Night of The Eye

answer for all this, he grumbled to himself.

The absurdity of the situation struck him. He should have been rejoicing like Kirah. But all he could think about was having to face Cormac's anger and his questions. Guerrand began to resent his older brother's attitudes in a way he never had before. Belize had said something about choosing which path his life would follow. Guerrand felt as if he were walking someone else's path, and could find no forks in the road.

Just then, Cormac stormed into the courtyard with Milford at his side. 'Guerrand, Kirah!' he bellowed, taking in Kirah's attire in particular. 'What's the meaning of this?' Cormac unpinned the dark plaid cloak drawn around his shoulders and tossed it over the girl.

'We captured Quinn's killers!' Kirah burbled before Guerrand could form an answer.

'You what?' Cormac looked stricken with apoplexy; his fleshy face instantly turned a hideous purple- red.

'Look!' Kirah held up Quinn's medallion eagerly.

Cormac nearly yanked the chain from her hands and turned it over in his thick fingers. 'It's Quinn's, all right.' His glare traveled from the bound-and-gagged men to Guerrand. 'How do you know they didn't simply acquire it from his real killers?'

Guerrand was puzzled. He'd expected anger and questions, but not disbelief. 'Because they match the description we got from the men who brought Quinn

in,' Guerrand said, more reasonably than he felt. 'Call them back to identify these men. Check their bags-I'm sure you'll find more of Quinn's things.'

With a nod of his head, Cormac instructed Milford to do just that. In moments the warrior's massive hands were filled with a standing-bowl bearing the DiThon crest and a book of poems and reflections with Quinn's name inked on the flyleaf.

Milford beamed at Guerrand with wide-eyed wonder. 'Congratulations, young squire. You obviously perform better under pressure than you do in the training room. I'm sure the presiding cavaliers will want to discuss it, but I suspect this will qualify you for immediate knighthood. And on the eve of your wedding!' He turned to address Cormac. 'What do you think, Lord DiThon?'

Cormac's smile was unnaturally tight. 'I think we could not have hoped for more. Good work, Guerrand.'

With that, Cormac began to fire orders. First, he told Kirah to get into the keep and dress properly; knowing his tone too well, Kirah scampered away with a pitying glance at Guerrand. Next he instructed several men-at-arms to take the still gagged and squirming bandits into the dungeon, where they would be questioned momentarily.

Then Cormac's angry eyes locked on to Guerrand, who swallowed hard under the scrutiny, his Adam's apple bobbing. 'I'll speak to you shortly in my study, Guerrand,' his brother said crisply. 'I would like to privately discuss just what your unexpected actions mean to me.'

Chapter Five

'You made me look like a fool before all my servants, Guerrand.' Cormac's voice was low, threatening.

'So that's what made you so angry in the courtyard.' Guerrand still wore his sword, hoping a martial appearance might soften his brother's fury. He stood, rather than sat, to get the full benefit from the prop.

'Of course,' said Cormac. 'My men and I-seasoned cavaliers, all-have been searching for these bandits for days. You and a string bean of a girl-'

'That string bean is our sister.'

'Half sister.' Cormac glowered at Guerrand's interruption. 'You ride into the courtyard with them all trussed up, as if it were as easy as… as… magic.' Cormac's eyes widened in sudden understanding. 'You used magic somehow, didn't you?'

Guerrand flinched at the accusation. Not that he hadn't expected it, but it came sooner than he hoped.

'You look like you were dressed for battle, but I'll wager…' Cormac bounded to his feet and prodded Guerrand in the ribs. A look that mixed satisfaction with disgust crossed his face. 'You're not even wearing armor under that tunic, as I suspected. You never had any intention of fighting.'

Cormac shook his head and paced across the room. 'It all makes sense now. The bandit I questioned said you threw dirt at them, and then they fell unconscious.'

Guerrand was incredulous. 'Quinn's killers have been found, and you're more concerned about how I did it?' He shook his head in disbelief.

Cormac drained a goblet of wine in one gulp, then held the glass up to Guerrand in a mock toast. 'Congratulations,' he said, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'What dark sorcerer's spell did you use to find and bring them here, Guerrand?'

'What does it matter?' asked Guerrand. 'Isn't it enough that magic accomplished what ordinary measures could not?'

'Any good cavalier could have done the same thing! You could have called on those skills, instead of the evil secrets of magic.'

Guerrand sneered. 'We both know I'm not a good cavalier. Besides, you said yourself, well-trained knights already tried to defeat those bandits and failed.

'I've really tried to understand your hatred of magic, Cormac,' he continued softly after a pause, 'and now I finally do. It came to me suddenly that you're no different than me or anyone else. Behind your bluster, you're afraid of what you don't understand.'

'I'm not afraid of anything!'

Guerrand arched one brow. 'You don't sound fearless.'

Cormac whirled on him. 'How dare you? You know nothing of fear! Have you watched men die on your sword in battle? Have you struggled to maintain the lifestyle expected of a lord with more debt than income? No, you haven't.' He thumped his chest. 'I have. And because I've struggled for this family-for you-your life has been easy.'

'Maybe I haven't killed a man, or even tried to understand your struggles,' said Guerrand, 'but neither do you know what my life has been like.'

The young man stood, his face glowing. 'Since Father died, I've toed the line-' he poked his brother's beefy shoulder '-your line-as best I could for the sake of family honor, because that's what Father taught me I must do. And I've been at your mercy because you held the purse strings, such as they are. I've even given up pursuing the one thing I always wanted, the only thing I've ever been good at.'

Guerrand's expression was beyond bitter. 'I've learned a valuable lesson this morning, Cormac- maybe the most important thing I've ever understood.' He stood straight and tall before his brother for the first time. 'Now that Quinn's dead, I'm the only male DiThon with a sense of family honor-or any honor at all.' Guerrand unbuckled his sword belt and threw it on the floor.

Cormac's eyes narrowed in barely contained anger. 'I will overlook your impudent remarks because soon our differences will no longer matter. You'll be living at one of Berwick's lavish estates, and I'll still be here, scraping along as best I can. I feel certain that one day, perhaps when you have children of your own, you will understand the sacrifices I've made on your behalf.

'And now, we'll speak no more in anger,' Cormac announced with forced brightness. 'So that we may peaceably draw to a close the years we have lived together, I forgive you the night's indiscretion. In an oddly convenient twist, you've provided the Council of Cavaliers with an excuse to knight you. In a matter of days you'll be married, and all this magic nonsense will be behind you.' Cormac poured more of the ruby-colored wine into his glass, then splashed some into another snifter. Turning with a strained smile, he held out the second glass to his half brother.

Guerrand stared at it for a moment. Cormac nudged the glass closer to Guerrand's face, until the crimson wine was all that the youth could see.

'Take it, Guerrand. Let's drink a toast to your impending wedding-and knighthood.' When Guerrand hesitated, Cormac pressed the wine on him one last time. 'Drink this, you'll feel better.'

Guerrand came to life and slapped away the glass and with it the patronizing suggestion. The crystal crashed