The Burning Stone
He kneels to pick up the two braids. Deftly he binds then around his upper arms like armbands. Three brothers dead. He touches his own braid, making of it a talisman.
Only two left to kill …
… but they will be the wiliest and smartest and strongest of Bloodheart’s sons—besides himself, of course. For them, he has laid the most dangerous trap of all—the one not even he may survive.
Rage snapped at a butterfly and the bright creature skimmed away, lost in the spinning air.
Alain stood alone by the filled-in grave. Only Rage and Sorrow and a single servant, standing at a safe distance, attended him. Everyone else had gone. His knees almost gave out and his head swam as he staggered to kneel beside the fresh grave. But when he touched the soil, he felt nothing but dirt. Ardent’s spirit, with her body, had vanished. A bold robin had returned to hunt these rich fields and now looked him over from a saf distance, head cocked to one side.
“My lord?” The servant came forward tentatively.
He sighed and rose. Now the rest of them would go on, and leave her behind. “Where are the others?”
“My lord count has gone to begin preparations for leave-taking. The clerics have told him that tomorrow is a propitious day to undertake a long journey.”
“The curse,” Alain whispered, recalling his dream. “I must find out what he knows.”
“I beg your pardon, my lord?”
“I must speak to Prince Sanglant.” He whistled the hounds to him and went to seek out Prince Sanglant.
There was a commotion in the great yard that fronted the king’s residence: two riders spoke urgently with the king’s favored Eagle while a cleric stood to one side, listening intently. Princess Sapientia and a party of riders attired for a pleasure ride waited impatiently, but because Father Hugh lingered to hear the news, none of them dared ride out yet. The folk gathered to hear the news parted quickly to let Alain and the hounds through. But he had no sooner come up beside the Eagle when the doors into the king’s residence swung open and King Henry strode out into the glare of the afternoon sun. Dressed for riding in a handsomely trimmed tunic, a light knee-length cloak clasped with an elaborate brooch at his right shoulder, and soft leather boots, he waved away the horse brought up for him and turned on the steward who stood white-faced and nervous behind him.
“What do you mean, with no attendants?”
“He was in a foul temper, Your Majesty, after he went to the stables, and he was not inclined to answer our questions. And he took the … dogs … with him, and a spare mount.”
“No one thought to ride after him?”
“I pray you, Eagle,” said Alain, cutting in now that all others had fallen silent. “Do you know where I might find Prince Sanglant?”
The Eagle looked at him strangely, but she inclined her head. “He rode out alone, my lord, in great haste, as if a madness convulsed him.” She seemed about to say more, then did not.
“Two men rode after him, at a discreet distance,” replied the steward who had by now gone red in the face from the heat of the king’s anger.
The king grunted. “The southern road,” he said furiously. “That is where you’ll find him. It takes no scouts to tell me that.” His gaze swept the forecourt, dismissing daughter and noble attendants until it came to rest on his favored Eagle. Her, he beckoned to. “Send a dozen riders to track him down. But discreetly, as you say. That would be best.”
The Eagle retired graciously, but with haste, toward the stables. The cleric led the two dust-covered riders away as they questioned her about the accommodations that would be available—and Alain suddenly realized that they were not the king’s riders but one man and one woman, each wearing the badge of a hawk. Father Hugh had a pleasant smile on his face, and he swung back beside Princess Sapientia and spoke to her in a low voice as they rode away.
Helmut Villam came out to stand beside the king, who lingered, slapping a dog leash trimmed with brass against his palm. Henry beckoned to Alain. “So, young Alain, you seek my son as well.”
“So I do, Your Majesty. I saw him earlier this morning. He was agitated, and he spoke of some kind of curse, a trap laid by Bloodheart against any person who sought to kill him.”
“Bloodheart! Yet he’s dead and safely gone.” But abruptly he looked hopeful. “Do you think Sanglant might have ridden north toward Gent?”
Any man would have been tempted to coax the king into a better humor, but Alain saw no point in lying. “Nay, Your Majesty. I think he rode after the Eagle, as you said before.”