“Sire, would you come here a moment? This is very odd.”

“Come and look at dead men? Arilan, I don’t need to see them closer. They’re dead, horribly murdered. Is that not enough?”

Arilan shook his head. “No, I do not think it is. Morgan, Duncan, come with him, if you please. I believe these men were dead before they were placed here—and likely not from impaling. Perhaps they even died in battle. All of them have massive wounds, but there is very little blood.”

Exchanging puzzled glances, Morgan and Duncan dismounted and joined the Deryni bishop, Kelson scurrying after them. Nigel and an armed escort thundered down the slope from the army, drawing up in horror as they saw what lay before them. On the rise in the background, more of Kelson’s officers were gathering on the crest, curious as to what was happening on the plain below. As Nigel swung down from his horse, Arilan beckoned him to join them and pointed to a third body.

“Look at this. Now I am certain they did not die here. Many of the wounds do not even match the blood and rents on the clothing. They may even have had their uniforms changed to make them look better at a distance. For that matter,” he started to remove the helmet of the next man, “some of these men might not even be our—”

As he tugged at the helmet, he gave a sudden, horrified gasp as it came away empty in his hands. The corpse that had borne the helmet was headless, with a blackened stump of neck extending where the head should have been.

Arilan attempted to cover his consternation by moving on to the next corpse, but removal of this helmet produced the same result: another headless body. With a muffled curse, Arilan moved to another and another yet, each time knocking empty helmets from headless shoulders. In fury he turned away from the others and slammed a fist into an open palm.

“Damn them all to eternal perdition! I knew him ruthless, but I did not think even Wencit capable of this!”

“This—this is Wencit’s work?” Nigel managed to stammer, swallowing down bile as he surveyed the carnage.

“So we must assume,” Arilan murmured.

Nigel shook his head in disbelief. “My God, there must be half a hundred men here.” He had to struggle to choke back a sob. “And I would be willing to wager that every one of them is headless. These men were our friends, our comrades in arms. Why, we don’t even know who they are! We—”

He broke off and turned away abruptly to bury his face in one gloved hand, and Kelson dared a quick look at Morgan. Other than the nervous clenching and unclenching of gloved fists, the Deryni duke was standing impassively, showing no outward sign of emotion. Duncan, too, was controlling his anguish well—though at what cost, Kelson could not even begin to guess, for they had believed these to be Cassani and Kierney men, Duncan’s own.