The Hallowed Hunt

the district of great houses nearest the King’s Hall, deliberately dodging over one street to avoid Hetwar’s mansion and the heightened chance of encountering men he knew.

Earl-ordainer Horseriver’s Easthome manse was a bride gift from Princess Fara, the cut-stone facade decorated with a frieze of bounding stags for the Stagthornes. Only the banner over the door displayed the running stallion above the rippling waters of the Lure, the badge of the old high kin that marked the earl as in residence.

In residence, but not yet at home, Ingrey shortly discovered from the liveried door guards. The earl and princess’s party had not yet returned from the interment and whatever funeral feast had followed in the hallow king’s hall. Ingrey encouraged the porter’s assumption that he bore some important message from Sealmaster Hetwar, letting himself be escorted to Wencel’s study, provided with a polite glass of wine, and left to wait.

He set the wine aside untasted and circled the room restlessly. Afternoon sun crept across thick carpets. The bookcases were but half-filled, mostly with dusty tomes that would seem to have been inherited with the house. The heavy, carved writing table was tidied and free of work in progress or correspondence; a promising drawer proved locked. Ingrey decided it was just as well, when only the barest sound of footsteps in the hall heralded the door opening on Wencel. This interview was likely to be difficult enough without his being caught reading the earl’s mail. Though he doubted Wencel would have been surprised.

The earl still wore the somber court garb Ingrey had seen him in at the funeral. He was shrugging out of his long coat as he shouldered through the door and shut it behind him. He folded the cloth over his arm and circled around Ingrey, who circled around him, each keeping a wary distance as though they were on two ends of a rope. The earl tossed the coat over a chair and half sat, half leaned against the writing table, motionless but not relaxed, not yielding any advantage of height or tension. His stare at Ingrey was speculative; his only greeting a murmured, 'Well, well, well.'

Ingrey took up a careful position against the nearest bookcase, arms crossed. 'So what did you see?'

'My senses were tightly furled, as they always must be when I risk contact with the Temple’s Sighted. But I hardly needed more; I could infer it all well enough. The Lord of Autumn could not have taken Boleso uncleansed, yet take him He did. There were but two men present who might have turned the task, and I knew it wasn’t me. Therefore. Your masteries proceed apace, shaman.' His slight bow might or might not have been mockery. 'Had Fara known and been capable of understanding, I’m sure she would have thanked you, wolf-lord.'

Ingrey returned a nod equally balanced on the edge of irony. 'It seems you are not my sole source of instruction after all. Horse-lord.'

'Oh, fine new friends you have—until They betray you. If the gods toy with you, cousin, it is for Their ends, not yours.'

'Still, it seems I might be gifted with the salvation of more than Boleso. I could rescue you from your secret burden, save you from your fear of Temple pyres. How if I attempt to relieve you of your spirit horse?' A safe offer; Ingrey suspected Wencel would rather be stripped of his skin.

Wencel’s lips curled up. 'Alas, there is an impediment. I am not dead. Souls yet anchored to matter do not yield their loyal companions, any more than you could sing my life itself out of my body.' Ingrey wasn’t exactly sure what his expression revealed, but Wencel added, 'Don’t believe me? Try it, then.'

Ingrey moistened his lips, half closed his eyes, and reached down. He lacked the floating glory of the god’s inspiration, but as it was the second trial, he might make up for it in confidence, he thought. He felt for that furled shadow within Wencel, extended his hand, and rumbled, 'Come.'

It was like tugging on a mountain.

The shadow unfurled a little, but did not follow. Wencel’s brows rose in brief surprise, and he caught a breath. 'Strong,' he allowed.

'But not strong enough,' Ingrey conceded in return.

'No.'

'Then you cannot cleanse me, either,' Ingrey followed this out.

'Not while you live, no.'

Ingrey felt his careful course between opposed sides, Wencel and the Temple, to be narrowing dangerously. And if he did not choose before he lost all turning room, he risked betraying both powers. It was surely better to have one powerful enemy and one powerful ally than two offended enemies. But which should be which? He drew a long breath. 'I met an unexpected old acquaintance this afternoon. We had a long talk.'

Wencel lifted his chin in inquiry.

'Cumril. Remember him?'

A flare of nostrils and a sharp intake of breath. 'Ah.'

'Coincidentally, he proved to be just the man you were looking for as well. Remember your insistence that Boleso must have suborned an illicit sorcerer? Cumril was the one. I’d missed encountering him at Boar’s Head, for he recognized and avoided me.'

Wencel’s eyes glittered with interest. 'Not so coincidental as all that. Illicit sorcerers are few, and the Temple expends much effort toward making them even fewer. He, at least, was one Boleso might have heard about, and secretly sought.' He hesitated. 'It must have been an interesting chat. Did Cumril survive it?'

'Temporarily.'

'Where is he now?'

'I can’t say.' Precisely.

'At some point very soon, I am going to grow tired enough to stop humoring you. It has been a long and most unpleasant day.'

'Very well, I shall come to the point. A question for you, Wencel. Why did you try to make me kill Ijada?' A shot not quite in the dark, but Ingrey held his breath to see what target it found.

Wencel grew perilously still, but for a slight flare of his eyes. 'Where do you come by this conviction? Cumril? Not the most reliable of accusers.'

'No.' Ingrey quoted back to him: 'There were but two men present who might have turned to the task, and I knew it wasn’t me. Therefore.' He added after a moment, 'I must find out how you make a geas. I suspect necromancy.'

Wencel paused for a long time, as though sorting through a wide variety of responses. 'In a sense.' He sighed, by the squaring of his shoulders seeming to come to some unwelcome decision. 'I would not call it a mistake, for if it had succeeded, it would have simplified my present life immeasurably. I would call it a false move, because of its peculiar consequences. I note merely, I am not playing against you.'

'Whom do you play against, then?' Ingrey pushed off the wall and began to pace in a half circle around the earl. 'At first I thought this was all about Easthome politics.'

'Only indirectly.'

Ingrey resolutely ignored the shivering in his belly, the thudding in his ears. The whirling confusion in his mind. 'What is really going on here, Wencel?'

'What do you think is going on?'

'I think you will do anything to protect your secrets.'

Wencel tilted his head. 'Once, that was true.' He added more softly, 'Though not for much longer, I... well, do not pray.'

Ingrey’s body felt like a coiled spring. His hand caressed his knife haft. Wencel’s glance did not miss the gesture.

'How if I release your soul the old hard way?' Ingrey returned as softly. 'Whatever your powers, I doubt they would survive if I sawed off your head and tossed it in the Stork.'

At least Wencel did Ingrey’s menace the compliment of holding very, very still. 'You cannot imagine how very much you would regret such an act. If you seek to rid yourself of me, that is exactly the wrong method. My heir.'

Ingrey blinked in bafflement. 'I am no heir to kin Horseriver.'

'At law and in property, no. By the laws of the Old Weald, however, a nephew is next to a son in kinship. And as it seems this ill-made body of mine will not engender a son on Fara, you are the heir of my blood, should you be living when I next die. This is no particular joy or choice of mine, understand. The spell adopts you.'

The conversation had tilted too suddenly and violently for it to be all Ingrey’s doing; Wencel had met his daring push with a mighty yank, which was doubtless why Ingrey felt as though he were hanging upside down just