The Hallowed Hunt

'Keep your doors locked at all times, tonight,' Ingrey told Lady Ijada. 'And barred.'

Her brows rose a little, and she glanced around the peaceful chamber. 'Is there anything special to fear, here?'

Nothing but what we brought with us. 'I walked in my sleep last night,' he admitted with reluctance. 'I was outside your door before anyone woke me.'

She gave him a slow nod, and another of those looks. He unset his teeth, and said, 'I will be staying at one of the other inns. I know you gave me your word, but I want you to stay close in here, out of sight. You’ll wish to eat privately. I’ll have your dinner brought up.'

She said only, 'Thank you, Lord Ingrey.'

With a short return nod, he took himself out.

Ingrey went down to the taproom, lying off a short passage, to give orders for his prisoner’s meal. A couple of Boleso’s retainers and one of Ingrey’s men were already there, raising tankards.

Ingrey glanced at the retainers. 'You’re housed here?'

'We’re housed everywhere, my lord,' said the man. 'We’ve filled the other inns.'

'Better than bedrolls on the temple floor,' said Ingrey’s man.

'Oh, aye,' said the first, and took a long swallow. His burlier comrade grunted something that might have been agreement.

A commotion and a small shriek outside drew Ingrey to the taproom’s curtained window, which looked out into the street. An open wagon pulled by a pair of stubby, sweaty horses had drawn up outside in the dusk, and one of its front wheels had just parted company with its axle and fallen onto the cobbles, leaving the wagon tilted at a drunken angle. Its lanterns swayed on their front posts, casting wavering shadows. A woman’s brisk voice said, 'Never mind, love, Bernan will fix it. That’s why I—'

'Had me bring my toolbox, yes,' finished a weary male voice from the back of the wagon. 'I’ll get to it. Next.'

The manservant hopped out and set some wooden steps beside the now-sloping driver’s box, and he and a woman servant helped a stout, short, cloaked figure to descend.

Ingrey turned away, thinking only that the late-arriving party might find rooms hard to come by in Red Dike tonight. The burly retainer drained his tankard, belched, and asked the tapster for directions to the privy. He lurched out of the taproom ahead of Ingrey and turned into the passageway.

The bulky cloaked woman had arrived therein; her maidservant was bent to the floor behind her, muttering imprecations and blocking the way. The voluminous cloak was grubby and tattered, and had clearly seen better days.

The burly retainer vented a curse, and growled, 'Out of my way, you fat sow.'

An indignant 'Huh!' sounded from the recesses of the cloak, and the woman threw back her hood and glared up at the man. She was neither young nor old, but matronly; her curling sand-colored hair escaped from falling braids to create a faint ferocious aureole around her breathless face, pink from either the insult, the evening’s chill, or both. Ingrey, looking around the retainer’s shoulder, came alert; Boleso’s men were not the sort whom lesser folk dared casually defy. But the foolish woman seemed oblivious to the man’s sword and mail. And size and dubious sobriety, for that matter.

The woman unhooked the clasp at her throat and let the cloak fall away; she was dressed in robes of Mother’s green, and was not fat, but very pregnant. If some midwife-dedicat, she would shortly be in need of her own services, Ingrey thought bemusedly. The woman reached over her jutting belly to tap her left shoulder, and cleared her throat portentously. 'See this, young man? Or are you too drunk to focus your eyes?'

'See what?' said the burly retainer, unimpressed by a midwife, still less if she were some gravid poor woman.

She followed his gaze to her frayed green-clad shoulder, and pursed her lips in annoyance. 'Oh, dratsab. Hergi'—she twisted around to her maid, now rising to her feet—'they’ve fallen off again. I hope I haven’t lost them on the road—'

'I have them right here, my lady,' wheezed the harried maid. 'Here, I’ll pin them back. Again.'

She came up from the floor with not one but two sets of Temple school braids clutched in her hands, and, tongue pinched between her teeth, began to affix them in their proper place of honor. The first loop was the dark green, straw-yellow, and metallic gold of a physician-divine of the Mother’s Order. The second was the white, cream, and metallic silver of a sorceress-divine of the Bastard’s Order. The first brought even Boleso’s retainer into an attitude of, if not greater respect, at least less careless contempt; but it was the second that drained his face of blood.

Ingrey’s lips curled in the first smile he’d had all day. He tapped the man on the shoulder. 'Best apologize to the learned lady, I think. And then get out of her way.'

The retainer scowled. 'Those can’t be yours!'

The blood had drained from his brain, too, evidently. Those who are unwilling to admit error are fated to repeat it? Prudently, Ingrey backed a few paces down the passage; also because it gave him a better view of the proceedings.

'I do not have time for you,' said the sorceress in aggravation. 'If you insist on behaving as though you were in a sty, a pig you shall be, until you learn better manners.' She waved a hand in the retainer’s general direction, and Ingrey quelled an impulse to duck. He was entirely unsurprised when the man fell to all fours and his yelp turned into a grunt. The sorceress sniffed, gathered up her robes, and stepped daintily around him. Her head-shaking maid, toting a leather case, scooped up the cloak in passing. Ingrey bowed the women politely into the taproom and turned to follow after, ignoring an agonized snuffle from the floor. His other two men edged around the taproom and peered worriedly into the passageway.

'Apologies, Learned,' said Ingrey smoothly, 'but will your most salutary lesson last long? I only inquire because the man must be fit to ride tomorrow.'

The blond woman turned to frown at him, her floating strands of hair seeming now to be trying to escape in all directions. 'Is he yours?'

'Not precisely. But though I am not responsible for his behavior, I am responsible for his arrival.'

'Oh. Well. I will doubtless restore him before I leave. Else the delusion will wear off on its own in a few hours. Meanwhile, the encouragement of others and all that. But I am in the greatest haste. There was a grand cortege that arrived in Red Dike tonight, of Prince Boleso who they say was murdered. Have you witnessed it? I seek its commander.'

Ingrey half bowed again. 'You have found him. Ingrey kin Wolf-cliff at your service and your gods’, Learned.'

She stared at him for a long, disturbing moment. 'Indeed you are,' she finally said. 'Well. That young woman, Ijada dy Castos. Do you know what has become of her?'

'She is in my charge.'

'Is she.' The stare sharpened. 'Where?'

'She has chambers upstairs in this inn.'

The maidservant huffed in relief; the sorceress cast her a look of cheery triumph. 'Third time is the charm,' murmured the sorceress. 'Did I not say so?'

'This town only has three inns,' the maidservant pointed out.

'Are you,' Ingrey added hopefully, 'sent by the Temple to take her into your hands?' And off mine?

'Not... precisely, no. But I must see her.'

Ingrey hesitated. 'What is she to you?' Or you to her?

'An old friend, if she remembers me. I’m Learned Hallana. I heard of her plight when the news of the prince came to my seminary in Suttleaf. That is, we heard of Boleso’s murder, and who had supposedly done the deed, and I presumed it for a plight.' Her stare at Ingrey did not grow less disconcerting. 'We were sure the cortege must come by this road, but I feared I would have to chase after it.'

The seminary of the Mother’s Order at Suttleaf, a town some twenty-five miles to the south of Red Dike, was well-known in the region for its training of physicians and other healing artisans—the dedicat who had stitched Ingrey’s head last night had likely learned her craft there. Ingrey might have searched the surrounding three