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A cleric appeared, peering first nervously in at the kennel gate, first at the hounds, then at the Eika. “Master Rodlin. Begging your pardon, Master,” he cried, finally finding the man above him. “His lordship wishes to see you and the boy.”
“Which boy?” asked Master Rodlin. At once everyone else, and belatedly Rodlin himself, looked toward Alain. A moment later even the Eika prince turned his stare on Alain. Alain fidgeted. Rage and Sorrow, sitting at his feet, growled.
“Everyone out,” said Rodlin. The haste with which the soldiers and handlers retreated brought a contemptuous grin to the Eika’s lips, a savage baring of his sharp teeth. “Come with me, Alain.” Rodlin disappeared down the stairs that led from the platform to the ground. Alain let go of the hounds. They bolted away and began to race around the kennel, barking. Rage and Sorrow followed him to the gate, but he rubbed their great heads roughly and promised them he would be back. Then he slipped outside and shut the gate. The handlers chained it tightly closed.
“Follow me,” said Rodlin curtly. They walked together in silence, the cleric padding before them, into the hall.
Alain had never been permitted past the great hall where everyone ate. Rodlin led him out through a door that opened onto a tiny courtyard alive with color and fragrant with herbs and flowers, then up a curving staircase that led to a circular chamber in the stone tower. The chamber had been whitewashed, and a magnificent painted glass window depicting St. Lavrentius’ martyrdom let light stream into the room. There was, amazingly, a second window in the chamber, though this one had no glass; its shutters were open wide to admit light and air. Count Lavastine sat behind a table, attended by Chatelaine Dhuoda, Lord Geoffrey, Frater Agius, and the captain of the Lavas guard.
Count Lavastine glanced up from some documents as Rodlin and Alain entered the room. The cleric crossed the chamber to take his station beside Lord Geoffrey. Rodlin bent one knee in a brief but clear obeisance, and Alain copied him, shaking in the knees.
But Lavastine looked away and returned to his other business. “I believe we are free of the threat for this season,” he said to Lord Geoffrey. “I have no further need for you and your men-at-arms. You may return to your wife’s estates when you are ready.”
“Yes, cousin.” Lord Geoffrey nodded. Though a good head taller and quite a bit heavier than his kinsman, Geoffrey seemed hopelessly overawed by his elder cousin, Lavastine. “But we hope you will suffer our presence a month or two more. My precious Aldegund is young and this her first confinement. It would be well—”
“Yes, yes!” Lavastine tapped his fingers impatiently on the table. “Of course you must not leave until Lady Aldegund has given birth and she and the child gained strength for the fiveday’s journey.” His lips thinned as he gave Lord Geoffrey what might have been intended as a smile. “It is this child, is it not, if it is granted life and health by God’s hand, who will be named heir to my lands.”
“Unless you marry again,” said Geoffrey gravely. But even Alain knew that as kindly and evidently unambitious a man as Lord Geoffrey might harbor ambitions for his children. The Lavas lands were considerable.
Count Lavastine made a sudden sign as if against the evil eye or a bad omen.
“I beg your pardon,” said Geoffrey quickly. “I did not—”
“Never mind it,” said Lavastine.
Alain’s knee, crushed into the carpet, was beginning to hurt. He attempted to shift—
Like lightning, Lavastine’s gaze jumped to him. “Master Rodlin. This is the boy? What is his name?”
“Alain, my lord.”
Lavastine looked Alain over. Seen so close and without his mail, the count was slighter than he had first appeared. He had a narrow face and hair of a nondescript brown, but his eyes were a keen blue. “Your parents?” he asked. “What village are you come from?”
“Son of Henri, my lord,” Alain choked out. He could scarcely believe that he was talking to a great lord. “I never knew my mother. I’m from Osna village, on the Dragonback—”
“Yes. The monastery there burned down early spring. A royal benefice.” He paused for long enough that Alain wondered if he was pleased or displeased that a monastery which had received its grant of land and rents from King Henry had burned down. “And it’s a port, too, one of the emporia. Do you know aught of that?”
“My father is a merchant, my lord. My aunt is a successful householder in the town and she manages what he brings home and manufactures goods for him to trade, finishing quernstones, mostly, in the workshop.”
“Have you handled hounds before?”
“No, my lord.”
“You went up to the old ruins on Midsummer’s Eve. Did you see anything there?”
A casual question, seemingly. Alain dared not look anywhere but at the count, and yet hardly dared look at the count. He struggled, trying to sort out his thoughts and decide what to say.
“Well?” demanded Lavastine, who clearly had little patience for waiting on others.
Should he admit to his vision? What might they accuse him of? He felt Frater Agius’ gaze on him, searching, probing. Witchcraft? Forbidden sorcery? The taint of devil’s blood? Or ought he to deny the vision altogether and imperil his soul for the lie?
Lavastine stood up. “So you did see something.” He paced to the open window and stared out onto the forest and hills beyond. “Master Rodlin, you will take this young man on as your deputy. He will assist you in caring for the hounds.”
Disappointed, Alain began to bend his knee again, since Rodlin, too, was backing up, readying himself to leave. At least it was a step up from digging out latrines.
The count turned back from the window and for an instant stopped Alain short, measuring him. “You will report as well to Sergeant Fell, who will begin training you as a man-at-arms.”
While Alain gaped, too stunned to respond as he ought, the count strode back to the table and sat down. “Frater Agius, tell Deacon Waldrada I would speak with her before supper.” The frater nodded and, with a piercing glance toward Alain, left the chamber. “Captain.” Lavastine turned his attention away from Alain as thoroughly as if he was no longer in the chamber. “We will set stockades all along the Vennu shore this autumn. I will call out an extra levy for this work. If we set them up in these patterns—”
