameless in this story,” LaGaere said. “Without Lord Halverdt’s sacrifice, we might never have learned of the Fen Gate’s secret heresy.”

  “Without Sacombre’s heresy, we might have been able to prosecute the baron properly in a court of law,” Lucas said, “rather than a trial by war.”

  “Tener would never have allowed that,” LaGaere snorted. “Even that tame bastard Blakley stood in Adair’s defense. It took the full strength of the south to bring the hound to heel.”

  “The full strength?” Sophie smirked. “There wasn’t time to draw the full strength of the south, thank the gods. If that had occurred, we may have had a true war, rather than the murderous squabble that passed through the Fen Gate.”

  “I stood beneath the walls of the Fen Gate, and drowned friends and enemies in the waters of White Lake, my lady,” LaGaere said sternly. “That was war enough.”

  “We all drew blood,” Martin said. “All of us.”

  “Aye,” LaGaere answered. “Some of us from both sides.”

  “When it became clear that Sacombre had deceived us, all of us…” Martin started. LaGaere waved him aside.

  “Sacombre’s crime was no worse than Adair’s,” he said. “You would know enough about the turncoat’s excuses, Roard.”

  “And what do you mean by that?” Martin asked. The young man gripped his wine glass tightly in one hand, his other drifting dangerously close to his knife.

  “When the banner of Warhome rides, it rides true,” LaGaere said quietly. “We do not switch loyalties in the middle of a fight.”

  “And now who is being stubborn?” Sophie asked, sipping at her wine.

  “Gentlemen! My lady! Peace.” A voice called from the door to the great hall. The party turned to watch Helenne Bassion, Duchess of Galleydeep, walk into the room. She wore a formal dress, without blade or plate, though the complicated necklace that spilled down her breast could have turned a blade as well as it drew the eye. A young girl followed close behind, drawing back her chair to let the lady sit at the opposite end of the table from Sophie Halverdt. A flock of servants swept down to bring food and wine to the new arrival.

  “Let’s not fight before dinner, shall we?” the duchess said.

  “Galleydeep,” LaGaere said stiffly. “Are you in charge of the army looming to our south?”

  “The wide and varied banners of the south rallied to my side, as soon as I heard of the tragedy at White Lake,” Bassion said.

  “Men of Galleydeep fought bravely at that battle, and on to the Fen Gate, as well,” LaGaere said. “Why do you call it a tragedy?”

  “War fought quickly is war wasted,” she answered. “Yes, there was a contingent of Bassion troops in Halverdt’s doomed column, led by the great and greatly missed Sir Eduard Leon. I am told he died gallantly at the hands of your dear friend, didn’t he, Martin?”

  “Ian Blakley slew him, yes,” Martin answered. “In open challenge, and with honest blade.”

  “Such foolish words. ‘With honest blade.’ Those men were sent as a concession to my brother. Anxious as he was to show his support to Greenhall, Vincent chose to remain at home.” Bassion speared a slice of roasted apple with a long, thin knife and brought it to her lips. “They were good men, wasted. This whole enterprise has been a game of who can lose the most, and most pointlessly.”

  “Then why do you march at an army’s head, my lady?” Lucas asked.

  “To see that their loss is not in vain, frair. These questions of guilt, of whose wrong was greater, they do not interest me.” The duchess ate her apple, tapping the knife thoughtfully against her chin. “I leave the judgment of Cinder to the wisdom of Cinder, and seek only to ensure such needless battles are not fought again.”

  “My father fought to bring the peace,” Martin said. “As did Malcolm Blakley, and Castian Jaerdin. Will you join your forces to theirs, and stand united with the church?”

  “We shall have to see,” Bassion answered. “We shall simply have to see. More wine?”

  18

  THE ORPHANSHIELD STALKED the halls of the castle like a man possessed. A week had passed since the shriving of the hidden chamber. That had left the inquisitor paranoid, convincing him that another witch remained in the Fen Gate, and still he walked the corridors at night, sword in one hand, torch in the other. He did not sleep, for fear of letting the demon in through his dreams.

  Malcolm wasn’t sleeping much either, but for different reasons. With his wife hidden beyond the castle walls, every waking moment was filled with the fear that some wandering patrol of overzealous Suhdrin knight might stumble upon her secret camp. He lay awake at night, waiting for the horns to sound, or for iron boots to kick in his door.

  The guards assigned to protect the inquisitor were a mixed lot. There were Suhdrins from the camp outside, included at Gilliam’s insistence, alongside Tenerrans who still mourned their dead comrades. Both groups were wound tight, and each blamed the other for the war, so when young John Halfpenny made a joke about dead Suhdrin wives and the maggots that were raping them, the Suhdrin scout who was walking behind him took exception.

  Before anyone knew better John Halfpenny was lying on the floor of the doma with his belly the wrong way out, gasping his last few breaths. He was one of Rudaine’s men—a dwindling group determined to protect their own. The Suhdrin guards who were present for Halfpenny’s murder got to choose between throwing down their arms or receiving the blade.

  The first man to resist was cut down, and the rest surrendered. Then they were marched down to the crypts and locked away.

  The man who had resisted was one of Lorien Roard’s, supposedly allied to the Tenerrans but none too interested in giving up his sword. The group locked away in the crypts belonged to both Roard and Marchand, and their absence left the inquisitor’s contingent unguarded.

  Thus, while Malcolm and Roard argued at the tops of their lungs in the tumbled down throne room of the Fen Gate, one of the priests disappeared—and this drew the attention of the
inquisitor. He summoned Malcolm, Lorien, and the marshal in charge of Rudaine’s contingent, Franklin Gast.

  * * *

  They found Frair Gilliam in the stables. The inquisitor had built a chair from the wreckage of the altar from the doma, splintered stone icons lashed together into something that looked like a mad god’s throne.

  The room was lined with torches and the remaining priests, all looking young and weak and frightened, busied themselves in the flickering light. When Malcolm walked in, he quickly took stock of the children, to see which of them was missing. The girl who had seen his wife was in the corner, her head bent in prayer.

  Of course it wasn’t her, Malcolm thought bitterly. I couldn’t be that lucky.

  “Houndhallow,” the inquisitor growled. “What is this business? Why have you lost one of my charges?”

  “As I predicted and warned, my frair, the men were on edge and their tempers got the better of them,” Malcolm said. “It will be made right at once, and then I’ll personally lead the search for your priest.”

  “Made right?” Lorien said. “How will you make it right? My man is dead, and for what? Because your goons can’t tell the difference between an ally and an enemy?”

  “Fairness, my lord, it’s easier to know the difference between Suhdra and Tener,” Gast answered. The grizzled old sergeant rubbed his nose. “Easier still to stick a man when he’s told to put down his sword and he don’t, especially when there’s already innocent blood on the ground.”

  “I will not sit here and listen to petty squabbling,” Gilliam said. “Nor will I hear excuses. You all fall under the authority of the gods and the church. We face the greatest heresy to touch these lands since the crusades, and this is the service you render to Cinder!” The inquisitor stood, his eyes burning. “Sometimes I question your loyalty, Houndhallow. Your loyalty and your faith!”

  “There is no need to question either, my frair,” Malcolm said, steeling himself against the need to glance in the direction of the young priestess. “But there are real problems— dangerous problems—that need to be addressed.”