Outside, the wind had dropped. The snowfall was finer and steadier. Though the yard was a stretch of solid white, Erde saw no trace of Ralf’s path of retreat. She wondered how he’d managed to cross without leaving any prints. The dead soldier was a long white lump beside the brick kilns. Erde regarded the body uneasily.
Hal had not expected to be scolded for doing what he considered to be his duty, especially when he’d accomplished it so cleanly and efficiently. “Leave him there a little longer, he’ll look like just another dirt pile,” he remarked sourly. Erde frowned and he shook his head. “I suppose you want me to give him last rites and bury him.”
She kept her eyes steady on him, the way she remembered her grandmother looking when she’d done something wrong.
“Are you to be my conscience now? You don’t think my own is active enough already?” He got very still, his jaw tight. “I thought you understood, milady, when you insisted on coming along, that this is war.” He gestured sharply toward the yard. “That man was my enemy. He’d have killed me without a thought. You, too, though if what Ralf says is true and he’d seen you’re a woman, he’d have had another use for you first!” He turned and stalked away to retrieve the soldier’s body, brushing the snow off his red jerkin as it fell, as if loath to let it gather for even a moment.
He might as well have slapped her, and finally, Erde decided she deserved it. She had insulted him deeply with her naive disapproval of a skill he’d spent a lifetime perfecting. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to be anything else but naive, if being worldly required an acceptance of murder as a common expedient. She wondered if it had anything to do with being a woman. Was this why women retreated into convents, or why Rose and her companions had withdrawn to the seclusion of Deep Moor, despite their self-sufficiency and their obvious relish for the more sensual aspects of life?
She turned her musings to the dragon in the barn. There he was, devouring—though with the greatest possible grace and mercy—a fellow creature he’d spent the last month traveling with. He was probably in the midst of it now, for as she reached out to him, his mind was shut to her. And in his case, it really was an issue of survival. Hal could have shown the soldier mercy, but the only mercy the dragon could afford right now was to do it quickly. Erde sank into a huddle in the snow against the wall of the barn. She felt as confused and alone as she ever had since the night of her flight from Tor Alte. Brushing tears from her eyes, she watched Hal grasp the dead soldier by the armpits and drag him toward the nearest of the brick kilns.
She owed him at least a gesture of apology. She’d started across the yard to help him when she heard the horsemen on the street. The snowfall had muffled their approach and they were clattering through the archway into the yard before either Hal or Erde had time to react.
Hal did not even try for his sword. He backed against the kiln, gesturing Erde to him. “Get behind me, lad!”
As she ran, she called to the dragon. He was still not answering. Across the yard, the mule shuffled into a less conspicuous position and began working his way around the perimeter.
There were six of them. The first three men were off their horses with their swords drawn before the others had pulled up inside the yard. They formed a quick semicircle around Hal, then looked to the fourth, a pudgy young man who remained astride his stout gray. He was not wearing Baron Köthen’s yellow and blue, but some more garish colors of his own. A younger son of some minor lord, Erde decided, gone into service with Köthen for lack of any more promising future. Reading the insecurity in him, she had a moment of pity. She had known someone in service once . . . or so she thought. But the faint wisp of memory faded before she could identify it.
The last two men dismounted to see to the body. “Dead, my lord.”
The lordling regarded Hal worriedly. His small, defensive eyes took in Hal’s venerable red leathers and the well-used soldier’s sword swinging easily at his hip. Hal drew himself to his full height and faced the young man calmly, as if he had every right in the world to be where he was, hauling around the corpse of their comrade.
“Your name, sir!” barked the younger son, playing at confidence but not taking the risk of forsaking his manners.
“That honor is for your superiors,” Hal returned, not so politely. “Who are you?”
The other men murmured and made gestures with their swords that suggested they didn’t care a whit about manners.
“I must ask you to surrender your weapon,” said the lordling.
“Am I taken prisoner? If so, what is my offense? I demand the privilege of rank.”
“You are not on the battlefield, sir knight.” He pointed at the body. “That is your offense, just to begin with.”
“Him?” Hal shrugged at the corpse as if it had just appeared in front of him. “Poor man, he was all stiff with the cold. I was helping him to a bit of shelter. Devilish weather, isn’t it?”
The lordling scowled belligerently. “He’s dead. You killed him. Are you claiming you did not?”
Hal shrugged again, a calculated annoyance. Would he have lied, Erde wondered, if he felt himself in any real danger?
“Your sword, sir, or I will have it taken from you.”
Hal gave up his sword, as if it hardly mattered to him.
The lordling beckoned one of his men over and whispered briefly. The man swung up on his horse and cantered out of the yard. Then the lordling crossed his wrists on the pommel of his saddle and leaned in with a trace of bravado. “So tell me. What is a King’s Knight doing in this town?”
Hal let his eyes widen. “Are we not in Erfurt? Am I mistaken? I thought the king ruled in Erfurt.”
“It was not intended as a joke.” Hal grinned at him.
“Your king is the only joke.”
Hal’s grin died. “What would you know about such things?” He looked away and very deliberately, spat into the snow.
The lordling reached blindly to regain the advantage. “For all I know, it might have been you who snatched the witchwoman. I wouldn’t have thought a man your age would be capable. Did she magic you?”
“Speak in comprehensible sentences, lad. What are you talking about?”
Erde was grateful for the anonymity of servants. She huddled behind Hal, observing the details of his performance. Meanwhile, she isolated careful images of the events for the dragon and sent them off into the ether, not knowing whether he received them or not. She worried that the she-goat alone might not be enough of a meal to restore his strength. She begged him for a sign.
The lordling brushed snow from the fringe of blond hair cutting straight across his brow. “Yes, I think it must have been you. Where is she? Where have you hidden her?”
Hal spread his arms. “There are no women here about, my boy, much to my regret. Is she good-looking, your witchy-woman? If so, send her my way, I do implore you.” He threw a fraternal glance at the men surrounding him. “I’ve been a long time out in the East, you see, where cold as it is, the women have no need of clothing, so thick is the pelt on them.”
One man suppressed a smile, another snorted. All three relaxed their sword arms a trifle.
“In fact, you wouldn’t believe. One time I . . .” Hal continued, and the soldiers leaned in to listen.
“Quiet! This is not a tavern!” The men smirked and the lordling stiffened his jaw. “The barn. She’s probably in the barn. You and you, search that barn!”
The two idle men took off at a trot. They found a recalcitrant mule between them and the doors.
Hal relaxed back against the brick kiln, looking unconcerned. “Is he any better yet?” he murmured to Erde. “I’ll give him every second I can manage.”
Imperceptibly, she shrugged, shook her head.
He bent to dig snow out of his boot. “Perhaps he should reconsider his prohibition against eating human flesh. Like right now.”
The mule squealed and lashed out, striking the sword from one of the soldier’s hands. The man swore in pain and hugged his wrist.
Hal straightened, suddenly smiling and helpful. “Oh, he’s a real killer, that one. My boy here can’t even handle him. I don’t know why I keep him. Here, I’ll do what I can.” He went toward the mule, dragging Erde with him. He made a lengthy show of being unable to calm the spooked and violent animal while Erde stood in the snow silently pleading with the dragon to listen, to respond, to give her just one sign that he was alive and well and aware of what was happening.
But the lordling soon lost patience. “Quiet him down or he’s a dead animal, never mind the baron’s order!” He signaled his men. “Get those doors open!”
The mule allowed himself to be driven off to one side, but would let no one touch him. The soldiers hauled open the heavy doors and rushed inside. Erde heard them thrashing about, slamming bin lids and rustling through the straw. She heard no exclamations of horror or surprise. She exchanged a quick glance with Hal and as soon as both could casually do so, they peered around the edge of the doorway. The soldiers stood at a loss in the middle of an apparently deserted barn. One of them was searching the mule packs. All he came up with that interested him was a second sword wrapped in linen. He tore off the bindings, examined it possessively, then set it aside. Alla’s little carved box he opened and tossed back in the pack when he found it contained only a strip of paper. Erde was glad she wore the dragon brooch pinned to the inside of her shirt. She sent praise to Earth, even though he never responded when he was being invisible. At least he’d found the strength to do that.
The lordling rode his horse into the barn and looked around. “You’ve hidden her well, sir knight.”
“I’ve hidden no one,” Hal replied truthfully.
“Perhaps she’s hidden herself. A vanishing spell. A witch can do such things.”
Erde shuddered to think how close to reality he’d stumbled.
Hal rolled his eyes as if the young man were raving. “So I’m told. But then, why would she hide out in a barn? She could simply vanish and walk right out of town.”
The lordling drew himself up in his saddle. “She wouldn’t get past. The holy brother has an acolyte at every gate to sniff out any unholy witchcraft.”
“Is that so?” replied Hal, as one might to soothe a lunatic.
“Besides, you are her loyal minion who saved her from the stake. She will come back for you, and we will be waiting. You there! Bind his hands!”
One man scurried for rope. Another yanked Hal’s arms around his back and held them ready as his companion tied them tightly.
Hal looked up at the man on the horse. “Are you sure you’re ready to face the Powers of Darkness all by yourself?” When the young man blanched, he returned an avuncular chuckle. “Really, lad, there is no ‘she.’ I’ve got no woman hidden. I’m hungry, you’re probably thirsty, we’re all of us freezing our asses off, and what you should really do is take me to Baron Köthen right away. I’m sure his hospitality will prove superior to this drafty old barn.”
“Superior, no doubt, and a lot more secure,” said a dry voice behind them.
The lordling slid quickly off his horse.
“Ah. At last.” Hal turned easily. “Still so light on your feet, Dolph.”
Baron Köthen stood in the doorway, snow melting on his bared blond head. His arms folded and his stance hip-slung, he looked both edgy and satisfied. “Well . . . I learned from the best.”
“Just searching about town on your own, eh?”
“Oh, please, I came as soon as I heard. How many King’s Knights are there left running about loose, after all?” Behind him, a large party of soldiers swooped into the yard amidst the multiple clinkings of harness and armor. Köthen moved in from the doorway, casually but in full enjoyment of his authority. His clothing was plain but well-cut, with just the right amount of swagger. His beard was neatly trimmed. His eyes, Erde noted, were dark, belying his lighter coloring. He spotted Hal’s peculiarly stiff posture, bent to glance behind him, then turned on the lordling in a rage. “What? You’ve bound him? Fool, where are your manners? Release him immediately!”
The lordling himself jumped to untie the ropes. Hal rubbed his wrists ceremonially. “So. You come to me, Dolph? I’m honored.”
“With all the respect possible, my knight, under the circumstances.”
Something like pain shadowed Hal’s eyes momentarily. The two men stared at each other, then Köthen took a step forward and held out his hand. Hal moved at the same instant to meet him. They clasped hands eagerly, with visible affection. The lordling stood by, astonished.
“You’re looking well, Dolph.”
“And you, considering. What brings you to Erfurt?”
Hal regarded the younger man steadily. “I came to visit a friend, but I gather he’s left town.”
Köthen laughed softly. The smile turned his rugged face briefly boyish. He reached out to pinch the red leather of Hal’s jerkin between two fingers. “I hope you’ll tell me, my knight, that you wear this still because the impoverished circumstances of your life deny you the luxury of a new wardrobe.”
Hal looked down, spreading his arms to survey himself better. “What? You don’t like the cut? Or perhaps it’s the color. Yes, the color, no doubt. But I rather think it flatters me. I always hoped you’d grow to favor it yourself.”
“There are more fashionable colors now in Erfurt.”
“Ah, yes.” Hal sucked his teeth noisily. “The blue and yellow, perhaps? But you know me better, Dolph. Never one to change my color at the whim of fashion.”
When Köthen made as if to turn away, Hal grasped his wrist and pulled him nearer. Swords rattled all around the barn but Köthen held up a hand and waved them away. “Give us some privacy here, for Christ’s sake!”
The soldiers backed out of the barn. The lordling remained in the doorway, feeling suddenly irrelevant.
“So, Dolph. What is this you’re up to?” Hal demanded quietly. “Conniving with your fellow peers is one thing. It’s what a baron does. But to take up your sword against His Majesty? Didn’t I teach you better than treason?”
Köthen’s head dipped. Erde saw his eyes squeeze shut briefly. He took a breath and when he spoke, she could barely hear him. “You taught me everything I know that’s worth anything, but your most vivid lesson was one you never intended, and that was about the futility of devoting your life and loyalty to a weakling monarch.” He looked up at Hal intently. “We live in woeful times, Heinrich, listen to me. I will be a better master to our people. I will keep them safe. I will hold the barons in control. I will make the kingdom prosper again.”
“You could do all that, Dolph—and I don’t doubt you could—and still do it in the service of your king. Come wear the Red with me. Make it honorable again. Are you so hungry for a crown?”
Köthen shook him off with a snort of anguish. “You’ll force me to make an enemy of you.”
“Your deeds here have done that for you already. Though it doesn’t mean I love you any less.”
Köthen’s laugh was harsh this time. “Well, I’d rather you hated me!”
“If I were to hate you, I’d have to give up hope of changing your mind.”
“Hate me, then. Show me some human foible, Heinrich! Cut yourself down to life size in my eyes, so I can bear the pain of disappointing you.”
“Ah, Dolph, I’m a foolish old man still unfashionably loyal to his king. Is that not disappointing enough?”
“You’re not that old, and you’re certainly not foolish.” Köthen stared at him resignedly. “Which means you’re still dangerous, and my unwilling guest no matter what.” He turned away to walk farther into the barn, stretching. The fine dark links of his mail jingled musically along his arms. “Well, I’ll try to keep you alive as long as I can, though with this mad priest, there’s no telling . . .” He searched about vaguely as if at a loss for further conversation, then rounded again on the lordling. “Here! A seat for Baron Weisstrasse! For me, too, if you can find more than one.” He noticed Erde finally and seized on her as possibly neutral subject matter. “So, is this your latest? Starting them awfully young now, Heinrich. Looks hardly old enough to lift a blade.”
“As old as you were, when you came to me.”
Köthen’s shoulders hunched, then he shook off the memory. “What’s your name, boy? Speak up! What household are you from?”
“He can’t, Dolph, and he’s not from any household. What lord would give their sons to me to train nowadays? He’s a mute orphan lad I saved from starvation, and he serves me well enough.”
“Well, I’m sure he’s a worthy lad and I’ll try to keep him alive as well. Though you don’t make it easy for me, my knight.”
Hal eyed him satirically. “If I gave up my principles at my age, what would I have left?”
Köthen turned back to grip Hal with both hands and shake him gently. “A comfortable rest of your life in my service, as my most valued counselor. Heinrich, I beg you, listen to reason.”
“What is comfort without honor?” returned Hal recklessly, but his eyes over his grin were serious.
“What is honor without power?” Köthen replied.
“Ha. I should know never to debate the fine points with you. My sword was superior, but you were always the better politician.”
“As events have proven.”
“Perhaps. Though we haven’t seen the end of this yet. What of the prince? Have you left him alive?”
Köthen flushed. “Of course! Did you think . . . ?”
“I think you won’t actually claim a throne while it has a living heir.”
“Carl is safe!” Köthen returned hotly. “Fool that he is.”
Hal looked glum. “I won’t disagree with you there.”
“I’ll rule as regent.”
“The king still reigns.”
“Where? You tell me where!” Köthen jabbed a finger at Hal like an angry schoolmaster. “You find me one corner of this land still loyal to that weak old man and I’ll go there and clean it out with my own hands! My own bare hands, Heinrich. I swear! This kingdom is dying and it needs a leader, a real leader, to make it whole again!”
Into the chill silence that fell between them then came new sounds, from out on the street. Men’s deep voices booming out a liturgical chant. Listening a moment longer, Erde knew her worst fears had been realized.
“Damn!” Köthen muttered, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes.
“My lord baron,” began the lordling from the door. “It’s . . .”
“I know who it is, idiot! Why now? Maybe it’s coincidence. Maybe he’ll just pass by.”
Fighting a panic so visceral that it nearly froze her to the spot, Erde glanced wildly around the barn for some sign of where the dragon was hiding himself. She found nothing, and began to doubt if he was there at all. She clutched at the dragon brooch inside her shirt for comfort. It provided her none. The smooth stone was icy to her touch, as frigid as the wind outside, as chilled as her doubting heart. What if Earth had gone off without them? What if the she-goat had provided just enough strength to take him to Deep Moor, and he’d gone back to feed? He’d have no way of knowing he’d be leaving her to the grotesque mercies of the white-robed priest. The chanting grew louder as it neared.
“They’re singing an exorcism,” noted Hal. Erde watched suspicion bloom across his face.
“Are they really,” Köthen replied without a shred of interest. “Only you would know such a thing.”
The singers rounded the corner and passed under the arch into the brickyard. Erde pulled her hood up and her cap down, and edged backward toward the darkest recesses of the barn. She knew it was hopeless. If the priest came in, he would sniff her out somehow. He had that gift.
Köthen sighed and started for the door. “If only he’d keep his mind on his own business!”
Hastily, Hal put himself in the way. “Dolph, don’t let him in here. Keep him away from me.”
“I’d as soon keep him away from all of us.”
Hal lowered his voice. “No joke, Dolph. I mean it. You don’t know what you’re into here. Keep him out. You won’t like what will come of it, even you.”
“Even me. Ha. Spare me your contempt, Heinrich.”
“Dolph, I’m warning you. He’ll have me on the stake.”
Erde knew who the knight was really worried about, and she was grateful. But she doubted that his offering himself up as a distraction would fool the priest for very long.
Köthen of course could not understand as she did. He laughed. “Is that old reputation still dogging you? Come now, my knight. What is this unmanly terror of a mere cleric?”
“You already know better than that.”
“Well, all right, yes, I do. It doesn’t take very long, it’s true. But relax, he only burns witches and warlocks.”
Hal nodded. “Precisely.”
Köthen paused, eyes narrowing. “Heinrich, no one who knows you takes any of that old sorcery stuff seriously. You may die on the block, like a man, but at the stake? Not while I’m in charge.”
“If you let him in here, you may not have the choice.”
“I see.” Köthen eased back onto his heels, studying him. “You tell me, then, my knight: just what am I into that I don’t know about?”
As Hal quickly weighed how much was safe to tell him, too soon there was someone at the door. The lordling stood aside with a bow. Erde shrank further into the shadows, burrowing into the straw and screaming in her mind for the dragon to come and save her. But the man who entered was not Brother Guillemo. It was Josef von Alte. Köthen stiffened, then moved a long step away from Hal. Von Alte blinked, his eyes adjusting to the relative darkness of the barn. His silver hair brought in an icy glint from outside. He saw Köthen, then Hal. He squinted, then frowned.
“Weisstrasse? Is that you? What the hell are you doing here?”
Hal bowed deeply. “Your servant as always, my lord of Alte.”
Köthen snickered. “Don’t pick on him, Heinrich. He’s had a hard day, too. No, come to think of it, pick on him all you like. Save me the trouble.”
Erde wished that, like the dragon, she could become invisible. But for the moment, these three rival barons were too busy jockeying for position to notice a mere prentice boy. She watched her father covertly, breathless at being thrust into his presence like this, without warning. From the rooftop, he’d looked all right. She remembered how he used to fill doorways. She thought his slimmer shape suited him. But close up, his eyes were pouchy and his skin sallow. It wasn’t just age. Hal was probably twenty years older and looked far more fit. She saw her father was ill at ease. At Tor Alte, she’d thought him a model of the worldly, modern courtier, even when she didn’t agree with him. But here, shown up against the likes of Köthen and Hal Engle, he seemed provincial, a bit pretentious, and painfully aware of it. It wasn’t his clothing or his accent, but his lack of confidence, as if somewhere in the journey between Tor Alte and Erfurt, his will had been shattered. (How ironic, that during the very same journey, her own had been forged.) Only cunning and bravado kept Baron Josef from complete collapse. Erde blamed it on the priest and his promises of glory. If her father had stayed at home to mind his own lands, like his mother the baroness had insisted on doing, Erde thought he could have learned to rule properly. Now he was working very hard to be bully and likable, which was not really in his nature, especially when faced with Köthen’s unconcealed disdain. There was also the disadvantage of not understanding why these two men before him now, who ought to have been blood enemies, met him with an unidentifiable solidarity and identical expressions. A sharp rise in the volume of the chanting saved him from having to respond to Köthen’s gibe.
“What is he doing out there?” Köthen was irritable, as if von Alte was responsible for the existence of the priest as an obstacle in his life. Which in a way, he was.
Baron Josef looked faintly embarrassed. “Performing an exorcism.”
“Told you,” murmured Hal.
“But why is he here?”
“My lord Köthen, he came on the word of your messenger.”
“I sent him no messenger.”
“Then one who claimed to be your messenger. An old man with a limp. Looked like he’d just been in a fight.”
“Say again?” Hal came up beside him. “An old man? With a limp? Did he have a fresh gash on his cheek right here?”
“You describe him exactly. Perhaps he was your messenger, Weisstrasse?”
“Hardly.”
“But you know the man? He didn’t mention you.”
“Well, that’s something at least.”
Von Alte frowned at him suspiciously.
“I mean, I was mistaken. I only thought I knew him.” Hal turned away with a stunned and sickly look. “Alas for the world. Treason is everywhere.” He wandered over to the nail keg that the lordling had pulled up for him moments ago. He sat down on it heavily and buried his head in his hands. Erde understood his anguish. You save someone’s life, or teach them everything they know, and still they betray you.
Köthen stared after Hal curiously, then returned his attention to von Alte. “What did this messenger say to bring Guillemo so quickly and so . . . noisily?”
“The usual. I only heard part of it. Something about the witch-woman and a dragon.” Josef chose this first opportunity of being alone with Köthen to make a play for his sympathy. “He’s obsessed, you know. You saw his reaction to your men’s dragon scare. He sees them under every rock. But there’s never any truth to it. My whole time with him has been one long chase after specters and will-o-the-wisps.”
“Then why do you stay with him if he’s such a burden?”
“Why do you welcome him into your town? My lord Köthen, our reasons are the same.”
“Why do either of you have anything to do with the man?” cried Hal from his nail keg. “He’s not just inconvenient, he’s unclean. Unclean! Filth spews from his mind and blasphemy from his mouth! He corrupts everything he touches!”
“Of course, Heinrich,” soothed Köthen reasonably. “We all know he’s mad, but the people believe in him. The man who brought you the message, von Alte, was he in earnest?”
“Oh, quite. The man was obviously terrified.”
“You see, my knight? The people want to be saved—from hunger, from disorder, and especially from dragons. You don’t understand this because if you see a disorder, you try to fix it yourself, and if you ever met a dragon, you’d welcome it into your library for closer study. But not everyone is so equal to the world. They want to be taken care of.”
Erde was sure Köthen was right. Though Old Ralf had been told that Earth had saved his life, he’d only pretended to accept the idea of him for as long as he considered himself at risk in the dragon’s presence. Once he was safely out of range, the old fear and superstition went back to work on him. Either that, or he’d been a spy for the king’s enemies all along, but she thought the fact that he’d reported the dragon and not the King’s Knight proved it was abiding terror that had driven him to it. Of course, the result was the same in the long run.
Outside, the chanting ceased.
Her moment of grace had ended, her brief idyll while time stopped for politics and manly posturing among three men whose decency had been sorely tried, but who still retained their basic humanity. Outside, the real evil lurked, and it was coming in to join them. With Hal no longer standing between her and her father, Erde’s last illusion of safety evaporated. She burrowed deeper into the hay, hoping to back imperceptibly behind the feed bin.
When he appeared in the doorway, Erde recognized instantly that Brother Guillemo was no longer sane. Despite the biting cold, he wore his rough robe open to his waist, where the belt was cinched in so tightly that it left long red chafe marks on his belly. Snowflakes caught in the thick black hair matting his chest. His feet were also bare. The hard and blackened look of them suggested that he’d gone shoeless for quite a while. His hood was thrown back, revealing his bald head which, before, he had taken such trouble to conceal when not in one of his transports of prayer. But all this could have been detail for one more role, assumed like the others to fit his current purpose, except for the terror deep within his eyes. He looked like a man standing naked in a gale.
Erde wondered why it should be that she could read this man so truly, this one man whom she hated and feared above all others. She’d been able to from the moment she set eyes on him—even before, when in Tor Alte’s great-hall she’d seen through the lie of the white-robe claiming to be Guillemo Gotti. She felt connected to him in some awful, inexplicable way, and recalled Rose’s insistence with Hal about the priest’s real gift for prophecy. She wished she’d had more time to discuss it and its relationship to her own future, before she had to face him again.
But here he was, waiting just within the door frame, rocking slightly, as if getting his bearings, the one thing she knew he would never quite have again. Köthen and von Alte moved instinctively to triangulate the priest, making Hal the third corner, unarmed though he was and with his head still buried in his hands. No one said a word. The lordling reached behind him for his horse’s reins and backed out of the barn, grateful to leave Guillemo to his superiors.
In the silence, Guillemo’s wild expression calmed a bit and became crafty. He glanced from von Alte to Köthen and back again. “Where is it? Is it here? Is it gone? Did it leave any sign?”
Köthen cleared his throat. “Do join us, Brother. What were you expecting to find?”
Guillemo squinted at him. “Ah. Then it’s gone. Again, I’m too late.”
“What is gone?”
“The witch’s minion. The Devil-beast your messenger spoke of.”
“Not my messenger, good Brother.”
“Not?” Guillemo frowned and looked to Josef von Alte, who shrugged defensively. The priest’s hands clenched, then brushed the air as if shooing flies. “Ah, I see it now. Some demon mocks me. I am being tested . . . no!” His restless movements stilled. He sniffed carefully and peered around into the shadows. “No, the dark clouds roil and gather. He was here. He’s gone now, but he will return for her. No. He’s here. I feel him near.” He paced in a small circle, taking in all corners of the barn. “I feel him.”
“He? Who?”
“The dragon, my lord baron.”
Köthen rolled his eyes, but Erde shivered. Was it possible? Could he actually sense the dragon’s presence, even when she couldn’t? She wouldn’t put it past him.
Guillemo walked his rapid little circle and halted in front of Hal. “Who’s this?” He grabbed the short-cropped nap at Hal’s temples and jerked his head back to see his face. Hal did not resist. He stared up at the priest with a vengeful death’s head grin. Guillemo stared back for a breathless second, then let go and sprang backward with a bone-chilling screech. His continued wails brought three of his brothers crowding to the door.
“Out!” Köthen snapped. “You, out! All of you! This is a gentlemen’s discussion, Guillemo. I want them out of here!”
Guillemo got hold of himself enough to cease his shrieking, but continued to stare and point, his whole arm outstretched as if reaching to touch the knight while keeping as far away from him as possible. “How did you get here? You’re not supposed to be here!”
“What’s the matter, Guillemo? Did you hope I’d died or something?” Hal rose from the nail keg and walked to the door to glance purposefully up at the glowering sky. The three white-robes backed away into the snow.
The priest balled his fist and dropped it to his side like a hammer. “I should have known it would be you!”
“I see you two are acquainted,” noted Köthen dryly.
Hal turned smoldering eyes on him.
Köthen spread his hands. “What, what?”
“Christ Almighty, Dolph. If you’re going to come charging in to steal a crown, you ought to at least take time to find out what goes on in the kingdom.” The extremity of Hal’s anger gave him strength to hold it in check. “Surely you’re the only man left in God’s Creation who doesn’t know it’s this so-called priest who made me a homeless wanderer!”
“Him? Thought it was your sons.”
“He put the weapon in their hands.”
Under the heat of Köthen’s glare, Guillemo glanced aside but raised his chin. “He is the Anti-Christ.”
“Who is?”
Guillemo jutted his chin in Hal’s direction. “Him. Him.”
“Hal Engle is the Anti-Christ? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“He has converse with dragons.”
“Ah, yes. Dragons.” Köthen eyed Hal sympathetically. “You see what comes from too much study? It’s that old reputation, getting you in trouble again.”
“Mock, mock, my lord, on peril of your soul!” The priest was pointing again. “He brings the ice in summer! He brings dragons to lie in wait!”
Hal smirked at Köthen with sour satisfaction. “And you said nobody took it seriously.”
Guillemo saw his advantage slipping away. He collected himself with effort. He tightened his robe a bit and smoothed its folds across his chest. “You may well mock, my lord baron, but do you consider it mere coincidence that finds us all here together at this moment?”
“What should I consider it?”
“Destiny, my lord of Köthen.”
Erde absorbed the loaded word with a shudder and wished with every nerve in her body that she was back in Deep Moor. She’d used the distraction of Guillemo’s screeching to gain the cover of the feed bin, but she still felt completely visible to him, sure that it was only a question of when he would choose to notice her.
“Destiny.” Hal made a rude sound.
“Yes! The forces of Destiny have drawn us together! He should not be here now, and yet he is, with all that he can summon from the cold depths of Hell! It is not on the battlefield but in this humble unmarked place that the true contest will be won or lost!”
Köthen had no answer for that. He shrugged. “A battle of the spirit, then, good Brother, which I as a mere soldier can leave to your superior knowledge and experience. Heinrich, gather your kit and your boy. I’m afraid you’ll have to leave your dragons behind. Let’s find someplace warm and get some food in our bellies. Damned unseasonable weather, isn’t it?”
Erde knew it would not be that easy.
“You leave at the peril of your immortal soul, Baron Köthen.” The priest’s voice was suddenly flat and sane, more like the Guillemo that she remembered.
“Ah, but I stay at the peril of my health and my stomach,” Köthen returned with scant civility. “What a dilemma.”
Erde’s father watched this exchange avidly, as if to see if Köthen had any better luck mastering the priest than he’d had.
“You do not fear God or the Devil?” Guillemo gathered himself a little more. It was like watching a man rein himself in on a leash. “Then perhaps a threat to your newly acquired scepter will concern you more.”
Köthen hesitated, and Josef von Alte smiled knowingly.
“Not acquired yet,” Hal threw in uselessly.
“What is it, priest? Can’t you ever just say what you mean?” Köthen crossed his arms. He knew he’d been snared and wasn’t happy about it.
“I have, my lord. I am. I always do.” Guillemo took up his diffident advocate’s stance, though it remained a bit stiff and artificial, his brain demanding a posture his mad heart could no longer support. But his insinuating tone of voice sent another hot surge of memory through Erde’s skull, a face again and blood, a young man’s body flying through the air, then nothing. But now she knew it was only in hiding. She felt it lurking, just out of reach, the entire memory, awaiting its cue. Guillemo took up a slow back and forth pacing, and Erde heard the slap of sandals on stone, even though the floor was dirt and the priest was barefoot. “Perhaps the meaning is sometimes obscure to you, my lord Köthen, but I say it nonetheless, without concealment. And what I am saying now is that your soul is in danger and your power is threatened. I will leave it to you to decide which peril concerns you more, but how much clearer do you need me to be?” He turned to face Köthen with elaborate politesse.
“Go on,” said Köthen.
“There is a conspiracy at work here, my lord, and it is both treasonous and unholy. My own heaven-sent visions are explained and proven out by the information I had from a man who I thought was your messenger but who now I see had fled to me in righteous terror to bare his soul of what he’d witnessed.”
Guillemo turned to point at Hal again, a bit too fast, a bit too avidly, and jerked himself back into a more reasonable stance. “I’d thought, my lord, that I had prevented this, months ago, but alas, the Fiend has found a way around me to do his foul work. Tonight, the poor man told me, this devil’s minion will tryst with the escaped witch and her rescuer, whom some call the Friend. But he is no friend to the godly. You will notice, my lord, how the name becomes ‘fiend’ with the subtraction of a mere letter. So then, when they are all met, this one here will summon his dragon familiar and spirit them away to the un-Friend’s encampment so that the accursed witch can do her black magic with his godless mob. This I have seen in my visions over and over, though I did not at first comprehend it. The witch will render the mob into an invincible army, which will march on Erfurt in the name of the deposed king.” Guillemo paused, lowered his pointing arm. “Does that stir your interest at all, my lord Köthen?”
“Do we know it was the Friend who rescued her?”
“I say it was.”
The younger man stared thoughtfully at the floor, toed some broken straw around with his boot, then sighed and looked at Hal.
Hal chuckled. “I’d do it if I could, you know that.”
“Except for the dragon part, my knight, it all sounds too plausible to be ignored.”
“Ah, but the dragon part seems fairly essential. How am I to spirit them away otherwise?”
“How about the dragon part as a metaphor for the royalist underground? I know the town’s riddled with . . . ‘friends.’ This place in particular.” Köthen nodded toward the shadowed corners of the barn. “I’ve had my eye on it for weeks. Haven’t been able to catch anyone in the act . . . before now.”
“An unlikely spot for secret meetings.” Hal waved a dubious hand around the room. “Too public. Look how just anyone can drop on by.”
“Exactly. Who would suspect the odd coming and going? How else could a King’s Knight be standing here before me within my own closely guarded walls? How else could Guillemo’s witch and her rescuer have already evaded me for several hours? The royalists may have gotten them out by now, for all I know.” He watched Hal closely for a betraying sign.
“I’d much prefer a real dragon,” said Hal.
Köthen tried and failed to suppress a laugh.
“No, it’s not true! They’re not gone!” barked Guillemo, a little too loudly. He jabbed an agitated finger at the straw-dusted floor. “The specific persons may be obscured in my visions, but the force lines definitely meet here. They will be joined. It must be! There is . . . there is . . . here. It must be here!”
The priest began to pace his tight circle again, faster and faster. The three barons looked on with varying degrees of incredulity, concern, and contempt. Cringing behind the feed bin, flattened against its splintery slats, Erde knew not a whisper of contempt. She took in the priest’s circling as the mouse blindly senses the hawk above and freezes in primal, animal terror. She called again to the dragon, a final attempt, a desperate yearning fling of her mind into the void that was still, unbelievably, dragonless.
And the priest, circling, also froze, and listened. “It . . . ? Or she . . . ? She. She! She is here! Here! Now I understand it! Now I see it all!” He lunged back into motion, circling still but even wider, brushing unseeing past the men who watched dumbfounded, shoving Hal aside as the knight stepped deliberately into his path.
“Really, Dolph, can’t you do something with the man?”
Josef von Alte moved aside warily.
Köthen said, “Guillemo . . .” and reached for him.
“No!” The priest swerved, batting his arm away. “She. You. Didn’t believe me. I knew. Here now. Right . . .” He circled toward the feed bin. Hal moved to intercept him, but Köthen stopped him short with a broad arm across his chest.
“It’s the lad. He’ll . . .”
“Easy. He’ll come to no harm.”
“Dolph, you don’t know . . .”
“You keep saying that.”
“Here!” shrieked Guillemo like a malicious child in a game of tag. He reached behind the bin, grabbed Erde by the back of her jerkin and hauled her into view. He snatched off her prentice cap and shoved her roughly forward so that she stumbled and went sprawling facedown on the dirty straw. The mud-stained boots she saw a short yard from her nose were not Baron Köthen’s, but her father’s.
“Behold the witch-child!” Guillemo bellowed in triumph. “Ha, Josef! I told you she lived still!”