“Davency? Heavy-set fellow, rather quick-tempered?”

“The same, m’lord.”

Bran hooked his thumbs in the jeweled belt at his waist and stared down at Derry for a long time, slowly rising up and down on the balls of his feet, jaw clenching and unclenching as he stared. For a moment, Derry feared that Bran would kick him, and he steeled himself for the blow; but it did not come. After what seemed like an eternity, Bran curbed his anger and turned slowly to face Lionel, not daring to look at Derry any longer.

“If this man were wholly my prisoner, he would be dead by now for what he has done,” Bran said, his voice hardly more than a whisper. “However, I am not so blinded by anger that I cannot realize the value he may have to you and Lord Wencit. Will you ask your kinsman what he wishes me to do with this offal?”

With a curt bow, Lionel turned on his heel and glided into the tent, Bran following a step behind. They paused just inside the opening, their shapes silhouetted against the inner darkness. Just before Bran twitched the tent flap over the opening, a faint play of light flared somewhere above the men’s heads, suggesting that they intended using some kind of magic to contact Wencit. After a few minutes, Bran emerged from the tent alone, his manner thoughtful and a bit amused.

“Well, Sean Lord Derry, it appears that my new allies are inclined to be merciful. You are to be spared a spy’s execution and instead are to be the guest tonight of His Majesty, King Wencit, in Cardosa. Personally, I cannot vouch for the quality of entertainment you will find there; Torenthi sport can be a bit bizarre for my tastes, I must confess. But perhaps you will enjoy it. Campbell?”

“Aye, m’lord.”

Bran’s face hardened as he stared down at the helpless Derry. “Put him on a horse and get him out of here. The sight of him sickens me!”

MORGAN paced the length of the tiny anteroom in the bishop’s palace in Dhassa and rubbed a hand across his newly shaven jaw, then turned to peer impatiently through the bottom of the high, grilled window. Outside, darkness was falling, the night mists moving in swiftly as they often did in this mountain country, cloaking all of Dhassa in an eerie, clammy shroud. Though it was not yet fully dark, torches were beginning to appear in the lowering dimness, their wavering flames pale and ghostly against the twilight.

The streets that had teemed with soldiers an hour earlier were almost silent now. Over to the left, he could see an honor guard lined up before the doors of Dhassa’s cathedral, and scores of mailed and cloaked fighting men and city burghers making their way into the high nave beyond. Occasionally, when a lull came in the arrivals at the cathedral, he could see through the open doors and into the great nave itself, catching the gleam of many candles lighting the place nearly as bright as day. In a little while, he and Duncan would be entering that cathedral with the bishops. He wondered what their reception would be.