“You can’t have all of them,” said Zuangua to the priests. “Those two—” He indicated the burly man and the youth. “—we took from their forging house. They’re blacksmiths.”

The priest-woman in her long robes looked toward the stone circle. The Pale Dog was leaning against one of the stones as though exhausted, his eyes closed and his breathing shallow. His mouth was parted, and his chin and jaw and lips moved ever so slightly, as if he were talking to himself in an undertone. Everything was pale in him, fair hair, fair skin, undyed linen tunic pallid against the night, and a gold circle hung on a necklace at his fair throat. The dark stone framed him, highlighting his beauty and his cunning power, his strength and his shine.

The priest-woman cursed him. You didn’t need to understand the words to hear the power of her speech.

But if he heard her, he gave no sign. His eyes remained closed. He might have been sleeping, mumbling as dreamers do, except for the twitching of one little finger.

Zuangua had a mask after all, one tipped up on his head: he wore the visage of a dragon, proud and golden, just as he was.

“I have something to say,” he began, and Feather Cloak raised a hand to allow him to continue.

“He is a very evil man,” observed Zuangua as his warriors waved their hands in agreement. “He has lost even the love and loyalty for kinfolk that every person ought to have! He betrayed them all, without mercy.”

“Thus will humankind fall,” said Feather Cloak. “They are faithless each to the other.”

Secha spoke up. “Not all of them are. Liathano kept faith with your son, Sanglant.”

At the mention of those names, the Pale Dog’s jaw tightened, but he did not open his eyes. He had very good hearing.

“Your son kept faith with his father,” said Zuangua to Feather Cloak, “which I saw with my own eyes.” He grinned wickedly. “Even this ‘little beast’ who stands at my side seems to love me.”

The girl glanced at him, surprised at his words, then grinned. “You’ll teach me to fight!” she exclaimed.

“Beware the beast does not bite you in your time,” said Feather Cloak.

“I’d never bite him! I like him, and I hate you.”

Feather Cloak studied the girl. In truth, thought Secha, her disinterest in her only grandchild was no more unnatural than the pale sun hair’s disavowal of his kin. “I thought you hated this one called ‘Lord Hugh.’ “

“I hate him! He’s a very bad man. He’ll cheat you if he can. He’ll kill you.”

Feather Cloak smiled, amused, perhaps, by the piping voice and passionate expression of the girl. “A fair warning, Little Beast. He may try. He is not as strong or as clever as he thinks he is. What of the raid, Uncle?”

He indicated everything they had captured. “We walked between this crown and one that Sun Hair told us was far in the north. He called the place Thersa. We took the villagers by surprise. They could not fight us. It may be true that the Pale Dogs are many, that they have multitudes, and that we are few. But I tell you, it will be difficult for them to protect themselves against this manner of warfare.”