Page 199 of Forbidden

“If there is a scent,” Erik said, “Stagkiller will find it. If the scent can be followed, he will follow it.”

At an unseen signal from his master, Stagkiller began casting about for Amber’s scent. He found it in a thicket of willows fifty yards from the keep’s wall.

“Exit from the bolt-hole?” Simon asked blandly.

If Erik answered, it was lost in the deep baying of Stagkiller as he took to the scent trail. The rough-coated hound ran with the long, tireless strides of a wolf. The horses followed.

Serfs and villeins looked up as the trio of horses galloped by. When the men saw Cassandra’s unbound hair, they crossed themselves and wondered who had been foolish enough to call down the wrath of the Learned.

The horses galloped down the cart road until the trail cut to a lane that zigzagged between fields and cottages. Mud leaped from beneath the horses’ big hooves and stuck to the drystone fences that rose from the ground on both sides of the lane.

Soon the last of the keep’s farmland lay behind. The forest began abruptly, looming up from the misty land in shades of pale bark and rich brown, lingering oranges and yellows and reds, and the startling evergreen fire of holly and ivy.

Stagkiller coursed the scent with lean intensity, never easing the pace no matter what the terrain or vegetation. After a time, mist-wreathed hills rose all around and a brook glinted darkly as it snaked between hills.

A long, low ridge of land lifted slowly beneath the horses’ feet. When they crested it, a circle of stones lay beyond. Nose to the ground, Stagkiller loped up to the ancient place.

And then the hound stopped as though he had run into a wall.

With a howl of disappointment, Stagkiller looked to his master. Erik sent the peregrine into the air with a swift movement of his arm.

“Search,” he ordered the hound curtly.

Stagkiller began casting for scent around the edges of the circle. It quickly became obvious that there was no scent to be found.

“God’s teeth,” Simon snarled. “’Tis just like Blackthorne.”

Cassandra gave him a curious look.

“I tracked Meg once to an ancient place,” Simon said without looking away from Stagkiller. “The dogs lost her scent.”

“Did they pick it up again?” Erik asked.

“No.”

“Did you search the place?”

“No.”

“Why not?” asked Cassandra.

“I was backtracking. I already knew where Meg was.”

Cassandra and Erik looked at each other.

“Search Stone Ring,” Erik invited.

Simon reined his horse over to the stones. The stallion refused to walk between. Circling the ring, Simon tried several more times, finally using his spurs. No matter where he pointed the stallion, or what prodding he gave the horse, it refused the trail.

Dismounting, Simon walked warily up to the circle. When he looked inside, he saw nothing remarkable. Rocks. Random weeds. Stones canted and covered with moss. A low mound. Mist writhing and lifting in a thousand silver veils.

With an impatient oath, Simon set off between the stones on foot. Every instinct he had was on edge, quivering with alertness. Yet he saw nothing. He heard nothing.

No tracks but his own showed in the mist-drenched grass. A quick turn around the base of the mound and over its top told him that the mound had neither an entrance nor any rock large enough to hide behind.

Relieved, Simon turned his back on the mound and headed for the standing stones where his battle stallion nervously waited. Just as Simon reached for the reins, he stopped, remembering something he had been told when he had first come to Stone Ring Keep as a knight on a quest.

“Is this where you found Duncan?” Simon called to Erik.