The fate of the men beneath the circling birds now became all too clear. The men wore the blue, silver, and crimson of Kierney and Cassan—Duncan’s house—and each had been impaled upon a narrow wooden stake set firmly into the ground, driving the sharpened point of the stake upward into the body cavity. Several of the bodies—those originally protected by less armor than the others—had been almost completely devoured by the carrion eaters. The air reeked with the stench of sun-ripened flesh and bird droppings.

Kelson blanched whiter than the egret feather that trembled in the badge on his cap, and the others were pale and silent as they drew rein. Duncan shook his head and closed his eyes against the gory sight, and even Warin reeled in the saddle, as though he might faint away at any second.

Cardiel pulled a square of white linen from his sleeve and pressed it hard against his nose and mouth for a long moment, obviously fighting a rebellious stomach, then turned dull eyes on Kelson.

“Sire—” Cardiel’s voice choked, and he had to begin again.

“Sire, what manner of man could do such a thing to fellow creatures? Has such a man no soul? Does he summon demons from the black reaches to serve him with magic?”

Kelson shook his head bitterly. “Not magic, Bishop,” he whispered. “This is human horror, calculated to terrify far more than any mere magic Wencit could leave us at this distance.”

“But, why this?”

Morgan curbed his skittish horse and swallowed with an effort. “Wencit knows human fears,” he said in a low voice. “To see our own, maimed and mutilated unto death like this—what greater horror can there be for fighting men? The man who conceived this—”

“No mere man—a Deryni!” Warin spat, jerking his horse around to glare at Morgan. “One who is Deryni and deranged! Sire”—his eyes flashed a fanatic fire that Kelson had thought to see quenched forever—” you see now what the Deryni are capable of! No human lord would have visited such wrath upon an enemy. It was a Deryni who has done this thing! I told you that they were not to be trust—”

“Hold your tongue!” Kelson snapped, cutting him off. “I do not condone such an act, but there is ample historical precedent among humans for such atrocity—much to all our shame. You are not to bring up the Deryni matter for the duration. Is that clear?”

“Sire!” Warin began indignantly. “You wrong me. I never meant that you—”

“His Majesty knows what you meant,” Arilan said wearily, shifting his weight in his saddle and scanning the scene before them. “What is more important at this point, however, is that…”

His voice trailed off thoughtfully as he glanced again at the impaled corpses, and he suddenly shifted his cloak to the horse’s near side and swung down to the ground. As the others watched uncomprehendingly, the bishop approached the nearest corpse and pulled aside a fold of its cloak. After a reflective pause, he moved to another one and repeated the process. His head was cocked in consternation as he turned back to Kelson and the others, who still watched from their horses, mystified.