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“I do not concern myself over such worldly matters, Alain, nor should you.” He turned suddenly, skewing round on his knees, and an instant later Alain heard the scrape of the door.

Biscop Antonia, in a white cassock trimmed with gold thread, walked up the aisle to them. She had such a pleasant face that Alain could not help but warm to her. She reminded him of the elderly deacon in his own village, kind Deacon Miria, who treated all children in Osna village as if they were her own grandchildren and whose judgments were firm, compassionate, but always just.Advertisement

“Frater Agius. I hoped to find you here, at your devotionals.”

“I endeavor to serve God, Your Grace, as well as this unworthy flesh can.”

She did not reply at once. Alain tucked his head down, trying to efface himself, but he felt her gaze on him. Then it lifted and he glanced up swiftly to see that she regarded Agius once again.

“I have heard from the count that there are old Dariyan ruins nearby. You will attend me tomorrow, and lead me there.”

“I am your servant, Your Grace.”

“Are you, Brother? I have heard whispers about you, Frater Agius. I have heard you profess a devotion to Our Lady so great that you often, I fear, neglect to pray to Our Lord, the Father of Life. But—” She looked again toward Alain. He ducked his head quickly. “We shall speak of that another time.”

Agius merely made, at his chest, the hand sign that denoted submission to his elder’s will: fingers curled down and clasped over his thumb.

The biscop moved to the hearth, where she knelt, said a prayer, and drew the Circle at her breast. Then she left the church.

“Go,” said Agius. “Meet me here tomorrow, after morning service. I would like you to attend me.” “Me?” Alain squeaked.

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Instead of answering, Agius bent double and prostrated himself before the image of St. Lavrentius.

Alain nudged Lackling. “Come,” he whispered, afraid to disturb the frater, whose eyes were closed and whose lips moved in rapid prayer. The boy followed him willingly. Outside, Alain had to blink. The sun had come out from behind the morning clouds and now shone brightly. The light stung his eyes.

3

ONLY a small group walked by the isolated forest path to the old ruins: Biscop Antonia and two of her clerics, Frater Agius, Alain, and, of course, Lackling, who attached himself like a loyal hound to Alain and could not be shaken loose. To Alain’s surprise, the biscop did not ride her mule but chose to walk with the others, as any humble pilgrim might.

“You, child,” she said, indicating Alain. “Walk beside me.” Of course he obeyed. “I saw you yesterday in the church with Frater Agius.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Are you kin to him?”

Surprised to be compared in such a casual way to a man of obviously noble birth, Alain blurted out a denial. “No!” At once he was ashamed of his rudeness. “I am a fosterling, Your Grace. I was raised in Osna village.”

“Freeborn?”

“Yes, Your Grace. Or so my father told me, and so was I raised. My father and aunt and cousins are free-born back to the time of Emperor Taillefer. There is no half-free blood in that family.”

“But you are a fostered child.” She said it so kindly that although the attention of so great a personage as a biscop rather frightened him, he could not help but want to confide in her. And she was old and therefore worthy of respect. As the saying went: “White hair is earned through good deeds and a good life.” And she did so remind him of Deacon Miria at Osna village, a woman to whom all went willingly to confession, knowing the penance imposed would be just, and never too harsh to bear.

He bent his head, flushing, flattered by her interest. “My father is a merchant, Henri of Osna village.”

“Your foster father, you mean?”

He hesitated. Bastard child of a whore. But Henri had loved Alain’s mother. Who was to say Henri was not truly his father? And yet, how could he know? Henri had never spoken of the matter.

When he did not reply, she went on. “I have heard it spoken by the common folk of Lavas Holding that the black hounds are devil’s get, and only a person born of the blood of their ancient masters or of the Count Lavastine may handle them without danger. Yet I noticed yesterday that you are left in charge of the kennels and that the hounds obey you as loyally as they do Count Lavastine.”

He gulped down a lump in his throat. “Hounds obey those who treat them firmly and without fear, Your Grace. It is nothing more than that.”

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