The Hallowed Hunt

the horror that happened to your father.'

'Why did you never say anything to me? My disaster was no secret. I wish I had known I was not alone!'

'Ingrey, I was thirteen, and terrified! Not least that if my defilement were discovered, they would do to me what they were doing to you! I didn’t think I could survive it. I was never strong and athletic, like you. The thought of such torture as you endured sickened me. My only hope seemed concealment, at all costs. By the time I was sure of my own sanity again, and I began to regain my courage, you were gone, exiled, shuffled out of the Weald by your embarrassed uncle. And how could I have communicated? A letter? It would certainly have been intercepted and read, by your keepers or mine.' He breathed deeply, and brought his rapid and shaky voice back under control. 'How odd it is to find us roped together now. We could all burn jointly, you know. Back to back to back.'

'Not me,' Ingrey asserted, and cursed the nervous quaver in his voice. 'I have a dispensation from the Temple.'

'Powers that can grant such mercies can also rescind them,' said Wencel darkly. 'Ijada and I, then. Not the relation, front to front, that my wife feared, but a holy union of sorts.'

Ijada did not flinch from this remark, but stared at Wencel with a tense new interest, her brows drawn in. Reassessing, perhaps, a man she’d thought she’d known, that she was discovering she had not known at all? As I am?

Wencel focused on Ingrey’s grubby bandages. 'What happened to your hands?'

'Tripped over a table. Cut myself with a carving knife,' Ingrey answered, as indifferently as possible. He caught Ijada’s curious look, out of the corner of his eye, and prayed she would not see fit to expand upon the tale. Not yet, anyway.

Instead, she asked the earl, 'What is your beast? Do you know?'

He shrugged. 'I had always thought it was a horse, for the Horserivers. That made sense to me, as much as anything in this could.' He drew a long, thoughtful breath, and his chill blue eyes rose to meet theirs. 'There have been no spirit warriors in the Weald for centuries, unless maybe some remnant survived hidden in remote refuges. Now there are three new-made, not just in the same generation, but in the same room. Ingrey and I, I have long suspected were of a piece. But you, Lady Ijada... I do not understand. You do not fit. I would urge you search for this missing sorcerer, Ingrey. At the very least, the hunt for such a vital witness might delay proceedings against Ijada.'

'That would be a good thing,' Ingrey conceded readily.

Wencel’s hands spread flat on the table in unease. 'We are all in each other’s hands now. I had imagined my secret safe with you, Ingrey, but now it seems you were merely ignorant of it. I’ve been alone so long. It is hard for me to learn trust, so late.'

Ingrey bent his head in wry agreement.

Wencel pulled his shoulders back, wincing as though they ached. 'Well. I must refresh myself, and pay my respects to my late brother-in-law’s remains. How are they preserved, by the way?'

'He’s packed in salt,' said Ingrey. 'They had a plentiful supply at Boar’s Head, for keeping game.'

A bleak amusement flashed in Wencel’s face. 'How very direct of you.'

'I didn’t have him properly skinned and gutted, though, so I expect the effect will be imperfect.'

'It’s as well the weather is no warmer, then. But it seems we’d best not delay.' Wencel let out a sigh, planted both palms on the tabletop, and pushed himself wearily to his feet. For an instant, the blackness of his spirit seemed to strike Ingrey like a blow, then he was just a tired young man again, burdened too soon in life with dangerous dilemmas. 'We’ll speak again.'

The earl made his way out to the porch, where his retainers jumped alertly to their feet to escort him toward the town temple. In the door of the taproom, Ingrey touched Ijada’s arm. She turned, her lips tight.

'What do you make of Wencel’s beast?' he asked her, low-voiced.

She murmured back, 'To quote Learned Hallana, if that’s a stallion, I’m the queen of Darthaca.' Her eyes rose to meet his, level and intent. 'Your wolf is not much like a wolf. And his horse is not much like a horse. But I will say this, Ingrey; they are both a lot like each other.'

CHAPTER EIGHT

INGREY RETURNED UPSTAIRS TO PACK HIS SADDLEBAGS, THEN sought Gesca. The lieutenant’s gear was gone from the corner of the taproom. Ingrey walked down the muddy street of Middletown— better named Middlehamlet, in his view—to the small wooden temple, in hopes of finding him. He reviewed which of the half dozen village stables they had commandeered for their horses and equipment Gesca was likely to have gone to next, but the plan proved unnecessary; Gesca was standing in the shade of the temple’s wide porch. Speaking, or being spoken to, by Earl Horseriver.

Gesca glanced up at Ingrey, twitched, and fell silent; Wencel merely gave him a nod.

'Ingrey,' said Wencel. 'Where is Rider Ulkra and the rest of Boleso’s household now? Still at Boar’s Head, or do they follow you?'

'They follow, or so I ordered. How swiftly, I do not know. Ulkra cannot expect much joy to await him in Easthome.'

'No matter. By the time I have leisure to attend to them, they will have arrived there, no doubt.' He sighed. 'My horses could use a little rest. Arrange things, if you will, to depart at noon. We’ll still reach Oxmeade before dark.'

'Certainly, my lord,' said Ingrey formally. He jerked his head at the unhappy-looking Gesca, and Wencel gave them a short wave of farewell and turned for the temple.

'And what did Earl Horseriver have to say to you?' Ingrey inquired of Gesca, low-voiced, as they trod down the street again.

'He’s not a glad man. I cringe to think how black things would be if he’d actually liked his brother-in-law. But it’s plain he does not love this mess.'

'That, I had already gathered.'

'Still, an impressive young fellow, in his way, despite his looks. I thought so back at Princess Fara’s wedding.'

'How so?'

'Eh. It wasn’t that he did anything special. He just never... '

'Never what?'

Gesca’s lips twisted. 'I... it’s hard to say. He never made a mistake, or looked nervous, never late or early... never drunk. It just crept up on you. Formidable, that’s the word I want. In a way, he reminds me of you, if it was brains and not brawn that was wanted.' Gesca hesitated, then, perhaps prudently, declined to pursue this comparison any farther down the slope into the swamp.

'We are cousins,' Ingrey observed blandly.

'Indeed, m’lord.' Gesca gave him a sideways glance. 'He was very interested in Learned Hallana.'

Ingrey grimaced. Well, that was inevitable. He would hear more from Wencel on that subject before the day was done, he was sure.

THE MIDDLETOWN TEMPLE DIVINE WAS A MERE YOUNG ACOLYTE, and had been thrown into panic by the descent upon him, on only a half day’s notice, of the prince’s cortege. But however much ceremony Earl Horseriver was sent to provide, it was clear it was not starting yet. The cavalcade left town promptly at noon with a grimmer efficiency than Ingrey in his vilest mood would have dared deploy. He applauded in his heart, and left the pallid acolyte a suitable purse to console him for his terrors.

Middletown was not yet out of sight on the road behind them when Wencel wheeled his chestnut horse around beside Ingrey’s, and murmured, 'Ride ahead with me. I need to speak with you.'

'Certainly.' Ingrey kneed his horse into a trot; he gave what he hoped was a reassuring nod to Ijada as