Speak not to me of the foul creatures, she snapped.
Foulyou meanfaeries?
There shall be no more talk of such.
Very well. Baldwin smoothed a palm across the saddle pommel. That attempt at lightening the mood had gone over about as well as a cow tiptoeing through a pottery shop.
They are mischievous, evil creatures, Sera muttered.
Evil? Hed always thought faeries rather whimsical, fey things. Course, should the abbe Belloc discover he had such thoughtswell, it mattered not anymore. That dream had been dashed on the eve of the New Year.
Baldwin pressed his mount faster so he could hear Seras quiet words. She did not pay heed to her own request for silence. When I was twelve my mother gave birth to my sister, Gossamer.
Hed not known the dAnges had another daughter. When Sera was twelve? That would have been, hmmright around the time Elsbeth dAnge had taken ill.
Gossamer was but one month in the cradle when the faeries stole into my mothers solar under the blackness of midnight and made the switch. A changeling they laid in the soft nest of silk and down where once my sister had cooed.
Baldwin cringed at Seras dour recitation of the word, changeling. The mere thought of such a beast curdled a shiver from his spine up to his earlobes. Everyone knew changelings were hideous, sickly things; far from whimsical.
The creature lived but a day. My mother was not the same after that. She grieved in silence, would but utter few words. She closed herself from others. I could see her limbs literally begin to curl in on themselves. Until finally she was so crippled she could not take up a needle or even walk without assistance. Twas then I took over her duties as chatelaine.
Im so sorry, Baldwin said, meaning it, and wishing hed never tried to brighten the mood. Brighten? Hed just snuffed out any light that had existed. There was much he did not know about Seraphim dAnge.
No more mention of faeries?
Most certainly not A glimmer of steel flashed in the squires peripheral view. What is that yonder?
They came upon a lone rider dismounted at the edge of Pontoise. Moonlight poured over the sharp angles of his face and glittered in the plush snowflakes capping his shoulders.
Sera did quick reconnaissance of the man. Leather jerkin and braies, a grand black wool cloak ornamented with metallic-black stones around the collar. Hematite, she knew, a stone that quickened the blood. A two-handed battle sword and dagger glinted at his hip, both of simple design, with brown suede wrapped about each hilt.
No doubt a knightno, his spurs were steel, not gold. Perhaps he was a mercenary, looking for his next purse.
Good eve to you, Baldwin called, as he and Sera passed by the stranger who had not yet opened his eyes, only appeared to be worshipping the moon. He must have heard their approach.
It is, the man finally responded.
Gryphon eased by the mans white stallion. Seventeen hands for sure, Sera judged the remarkable beast from the added height it grew over Gryphons withers. Impressive.
Headed for Pontoise?
If that is the name of yonder village, indeed I am.
Sera wished the squire were not so friendly with strangers. They could trust no one. But the stranger did no more seem eager to share conversation than she.
As they completely passed him by, she turned at the waist, propped a fist on Gryphons hindquarter, and saw he still stood a silent sentinel, his face lifted to worship the moon-glow, his eyes closed.
The beginning of a black beard shadowed his square jaw. The trace of a mustache squared his lips in an inviting frame. Black shoulder-length hair glimmered blue, like Gryphons coat, in the eerie midnight illumination. A graceful, yet sharply boned profile, he possessed. Gluttony was not his vice. Perhaps a bit of pride, though. He could be a knight, valorous and brave, for not all wore the gold spurs when not riding in battle.
It might have been the play of moonlightsurely it wasfor the man seemed to give off a glow of sorts. It caressed his figure, romancing him in a cocoon of white light.
Sera?
Caught in a silly swooning pose, Sera spun around and took up Gryphons reins, keeping her sight from what she sensed to be a smirk on the squires face. Onward then, she said.
But she could not resist twisting at the waist and stealing one final glance at the moon worshipper. And from deep inside her scarred and damaged being, the damsel she had once been emergedand sighed.
TWO
Bertrand, what say you? Sera dangled a chunk of stringy brown food above her trencher, imploring the squire to comment.
It is meat. Her traveling partner shoved another piece of the greasy fare into his mouth. Whenever they came upon food he became focused and voracious in his endeavor to fill his belly.
Aye, but what sort? Pressing her lips together in consternation, Sera turned the meat this way and that. I cannot determine, there is so much salt.
Most likely venison, the squire muttered through a slobber of watered ale. But say naught, for the kings men could be within hearing distance.
Yes, but which king? She prodded the remainder of her trencher with a fingertip, wincing at thought of consuming such unremarkable fodder. All her life shed eaten her meals from plates. Oftentimes a fine silver fork had been provided, as well. This salted, stale, indeterminable fare shed seen over the past week was enough to make ones stomach close up and choose starvation over death by disgust.
Certainly, it is not what you are accustomed to, my lord. The squire was not one to disguise his frequent bouts of sarcasm. Not one of the reasons Sera had elected to have him accompany her on this quest. You always receive the finest cuts, while the lower table is given this salted ferment, or if we are lucky, your table scraps.
Bernard, Im sorry
It is Baldwin, he hissed, spattering his own trencher with spit. And if you do not wish your portion then I shall gladly consume such, for I fear it will be another full day before we again stop to fill our bellies.
If all went well. Sera figured a two-day journey to Creil. Tonight they would rest, then greet the dawn and ride the entire day through by following the winding Seine. It was critical they reach Creil as quickly as possible. No doubt word of Mastemas death already beat a sweating horses trail to Abaddons ears. She did not want to give him more time than necessary to prepare.
So, is it mine?
A glance to Baldwins finger-pocked trencher found it bare of meat and gravy. At that moment Seras stomach moaned in protest. She had not been eating well, could feel it in the lightheadedness that accompanied her yowling innards. With three of the five de Mortes left to hunt down she must keep her wits about her, and her strength. This bitter battle must be foughtor die.
She bit into the hard chunk of salted deer. All she could do was offer a negative nod, for she suspected this small morsel would need a good chewing.
I do believe we are on Charles VIIs land, Baldwin added quietly. That damned English king holds but Paris now, does he not?
Aye, the bastard, Sera muttered, equally as quiet. Twas difficult to know who was ones enemy with the English occupying Paris. Many a Frenchman had deserted and gone to serve Henri VI. They craved the organization and rumored frequent pay dates that were quite the rarity in the French musters.
Never, Sera thought to herself. I shall serve my homeland until I die. As had her father and her brother.
Fact was, Lucifer de Morte was allied with the English king. Another good reason to take his head.
Ah, there, Baldwin whispered. Yonder comes your moonlight knight.
Do not speak so loud, she muttered. A glance to the tavern door witnessed the cloaked stranger stroll in with but a nod to the barkeep and a cursory scan of the room. You will raise suspicion.
What suspicion worries you? That my lord was romancing over another knight?
Baldwin!
Ah, so she does know my name. When it serves her authority.
Enough. Sera lifted the pewter tankard to her lips and forced a swallow down her throat. While the watered-down spirits were anything but appetizing, just the feel of the cold liquid running down her wounded throat alleviated the haunting pain.
The large vessel also blocked the moonlight knights view of her face as he strode by the long trestle table where she and Baldwin sat across from a half dozen dirty-faced men.
The man sought out a lone chair at the back of the tavern. There in the darkness, a single candle set into an iron sconce shone upon his face and the scaled-armor gauntlets he tossed on the table before him. A serving wench, thin brown hair tucked up with a few pins, limped over to his side and, with a few exchanged words that Sera could not hear, she then wobbled away to retrievemost likelymore inedible meat.
In the main room of the tavern, two knights who had been quietly exchanging defense instruction, now clanged weapons in a good-natured display of method. Metal rivets studded the leather jerkin of the barrel-chested fighter and clinked with the misplaced touch of a sword. The moonlight knight didnt pay them a glance. Instead, his dark velvet eyes remained fixed onSera.
She quickly looked away and drew a finger along her crusted trencher, as if the food now promised great gastronomic delight. Hes looking at us, she hissed to the squire.
Baldwin, already breaking his rye trencher in half and preparing to devour that as well, glanced to the dark recess at the back of the tavern, making great display in turning his body completely, so anyone who might be looking would know his intentions.
Dont do that, she pleaded hoarsely.
Hes not looking at us, Baldwin replied around a bite of bread. Hes looking at you.
Me? N-no. Really? The damask- and silk-clad damsel that Sera had been but a week earlier shivered beneath the chain mail and scars and butchered coif. To capture the eye of such a dashing manwas no longer thinkable. Lets be off, Bertrand.
Im not finished.
Finish it in the stables. Our horses need tending. She stood, but the squire made it clear he had no intention of moving until every last crumb of the gravy-soaked trencher swam in his gut.
Sera cast a sideways glance toward the knight sitting in the darkness. He inclined his head in acknowledgment at the pair.
Arent you going to answer that? Baldwin wondered.
I did nod, she lied. Hurry. Methinks you are making me wait apurpose.
Dominique San Juste! A gray-bearded man, dressed in olive hosen and wool cloak, crossed the room and set his tankard on the table before the moonlight knight.
Dominique? Sera toyed with the name in her mind as she placed a hand on Baldwins shoulder, staying him for the moment. Twas a fine enough name, honorable, elegant andbeguiling.
The one whod called out the name was a burly old man with young blue eyes flashing above his long beard. A scar pinched the corner of his left eye shut and dipped to his nose. Twas a match to the scar that puckered the flesh on Seras throat.
Good to see your ugly face again, man.
Sera had to close her eyes and concentrate most fiercely to hear Dominiques reply.
You say Abaddon de Morte has plans to ride on Clermont in two days?
That was the word that blows on the wind, the scarred man said. Was, that is. Theres serious doubt the Demon of the North will leave his lair now with half his numbers obliterated by the black knight. They had been sent to aid Mastemas siege, and did but a handful return to their master.
Ah yes, the infamous black knight. You wager he has set the rest of the de Mortes to a cowardly shiver behind their castle walls?
The bearded man shrugged, scratched his generous belly. Abaddons the biggest and strongest of them all. If any of the de Mortes were to stand off a single, armored man, it would be him. Though rumor tells Lucifer has hired a mercenary to stalk the black knight and cut him down before Abaddon need worry of breaking a sweat.
A mercenary? Lucifer not up to the task himself?
Perhaps shivering like a coward in his stinking lair. The black knight is a force! They say he rides into battle on his great dragon of a steed, the beast blowing smoke from its nostrils.
Dominique waved his hand dismissively. Sera did not miss the mocking gesture. Gossip tends to grow a mans muscles tenfold and his amours by many hundreds, he said.
Aye, but the black knight swung his sword and severed Mastema de Mortes head from his body with one swift and mighty blow.
Baldwin shot up like a rabbit bit in the tail by a curious mastiff. He pressed his hooded visage close to Seras face. You severed the mans head?
Sera looked away from the greasy-faced squire, zoning in on Dominique San Justes furrowed brow. The beguiling knight took great humor in listening to the mans tale. He didnt believe a word of it, she could fathom as much from the smile that wriggled his lips. Such white teeth beneath the thin black mustache. Captivating, in a most alarming way.
A hand clamped over her wrist, forcing Sera to redirect her attention. You cut off the mans head?
She shrugged out of Baldwins greasy clutch and whispered, So?
Taking the eyeshot of a nearby traveler as warning she might speak too loudly and reveal more than she wished, Sera turned and stalked out of the tavern, followed closely by Baldwin. The slam of the heavy wood door released a mist of snowflakes upon their heads.
Baldwin skittered up on Seras heels, her pace intent for the stables. Thats sosobarbaric!
She raised a brow, smirked, but did not slow her pace.
Thats not you, youre not thatbloody saints!wicked!
I was mounted in the midst of battle, she hissed under her breath. The man needed to be taken down. I did what was necessary.
He gained her side, a sad shake flapping the ragged wool hood on his head back and forth over his still-chewing cheeks. Youre changing, Seraphim. This is no life for a woman.
You are not my lord and master, Bernard.
Breathing in a deep breath, Sera put the squires comments from her thoughts. It would not do to think on what was wrong with her life. Only, she must focus on what must be done to avenge her family. With that vengeance would come peace for many thousands of French villagers who every day suffered at the hands of the de Mortes. The villains raped and pillaged and burned for reasons no more obvious than that of their own twisted pleasure.
For each de Morte slain, dozens of families would benefit.
The chill of nightfall slipped between her cheek and the rabbit fur lining her hood. Sera shook off a shiver and strode through muck of mud and snow to the stable.