They spun in their saddles to stare at him, but he was pointing ahead and to the side of the trail.
CHAPTER 7
Turning, they saw a man lying in the long grass—grass that was stained red, and a man who lay with one hand pressed to his side and another to his leg. His hands were red and his eyes stared, sightless; his features were frozen in a look of horror.
The three men dismounted, for the horses shied at the sight—and these were horses who were trained to ignore the scent of blood. The riders dropped the reins over their heads, dangling to the ground, for their mounts were trained to the sight as a signal not to wander. Then all three men came forward on foot, hands on their hilts. Gregory knelt by the man and gently pried his hands away from his body.
Alain let out a wordless cry of anger and Geoffrey’s face turned to stone.
“Pierced,” Gregory said, “as though by a single great claw.”
“That last horrid cry we heard,” Alain said, stiff-lipped, “the one of agony and terror that brought us upright. Do you suppose . . .?”
“I do indeed,” Geoffrey agreed.
“I shall be revenged!” Alain cried, trembling. “I shall be revenged upon the monster who thus sets upon my people!”
“Do not take it so personally,” Gregory advised.
“Why not? He would have slain me if he could!”
“If a peasant is pierced, his prince bleeds,” Geoffrey explained to Gregory, “a good prince, at least.” He turned back to Alain. “Let us discover who set the monster upon us before we seek to slay.”
“Is there any doubt that the Biasd Bheulach did this deed?” Alain asked.
Gregory shook his head. “None. That single great claw that sought your heart pierced this man instead.”
“Alack-a-day!” Alain buried his head in his hands. “He died in my place!”
“Be not so proud,” Geoffrey told him. “If he had slain you here, he would have slain a peasant tomorrow, in some other parish.”
“The thing thirsts for blood,” Gregory agreed, “human blood, and it was not particular—it would have slain any of us if it could.”
“Yes. Do not think it sought the life of a prince,” Geoffrey concurred. “It was quite content to find a peasant, alone and unguarded.”
“There is truth in that.” Alain stood slowly, hand on his sword, glaring off into the forest. “Well, if I cannot slay the murderer, I can find and slay whoever set it loose. Let us take this poor fellow to the nearest church and see him buried, friends, then ride to seek his foe!”
Cordelia ladled porridge into the wooden bowls, saying almost indignantly, “I can scarcely believe the night passed with nothing to disturb us!”
“It is ever the way of it.” Quicksilver looked grumpy in spite of the mug of tea whose vapors she was inhaling. She set it down to take the bowl Cordelia offered, saying, “Whenever a lass is prepared for a fight, it is never offered.”
“Indeed,” Allouette agreed. “Foes must ever creep upon us unawares.” Then she bit her lip as Cordelia and Quicksilver gave her quick glances and as quickly looked away, studying their oatmeal. There was an awkward silence as all three remembered that Allouette had indeed brought trouble upon them when they least expected.
It only lasted a moment, though. Quicksilver tossed back her hair and said, “Then it remains for us to seek out the trouble that eludes us. Eat heartily, ladies, for we may have hard riding this day.”
Their fasts broken and their horses saddled, they rode off on the trail of their fiancés.
“Let us hope we come upon them ere their enemies do,” Allouette said fervently.
“Or only a few minutes thereafter,” Quicksilver said. “How think you, ladies? When we find them, shall we ride just out of sight and stay alert for trouble, so that when it comes upon them we may take it from behind?”
Allouette nodded. “A good plan.”
“It would seem so,” said Cordelia, “but let us find them first.”
“Not hard, for they are being quite careless about leaving tracks.” Quicksilver glanced at the ground to check the tracks of the men, then stared. “They have suddenly become cautious!”
“What do you see?” Cordelia looked down with her and frowned. “I see nothing.”
“That is exactly what I see—nothing at all! No prints, no traces, no tracks of horse or man!”
Allouette rode up beside them, staring with them at the dirt. “Nothing? . . . No, nothing!”
“Not even brush marks where tracks have been swept away.” Quicksilver frowned. “Has my Geoffrey become monstrously cautious of a sudden?”
“Such care is more Alain’s way,” said Cordelia, “but would Geoffrey listen to him?”
“He might—if Gregory spoke in support of Alain,” Allouette offered.
“There is some truth to that.” Cordelia pursed her lips, imagining the conversation between her brothers. “Still, Geoffrey is not given to acknowledging when Gregory has the right of an issue, unless it is one of scholarship.”
“And tracking is not a matter of scholarship,” Quicksilver said.
“But magic is,” Allouette told her.
The women were silent for a moment, staring at one another in consternation. Finally Quicksilver said, “If their tracks have been whisked away by magic, they will not even know of it.”
“Indeed not,” said Allouette, “for they have no cause to look behind them.”
“We are behind them!”
“But they do not know that,” Cordelia reminded.
Quicksilver frowned. “A pretty puzzle this is! How are we to track them with no trace, and their thoughts shielded?”
They were silent again, looking at one another, thinking.
“They have been following this road so far,” Allouette said. “There is no reason to think they would leave it.”
“True.” Quicksilver nodded. “Until we come to a fork in the road, at least. Let us ride, ladies.”
“After all,” said Cordelia, “if the road ends before we find them, we can always retrace our steps.”
“I dislike the loss of time,” Quicksilver said, fuming, “but there’s little choice.”
Allouette nodded and clucked to her horse. Side by side, the three women rode on down the lane between the stone walls. It was a very convenient lane, very comfortable to ride—and impossible to miss.
Down a slope it ran, then up another to a high ridge. At the top, they paused, looking down into a little bowl-shaped valley, only short grass on its side but at its bottom, an open meadow adorned with flowering trees. A brook meandered down its length.
“It is quite pretty,” Allouette offered.
“It is indeed.” Quicksilver scowled. “Why, then, do I feel that there is a pall of gloom hanging over it?”
“Well asked,” Cordelia agreed.
Together they studied the valley, analyzing the cause for the bleakness they all felt. It was Allouette who put it into words. “There are no people there—no huts or cottages, no crops!”
“Nor even any sheep or deer.” Quicksilver pondered the scene. “In truth, there is no sign of anything living, save trees, grass, and flowers.”
“Why would folk not settle in so lovely a dale?” Allouette asked. “Why would they not farm it?”
Cordelia’s face hardened. “This may be the danger we have felt approaching, ladies.”
“And if there is no trail, the lads may well have ridden down into peril.” Quicksilver kicked her heels against her mount’s sides. “We must investigate at the least!”
They rode together down into the valley. The walls ceased but the track was still broad and level. The women were braced for trouble—so it was with amazement that Allouette turned to look to the side and cried, “It is Gregory! We have found them!”