“Are such spirits as these usually so persistent, Gregory?” Alain asked.
“They are,” the scholar replied. “In truth, they are known to haunt a place until they have slain someone. Only then do they move on to seek new prey.”
Alain shook his head, scowling. “Does that mean . . . since its cries have ceased . . .”
“Oh, no,” Gregory assured him. “ ’Tis only seen or heard at night. No, dawn sends it to hide.” He was silent a minute or two, then said, “Mind you, that does not mean it did not slay anyone last night—but there is no particular reason to believe that it did.”
“No, other than a hundred shrieks that could have been the death cry of any creature, human or animal!” Geoffrey said. “Still, I do not think it slew a hundred in one night.”
“Have there always been so many murderous spirits in this land?” Alain asked.
“Not dwelling so closely together.” Gregory frowned. “Indeed, this is a most unusual concentration.”
“I would suspect enemy action,” Geoffrey said, “but we have no reason to think there is an enemy nearby.”
“Other than a most strange mist that leaves ogres behind when it lifts, no,” Alain said. “I cannot help thinking that a bit unusual.”
“What do you suspect?” Geoffrey challenged him. “Someone like Ari the music-rock maker, only considerably more sinister?”
Alain turned to stare at him. “What a horrible notion! And how well it fits!”
Geoffrey returned the stare, taken aback. Then he frowned and started to say something—when Gregory let out a keening cry of distress.
They spun in their saddles to stare at him, but he was pointing ahead and to the side of the trail.
CHAPTER
7
Turning, they saw a man lying in the long grass—grass that was stained red, and a man who lay with one hand pressed to his side and another to his leg. His hands were red and his eyes stared, sightless; his features were frozen in a look of horror.
The three men dismounted, for the horses shied at the sight—and these were horses who were trained to ignore the scent of blood. The riders dropped the reins over their heads, dangling to the ground, for their mounts were trained to the sight as a signal not to wander. Then all three men came forward on foot, hands on their hilts. Gregory knelt by the man and gently pried his hands away from his body.
Alain let out a wordless cry of anger and Geoffrey’s face turned to stone.
“Pierced,” Gregory said, “as though by a single great claw.”
“That last horrid cry we heard,” Alain said, stiff-lipped, “the one of agony and terror that brought us upright. Do you suppose . . .?”
“I do indeed,” Geoffrey agreed.
“I shall be revenged!” Alain cried, trembling. “I shall be revenged upon the monster who thus sets upon my people!”
“Do not take it so personally,” Gregory advised.
“Why not? He would have slain me if he could!”
“If a peasant is pierced, his prince bleeds,” Geoffrey explained to Gregory, “a good prince, at least.” He turned back to Alain. “Let us discover who set the monster upon us before we seek to slay.”
“Is there any doubt that the Biasd Bheulach did this deed?” Alain asked.
Gregory shook his head. “None. That single great claw that sought your heart pierced this man instead.”
“Alack-a-day!” Alain buried his head in his hands. “He died in my place!”
“Be not so proud,” Geoffrey told him. “If he had slain you here, he would have slain a peasant tomorrow, in some other parish.”
“The thing thirsts for blood,” Gregory agreed, “human blood, and it was not particular—it would have slain any of us if it could.”
“Yes. Do not think it sought the life of a prince,” Geoffrey concurred. “It was quite content to find a peasant, alone and unguarded.”
“There is truth in that.” Alain stood slowly, hand on his sword, glaring off into the forest. “Well, if I cannot slay the murderer, I can find and slay whoever set it loose. Let us take this poor fellow to the nearest church and see him buried, friends, then ride to seek his foe!”
Cordelia ladled porridge into the wooden bowls, saying almost indignantly, “I can scarcely believe the night passed with nothing to disturb us!”
“It is ever the way of it.” Quicksilver looked grumpy in spite of the mug of tea whose vapors she was inhaling. She set it down to take the bowl Cordelia offered, saying, “Whenever a lass is prepared for a fight, it is never offered.”
“Indeed,” Allouette agreed. “Foes must ever creep upon us unawares.” Then she bit her lip as Cordelia and Quicksilver gave her quick glances and as quickly looked away, studying their oatmeal. There was an awkward silence as all three remembered that Allouette had indeed brought trouble upon them when they least expected.
It only lasted a moment, though. Quicksilver tossed back her hair and said, “Then it remains for us to seek out the trouble that eludes us. Eat heartily, ladies, for we may have hard riding this day.”
Their fasts broken and their horses saddled, they rode off on the trail of their fiancés.
“Let us hope we come upon them ere their enemies do,” Allouette said fervently.
“Or only a few minutes thereafter,” Quicksilver said. “How think you, ladies? When we find them, shall we ride just out of sight and stay alert for trouble, so that when it comes upon them we may take it from behind?”
Allouette nodded. “A good plan.”
“It would seem so,” said Cordelia, “but let us find them first.”
“Not hard, for they are being quite careless about leaving tracks.” Quicksilver glanced at the ground to check the tracks of the men, then stared. “They have suddenly become cautious!”
“What do you see?” Cordelia looked down with her and frowned. “I see nothing.”
“That is exactly what I see—nothing at all! No prints, no traces, no tracks of horse or man!”
Allouette rode up beside them, staring with them at the dirt. “Nothing? . . . No, nothing!”
“Not even brush marks where tracks have been swept away.” Quicksilver frowned. “Has my Geoffrey become monstrously cautious of a sudden?”
“Such care is more Alain’s way,” said Cordelia, “but would Geoffrey listen to him?”
“He might—if Gregory spoke in support of Alain,” Allouette offered.
“There is some truth to that.” Cordelia pursed her lips, imagining the conversation between her brothers. “Still, Geoffrey is not given to acknowledging when Gregory has the right of an issue, unless it is one of scholarship.”
“And tracking is not a matter of scholarship,” Quicksilver said.
“But magic is,” Allouette told her.
The women were silent for a moment, staring at one another in consternation. Finally Quicksilver said, “If their tracks have been whisked away by magic, they will not even know of it.”
“Indeed not,” said Allouette, “for they have no cause to look behind them.”
“We are behind them!”
“But they do not know that,” Cordelia reminded.
Quicksilver frowned. “A pretty puzzle this is! How are we to track them with no trace, and their thoughts shielded?”
They were silent again, looking at one another, thinking.
“They have been following this road so far,” Allouette said. “There is no reason to think they would leave it.”
“True.” Quicksilver nodded. “Until we come to a fork in the road, at least. Let us ride, ladies.”
“After all,” said Cordelia, “if the road ends before we find them, we can always retrace our steps.”
“I dislike the loss of time,” Quicksilver said, fuming, “but there’s little choice.”
Allouette nodded and clucked to her horse. Side by side, the three women rode on down the lane between the stone walls. It was a very convenient lane, very comfortable to ride—and impossible
to miss.
Down a slope it ran, then up another to a high ridge. At the top, they paused, looking down into a little bowl-shaped valley, only short grass on its side but at its bottom, an open meadow adorned with flowering trees. A brook meandered down its length.
“It is quite pretty,” Allouette offered.
“It is indeed.” Quicksilver scowled. “Why, then, do I feel that there is a pall of gloom hanging over it?”
“Well asked,” Cordelia agreed.
Together they studied the valley, analyzing the cause for the bleakness they all felt. It was Allouette who put it into words. “There are no people there—no huts or cottages, no crops!”
“Nor even any sheep or deer.” Quicksilver pondered the scene. “In truth, there is no sign of anything living, save trees, grass, and flowers.”
“Why would folk not settle in so lovely a dale?” Allouette asked. “Why would they not farm it?”
Cordelia’s face hardened. “This may be the danger we have felt approaching, ladies.”
“And if there is no trail, the lads may well have ridden down into peril.” Quicksilver kicked her heels against her mount’s sides. “We must investigate at the least!”
They rode together down into the valley. The walls ceased but the track was still broad and level. The women were braced for trouble—so it was with amazement that Allouette turned to look to the side and cried, “It is Gregory! We have found them!”
Her companions turned to look, too, and Cordelia gave a glad cry. “It is Alain!”
“Nay, it is Geoffrey!” Quicksilver kicked her horse into a canter, crying, “Well met, my love!”
The other women rode quickly after her, toward the lone man who looked up at them in pleased surprise.
Quicksilver reined in, leaping off her horse and throwing her arms around his neck with a glad cry.
“Away, lady!” Cordelia cried in anger. “Would you have my prince for your own, then?” She dismounted and stalked toward Quicksilver and Alain.
Allouette dashed past her, crying, “Stand away from my Gregory! Is not his brother enough for you?”
“Brother?” Cordelia cried, scandalized. “I should say I know my brothers well enough, and Alain is surely neither of them!”
All three women fell silent. Quicksilver loosed her hold on the young man and stepped away, turning an appalled glance to her companions. “Do you not see Geoffrey?”
“I do not,” Cordelia assured her. “It is Alain, by the troth he plighted me!”
“I see only Gregory!” Allouette protested.
“Nay, sweeting,” Geoffrey said, “can you doubt me, then?” He slid his arm around Quicksilver’s waist and stepped close. “Ah, you are so fair, so bright, the loveliest of Nature’s wonders! Nay, it has been far too long since I have seen you, touched you, felt your breath on my cheek . . . my lips . . . nay, I shall die of famine if I have not your kiss . . .”
Quicksilver’s gaze was drawn to his almost against her will. She stood rigid, finding herself unable to step away but unwilling to step toward her lover.
With good reason. “Will you not embrace me?” he mourned. “Ah, lack-a-day!” He released his hold and stepped toward Cordelia. “Fairest of the fair, surely you will greet me with love to answer my own!”
Cordelia trembled, unable to believe that the others could not see Alain as clearly as she—and as thoroughly unable to move as Quicksilver had been.
Alain stepped closer to her, caressing her cheek, tilting her face toward his own.
Cordelia managed to speak through lips that felt as though they were melting. “Alain . . . you were never wont to speak of love before others . . .”
“But you are before others,” he said, gazing down with a look of such tender passion that she had to fight her own feelings to doubt him. “You are before all others, and are the sweetest blossom on the tree of life!” His lips lowered over her own.
“No!” Cordelia wrenched herself free, feeling as though the movement tore at her heartstrings. “I’ll not kiss a man who but moments ago sought the lips of another!”
“Must I be left lorn?” Alain mourned, and impossibly turned from her toward Allouette. “The earth breathes where you walk, and its breath forms the greatest beauty in the land! Oh lady of wondrous form and fairest face, surely you will not turn from me as these others have done!”
“Oh Gregory, how could I deny you anything?” Allouette didn’t step forward either, but her head tilted up, eyes half-closing, lips parting, full and moist . . .
“Noooo!” Cordelia remembered Allouette’s attempts to seduce Alain, and all the rage and anger of those moments boiled up within her. She leaped forward, hands hooking to tear at the other woman.
Alain moved to place his body between them, breathing, “One kiss, only one kiss! For that do I starve, do I thirst, do I burn! Give me the honeyed moist sweetness of your lips, I pray!”
“He is mine!” Cordelia cried.
“Nay, mine!” Allouette spun to seize Quicksilver’s sword, whipping it out of the scabbard—then froze, staring at the blade in her hand. “What am I doing?”
“You are coming to me!” Gregory held out his arms. “Forgo that whetted sliver and ponder my prayer! Ah, fair flower, you must not deny me!”
But the ringing of steel triggered Allouette’s memories of knives in the dark, aimed toward the very women who now glared at her in loathing. It was like ice water in her face, waking her from a trance, and she turned her back on the young man, crying, “Deny you I shall, for you cannot be Gregory if you are Alain!”
“And cannot be Alain if you are Geoffrey!” Quicksilver snapped, reddening.
“He cannot be any of them!” Cordelia cried. “But how can he seem to be all three?”
“Because all women are beauties, and you three most of all!” Alain protested. “Does not each of you deserve your heart’s desire?”
“She certainly seemed to think so.” Quicksilver cast Allouette a venomous glare.
Allouette’s gaze snapped up to the warrior woman and anger rose over the tide of self-loathing. Allouette demanded, “Have you nothing to say to the woman who steals your sword?”
The hot flush that spread over Quicksilver’s cheeks told her that she had struck home, for the sword is a warrior’s pride and its loss a huge blow to self-esteem. Allouette braced herself for attack—but Quicksilver only set her fingers to her lips and blew a whistle so shrill that it made Allouette drop the sword to clap her hands over her ears—and Quicksilver snatched it up, point six inches from Allouette’s throat. “Easily gained, more easily lost.”
Geoffrey winced. “I am hard by, my sweet. You need not whistle me up.”
Quicksilver felt as though she were a compass needle and Geoffrey a magnet trying to draw her away from her true course—but she kept her gaze turned away from his face, glaring at a magpie in a tree. “It is not you whom I summoned.”
“Whom then?” Geoffrey stepped into her line of sight. “Surely you do not summon another man, you who are the very soul of loyalty, as true as you are lovely, as true as my love for you! Whom do you summon?”
Hoofbeats pounded up in answer and a horsehead interposed itself between Quicksilver and his face. She leaped up onto the mare’s back with a feeling of relief, calling, “Mount, ladies! There is something wrong in this, for one single man cannot be all three of our loves! Mount and ride away!”
“Away?” Geoffrey mourned, stepping toward her, hands outstretched in supplication. “Ah, will you desert me, then? I, who hunger for you, who burn for you, who live only for the touch of your gentle hand, the taste of your sweet lips!”
Cordelia forced her head away. “You have right in this, for Alain would never speak of the touch of my hand or the taste of my lips in front of others!”
“Your hand and lips?” Allouette cried in indignation. “Wherefore should Gregory speak so of his sister? It was to me he spoke!”
“It was not Gregory, but Alain!”
Cordelia’s head snapped back as though she’d been slapped. She turned to her horse and mounted, trying hard to ignore Alain’s blandishments, and turned her mare’s head toward the slope down which they had ridden.
“Oh fairest of the fair, do not leave me lorn!” Alain called to her—and Geoffrey to Quicksilver, and Gregory to Allouette. Already standing in the stirrup, she wavered, turning back to look at his sweet, fair face, so strong yet so vulnerable . . .
“Mount, lady!” Quicksilver’s voice seemed like cold water in Allouette’s face. “Whatever it is, it is not your Gregory—nor my Geoffrey, nor Cordelia’s Alain. Mount and ride for your life—and your love!”
Allouette hooked her right knee over the saddle horn and sat back, trembling, as she clucked to her mare. The sweet animal began to move away, back up the track, while Gregory called after her in despair, “Nay, do not leave me! The sun hides its face when you are gone, the night swallows me, clouds of fog enshroud me . . .”
“We must ride uphill!” Quicksilver said between her teeth. “We must ride, no matter what he says!”
“All gems lose their luster, all foods lose their savor, the very salt of the sea becomes flat and tasteless when you are gone from me! Oh, turn back, turn back, turn to me, bend to me, even if only for one last kiss!”
“Keep riding,” Quicksilver grated. A haze of passion seemed to cloak her eyes, but still she bade her companions, “For your lives, ride uphill!”
“The stars fall from the sky, for your eyes are my stars, the bright beacons that guide me through life! If you take them away, how shall I know where to go? Nay, without those fair pole stars, I shall wander lost and lorn all my days!”
“Close your ears to him!” Cordelia tried to make it an angry command but was appalled to hear it emerge as a whimper. There was a strange churning inside her, a weakness in her limbs, but she said, “Heed him not, and ride on!” Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alain again and let out a cry of despair.
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