The Hallowed Hunt

Wencel having become possessed by an evil spirit of the Old Weald.'

Lewko’s head came up. 'Wencel!'

Ingrey choked back a curse. In one sentence, a whole handful of new cards was laid upon the table, and in front of Lewko, too. 'Wait... this possession occurred before Wencel’s mother’s death? Not after?'

'Indeed, before. She thought it had happened at the time of his father’s death, some four or so months earlier. The boy had changed so strangely then.'

So already Wencel was caught in a lie. Or Cumril was. Or both could be lying, Ingrey reminded himself; but both could not be telling the truth. 'Go on.'

'The two concocted a plan for the rescue of her son, they thought. Lady Horseriver feared to go to the Temple openly, in part for terror that they might burn her boy if they could not release him from the possession.' Cumril swallowed. 'She meant to fight Old Weald magic with Old Weald magic.'

Indeed, the Temple sorcerers had not been able to evict Ingrey’s wolf from him; Wencel’s mother had not been wrong to attempt some other way to spare her son. Ingrey scowled. 'I know how badly awry that plan went! The rabid wolf that slew my father—was that chance or design?'

'I, I, to this day I do not know. The huntsman spoke to me on his deathbed, half-raving by then; he, he, he was not bribed to the deed, of that I am sure. He did not guess his animals were diseased, or I think he would have handled them more carefully himself!'

Ijada asked curiously, 'Where was young Wencel when all this was going on at Birchgrove?'

'His mother had left him at Castle Horseriver, I understood. She meant to keep her actions secret from him until she could bring help.'

And the implications of this were... 'She feared him? As well as for him?' asked Ingrey.

Cumril hesitated, then ducked his head again. 'Aye.'

So... if a geas could be set in a man to make him kill at another’s will, as the parasite spell had been set in Ingrey, how much easier would it be to set one in a wolf—or in a horse? Was the death of Lady Horseriver, trampled by her mount, no accident either? What, now you suspect that Wencel killed his own mother? Ingrey’s blood was thudding in his head now, but mostly in a sick headache.

But the why of his wolf was answered at last. A lethal mix of family loyalty, good intentions, bad judgment... and secret uncanny malice? Or was that last some lesser intent, gone wrong? Had the unseen foe meant to kill Lord Ingalef, or just his animals? 'My wolf—what of my wolf, which arrived so mysteriously?'

Cumril shrugged helplessly. 'When its effect on you proved so disastrous, I thought it must have been sent like the rabid ones.'

Had Wencel sent it, then? Does he have some unseen leash upon me? Going all the way back to Birchgrove? Ingrey unset his teeth and hitched his shoulders against the wall to fight their painful tightness. Ijada caught the gesture and frowned at him in worry.

Lewko was pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezed shut. 'Lord Ingrey. Lady Ijada. You have both seen Earl Horseriver lately, and not just with mortal eyes. What do you say of this accusation?'

'You have seen him, too,' said Ingrey cautiously. 'What did you sense?'

Lewko glanced up in irritation; Ingrey thought him about to snap, I asked first!, but instead he took a controlling breath, and said, 'His spirit seems dark to me, though no more so than many a man who courts death as though to embrace it. It crossed my mind to fear for him, and for those near him, but not like this!'

'Ingrey... ?' said Ijada. Her question was clear in her rising tone: Should we not speak?

Wencel had been right: once the Temple started looking, they must find. And silence was the only sure safety. And it would, indeed, have been prudent to find and question Cumril before the Temple authorities did. Ingrey wondered grimly what else he would discover Wencel to have been right about. 'Wencel bears a spirit animal, yes. Its evil or good I cannot judge. I had guessed Cumril must have laid it in him, too, as part of the same dire plot that gave me mine, but now it seems not.'

'No, no,' muttered Cumril, rocking again. 'Not me.'

'You did not mention this earlier,' said Lewko to Ingrey, his tone suddenly very flat.

'No. I did not.' He returned the tone precisely.

'Wild accusations,' murmured Lewko, 'a questionable source, not a shred of material proof, and the third highest lord in the land. What more joys can this day bring me? No, don’t answer that. Please.'

'Gods,' said Ijada. 'Remember?'

Lewko glowered at her.

Cumril’s confessions didn’t make sense, in Ingrey’s head. Why sacrifice one child to save another? What gain could there be in both heirs being defiled? His thrill at the seeming chance of uncovering old truths faded. 'How was making my father and me into spirit warriors supposed to rescue Wencel?'

'Lady Horseriver did not tell me.'

'What, and you did not ask? It seems a blithe disregard for your famous Temple disciplines, oh sorcerer, to kick them all aside at a woman’s word.'

Cumril stared at the floor, and muttered with extreme reluctance, 'She was god-touched. Most... most grievously.'

A new thought chilled Ingrey. If bearing an animal spirit sundered one from the gods, like Boleso, what had happened to Lord Ingalef’s soul? That funeral had long been over before Ingrey had recovered enough to ask about it. None had told him that his father was sundered. None told me otherwise, either. Lord Ingalef had been as well buried in tacit silences as in earth.

He must have been sundered. There was no shaman at Birchgrove to cleanse him.

Oh. Wait. There had been one, hadn’t there. Potentially. Ingrey’s heart seemed to halt. Might I have saved... ?

He gulped back the unbearable realizations and stared at Cumril in a frustrated, hostile silence. Lewko’s silence was far less revealing. Their gazes crossed and clashed. Ingrey began to suspect he was not the only man here who preferred to collect the information first and dole it out at his discretion later. The divine rose abruptly to his feet.

'You had best come up with me to the temple now, Cumril, till I can make better arrangements for your safety. We will speak further on these matters.' In private hung unspoken.

Cumril nodded as if in understanding and clambered up as well. Ingrey gritted his teeth. Safety from what? Cumril’s demon reascending? Wencel? Nosy Temple inquirers? Ingrey? Aye, Lewko had damned well better protect Cumril from me.

He saw shepherd and lost sheep out the front door; Lewko bade him and Ijada farewell with a promise, or threat, to meet again soon. Now that they seemed to have emerged officially from the private conclave, the warden fell upon her charge and hustled her upstairs once more. Ijada, her face set with dark thought, did not resist.

Ingrey took the stairs two at a time to his room, there to shed his court finery for clothing he could better move in, which would not catch his blades. He had a visit to make, and without delay.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

IN THE WANING AFTERNOON LIGHT, INGREY MADE HIS WAY through the crooked streets of Kingstown. He wended past the old Rivermen’s Temple that served the folk of the dock quarter, then around the town hall and the street market in the square behind it. The market was closing down for the day, with only a few peddlers left under awnings or with their goods spread out on mats, sad leftover vegetables or fruits, wilting flowers, rejected leatherwork, picked-over piles of clothing new or used. He threaded his way upslope into