The Hallowed Hunt

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

HE WAS HALFWAY TO HETWAR'S WHEN THE REACTION SET IN, turning his knees to tallow. A low abutment along a house wall flanking the street made a good enough bench, and he sank down upon it, bracing his hands on his thighs and his back against the day-warmed stone. He blinked and breathed deeply against his dizziness. It felt peculiarly like the aftermath of one of his wolf-fits, tumbling back into a stream of time he had temporarily exited; like falling back to earth after a dream of flight. Except that it was his mind, and not his body this time, that had ascended into that state where response flowed without thinking in some desperate dance for survival.

That was real, Wencel's tale. Five gods.

Horseriver's tale, he amended this thought. How much of Wencel lived on in that slight and crooked body was hard to say.

His second thought was a flash of envy. To live forever! How could a man not achieve happiness, with so many chances to flee old errors, to make it right? To build up wealth and power and knowledge? The envy faded upon reflection. Horseriver had paid for his many lives with many deaths, it seemed, and the spell gave him no respite from any horror entailed. Burning is a painful death. I do not recommend it, Wencel had once remarked, and Ingrey had thought him joking. In retrospect, the tone seemed more the judgment of a connoisseur.

Would surety of his own survival make a man more brave in battle? It was true that many of Wencel's ancestors…rephrase, that Earl Horseriver had many times died not-peacefully. Or would the knowing of how much pain a death could inflict make one more afraid? Two of the most grotesque endings, Ingrey had just relived body and mind along with Horseriver, and the mere memories shook him near to vomiting. More ghostly suggestions of other such fates spun outward in repetition like a man's image caught between two mirrors, and the thought of them going on past counting made his stomach clench again.

Realization of the other cost came to him then, not one Horseriver had held up before his mind's eye, but still leaking in around all of the searing visions. Ingrey had no child, had scarcely considered the possibility, but the dream of a son inspired in him a fierce vague sense of protectiveness nonetheless. Rooted, perhaps, in his own child-mind's hunger for a father's regard, bolstered by his happier memories of Lord Ingalef, Ingrey at least had some notion of what a father ought to be.

And not just bodies and wives. Where did the souls go of all those spell-seized sons? Bound into the whole, digested but not wholly destroyed…it seemed the spell stole not only lives, but eternities. Carrying them along in broken pieces to the next generation, the next century, a jumbled, melting accumulation. Had Horseriver-the thought gave Ingrey more pause than all that had gone before-had Horseriver himself ever slain an especially beloved child before his own foreseen death, to spare that soul before it could be bound into this horror?

I think that may have happened a time or two, as well. In four centuries of lives frequently shortened by violence, there had surely been opportunity for every variation on the theme.

Dangerous, powerful, magical, immortal…and mad. Or nearly so. Wencel's brittle glibness took on a new tone, in retrospect. His baffling actions, wrenching back and forth between spurts of energy and withdrawal, still bewildered Ingrey, but Ingrey no longer reached for the reasons of ordinary men to explain them. He still did not understand Wencel, but the depth of his own misapprehension was at least revealed to him. Look to souls, Ingrey, Ijada had said. Indeed.

How many more iterations before Wencel lost even his present fragile function, and became so deranged as no longer to pass as lucid at all? As the spell spun on, it might look to the outside eye perhaps like some family disease, one blood relative after another struck down by dementia in youth, or middle age. One more iteration, I think. The next transfer was going to be different, if Ingrey lived to receive it. His wolf would make it so. Different, but not, necessarily, good.

Save for when he had received his wolf, this day was shaping up to be the most devastating Ingrey had ever experienced, beginning with looking a god in the eye and ending with Wencel's terrifying visions. He wanted nothing more now than to stagger home to clutch Ijada and howl the news into her ear. Home? The narrow house was surely no home to him. But wheresoever she is, there is my place. In the chaos and confusion of a battlefield, the standard held up above the swirl was the meeting point for the battered and lost, the place to regroup, find a trusted comrade against whom to place one's own bleeding back, and face outward again.

And she must be warned of this threatened transformation. It was disturbing beyond measure to realize that Wencel's fearsome heritage had been hanging over his head for years, and he had never known it. The timing of his body's capture was wholly in Wencel's power. The earl could have taken a knife to his own throat at any time and effected his preternatural transfer at will. Although…upon reflection, Ijada was perhaps the only person in the Weald who might be able to perceive his soul's adulteration upon sight. Perceive, but not necessarily understand; and Wencel's lies, coming out of Ingrey's mouth in Ingrey's voice, would surely be artful and practiced.

He forced himself back to his feet and started down the street again, trying not to weave like a drunken man. The motion helped settle his stomach and mind a little. He found himself passing the yellow stone front of Hetwar's palace, home of sorts for the past four years, and hesitated, reminded of his first panicked impulse to run to his patron. He was suddenly entirely unsure of what he wanted to tell Hetwar about Horseriver now, but the sealmaster had instructed Ingrey to see him earlier; at least he should discover if new orders awaited. He turned in.

The porter warned him, “My lord is in council.” Ingrey nearly decamped, but said instead prudently, “Tell him I wait, and ask his pleasure of me.”

Ingrey nodded, made his way up the wide stairs, and turned down the familiar corridor. He weaved around a servant lighting wall sconces against the gathering twilight. A rap on the study door elicited Hetwar's voice: “Enter.”

He turned the latch and slipped within, then controlled a recoil against the closing door. Grouped around Hetwar's writing table were Prince-marshal Biast, Learned Lewko, and the archdivineordainer of Easthome himself, Fritine kin Boarford. Gesca stood against a wall in a strained posture that hinted of a man making difficult reports to his superiors. The whole array of eyes turned upon Ingrey.

“Good,” said Hetwar. “We were just discussing you, Ingrey. Are you recovered from your morning's indisposition?”

His expression was decidedly ironic. Concluding, after a short mental review of the options, that the question was unanswerable, Ingrey returned a mere nod and studied his unwelcome audience.

Archdivine Fritine was an uncle of the present twin earls, a scion of the prior generation of Boarfords, dedicated to Temple service when too many older brothers made his chance of achieving high place in his kin lands unlikely. A long and typical career of a noble Temple-man lay behind him, by no means unhonorable; if he favored his kin, he equally ensured that they disgorged a steady return of favors to the Temple. His appointment to Easthome, with its important ordainer's vote, had occurred some seven years ago, the culmination of that career. And those favors.

In Ingrey's observation, Fritine and Hetwar tolerated each other fairly well, both men being equally practical. Through them, Kingstown and Templetown worked more often in tandem than opposed-often, but not invariably. A certain tension lay between them at present over the impending election, as Hetwar counted Fritine's vote among the uncertain; the archdivine had connections on his mother's side to both the Hawkmoors and the Foxbriars. And Fritine had used the excuse of his mediating Temple position to avoid promising his vote to anyone, yet. No doubt he found that uncertainty useful.

Who was presently chewing on his knuckles and staring at Ingrey in a most unsettling fashion, Ingrey realized. Ingrey favored him with a polite nod and waited for someone else to begin. Anyone but me. Five gods, my wits are unfit for this perilous company just now.

The archdivine plunged in at once. “Learned Lewko tells us you claim to have experienced a miracle in the Temple court this morning.”

Ingrey wondered how Fritine would react if he said, No, I granted one. I was disinclined, but the god begged me so prettily. Instead, he replied, “Nothing I could prove in a court of law, sir. Or so I am informed.”

Lewko shifted uncomfortably under his level look.

“I was there,” said the archdivine coolly.

“So you were.”

“I saw nothing.” To Fritine's credit, in his expression of mixed worry and suspicion, worry seemed uppermost.

Ingrey inclined his head in a suitably infuriating gesture of utter neutrality. Yes, let them reveal their thoughts first.

Prince-marshal Biast said, rather hopefully, “One could assert that the Son of Autumn taking Boleso's soul was good evidence against the accusation of his tampering with animal spirits.” “One could assert anything one pleased,” Ingrey agreed cordially. “And as long as one's eyewitness Cumril was found floating facedown in the Stork by tomorrow morning, there would be none to gainsay it. Certainly not me.”

“That will not happen,” said the archdivine. “Cumril is in strict custody. Justice will be served.”

“Good. Then howsoever Boleso's soul be rescued, at least his character will get what it deserves.”

Biast winced.

Hetwar said firmly, “So tell me, Lord Ingrey. At what point did you discover that Lady Ijada had also been infected with an animal spirit?”

Ah, they had indeed been comparing Ingrey stories. No help for it now. “The first day out from Boar's Head.”

With his usual deceptive calm, Hetwar inquired, “And you did not think this worthy of mention to me?”

Gesca, standing by the opposite wall and doing his best to appear invisible, shrank at that tone. And who were you penning your letters to, Gesca, if not Hetwar? Horseriver, judging by the neat way he'd turned up on the road. And if so, was Gesca a conduit to him still?

Ingrey replied, “At first opportunity, I placed the problem before Temple authority in the person of Learned Hallana. Who sent me to Learned Lewko.” In a sense. “I awaited his guidance, it being clearly a Temple concern, but alas it was delayed by the crisis of the ice bear. By the time we had another chance to speak, this afternoon, it was rather overridden by other matters.” Other matters? Or the same matter, from another angle of view? Who but the gods saw around all corners simultaneously? It was a disturbing new thought. Well, shift the blame to the saint-who was watching Ingrey's shuffle with a certain dry appreciation-and see who in this room dared to chide him.

Ingrey drew a long breath. “That such a grave charge is surely a matter for a proper Temple inquiry.”

“And what would that inquiry find?”

How great were Wencel's powers of concealment? Better than Ingrey's own, that was certain. “I imagine that would depend upon their competence, sir.”

“Ingrey.” Hetwar's warning tone, the special one pushed through his teeth, made both Gesca and Biast flinch, this time. Ingrey stood fast. “The man is an earl-ordainer, and we are on the verge of an election. I thought he was a staunch advocate of the rightful heir.”

He nodded to Biast, who nodded back gratefully. Fritine blinked, and said nothing.

Hetwar continued, “If this is not the case, I need to know! I cannot afford to lose his support in some untimely arrest.”

“Well,” said Ingrey blandly, “then your solution is simple. Wait until after you have extracted his vote to turn and attack him.”

Biast looked as though he'd bitten into a worm. Hetwar seemed, for a moment, as if he was actually considering this. Fritine looked blank indeed, and Ingrey wondered anew where his ordaining vote was promised.

Had Cumril's chances of kissing the Stork just gone up? Do I care? Ingrey sighed. Probably. Ingrey came to the glum realization that there was not a man in this room that he would fully trust with his newest revelations about Horseriver. I want Ijada.

Ingrey clenched his hands behind his back. My turn. “Archdivine. You are both theologian and ordainer. You must know if anyone does. Can you tell me-what is the precise theological difference between the hallow kingship of the Old Weald and its renewed form under Quintarian orthodoxy?”

Fritine drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “The old hallow king was elected by the heads of the thirteen strongest kin tribes. The new, by eight great kin houses and five Temple ordainers. The rights of blood and primogeniture are given greater precedence”-he glanced at Biast-“after the Darthacan manner. Since the election of the hallow king more often than not used to be a pretext for tribal warfare, this more peaceful transfer of powers between generations itself seems the mark of godly blessings.” His further nod to Biast gave impulsion to the hint, And let us keep it that way.

“A political answer was not what I asked for,” said Ingrey. “Was the old hallow king always a spirit warrior, or…or a shaman?” And how unsafe was it going to prove, to release that particular term into the conversation?

Lewko sat up with a look of growing interest. “I have heard something of the sort. The old hallow king was supposed to be the hub of many intertribal rites; perhaps more mage than holy, in truth.”

Ingrey tried to imagine any hallow king in the recent past as magical, and failed. Nor holy either, in truth. “So that-uncanny power-is all gone from the kingship?”

“Yes?” said Lewko.

Ingrey wasn't sure if that rising inflection was meant as assent or encouragement. “So-what's left? What makes the hallow kingship hallowed now?”

The archdivine's eyebrows went up. “The blessings of the five gods.” “Your pardon, Learned, but I get blessed by the five gods every Quarterday Service. It does not make me holy.”

Ingrey ignored him and forged on. “Is there any more to this kingly blessing than pious good wishes?”

The archdivine said sonorously, “There is prayer. The five archdivine-ordainers pray for guidance in their vote; all invite their gods for a sign.”

Ingrey rather thought he had delivered a couple of those signs himself, in clinking bags. It had not made him feel like a messenger of the gods. “What else? What other changes? There must be something more.” The slight strain in his voice betrayed too much urgency, and he swallowed to bring it back under close control. Five old kin groups were now missing from the mix, true, three of them extinct, two diminished. Five Temple-men replaced them smoothly enough, and who could say they were any less true representatives of their people? Yet the election had created Horseriver a mage-king once, created him something extraordinary. Aye, and he never stopped being it, did he? Was the present kingship empty in part because Horseriver held on to something in his deathlessness that he should have yielded back?

Biast, who had been jittering in his chair during this, interrupted. “If the accusation against Wencel is true, I am deeply concerned for the safety of my sister.”

Ingrey bore no love for Fara, after what she had done to Ijada, but considering his suspicions of the fate of Horseriver's last wife-mother, he had to allow the point. “Your concern seems valid to me, my lord.”

Hetwar sat up at that admission.

Ingrey added, “I am reminded, Sealmaster. Earl Horseriver has lately hinted to me that he desires my service. I beg you, if he asks, to say you will not release me. I fear to refuse him to his face. I don't wish to invoke his enmity.” Hetwar's brows drew down in furious thought. The archdivine stared, and said, “Two spirit-defiled men to be in the same house? Why does he desire this?”

Fritine turned in his seat. “Lewko…?”

Lewko spread his hands. “I would need a closer look at him. And the aid of the god, which I cannot force.”

Fritine turned back to Ingrey, frowning. “I would have you speak more plainly, Lord Ingrey.”

Ingrey shrugged. “Consider what you demand, Archdivine. If you wish my testimony of the unseen and the uncanny, you cannot pick and choose. You must take all, or none. And I doubt you are ready to accept me as some sort of courier from the gods, bearing orders for you.”

While Fritine was digesting the implications of that remark, Ingrey continued, “As for Wencel, he claims to be reminded of our cousinship. Belatedly enough.” Well, that too was true in a sense.

Biast said indignantly, “You would leave my sister unprotected in a house where you fear to go yourself?” His brow wrinkled, and he added more slowly, “You are loyal to my lord Hetwar, are you not?”

He has never betrayed me. Yet. Ingrey gave a little ambiguous bow.

Biast continued, “But if the accusation is true…who better to protect the princess from, from any uncanny act her husband might take, or to rescue her from that place if the need arises? And you might observe, inform, report…”

“Spy?” said Fritine, in an interested tone. “Could he do that, do you think, Hetwar?”

Ingrey raised a brow. “Now you would have me take a lying oath of service, my lords?” he inquired sweetly. “Ingrey, stop that,” snapped Hetwar. “Your graveyard notions of humor have no place in this council.”

“As close as he ever comes to it.”

“I wonder that you endure it.”

“His trying style has proved to have its uses. From time to time. He wanders his own twisted path, and brings back prizes no logical man would have even suspected were there. I've never been sure if it was a talent or a curse.” Hetwar sat back and regarded Ingrey acutely. “Could you do this?”

Ingrey hesitated. It would make official what he had been doing half-awarely all along; playing both ends against the middle while desperately collecting fragments that he hoped would fall into some pattern. And keeping his own counsel betimes.

He could say no. He could.

“I admit,” he said instead, slowly, “I, too, desire to understand more of Wencel.” He added to Biast, “And why do you suddenly think your sister in danger now, and not anytime these past four years?”

Biast looked a trifle embarrassed. “These past four years, I was scarcely paying attention. We met but once after her wedding, and wrote seldom. I assumed, assumed she was well disposed of by my father, and content withal. I had my own duties. It was not till she spoke with me-well, I taxed her-this past day that she revealed how unhappy she had grown.”

“What did she say to you?” asked Hetwar.

“She'd intended no such harm to fall out of the, um, events at Boar's Head. She thought Boleso had grown too wild, yes, but hoped that perhaps he and, um, Lady Ijada might grow content with one another, in time. That the girl might calm him. Fara feels her lack of children keenly, though I must say, it is not clear to me that the fault in that is hers. She thought her husband's eye had fallen on her new handmaiden, for it was he who brought her into Fara's household.” That last is new, thought Ingrey. Ijada had thought the offer the work of her Badgerbank aunt, but who had stirred up the aunt to remember her? Could Wencel have been thinking of a new heir, to place between himself and Ingrey? Or were his motives in securing Ijada something altogether else? Altogether else, I now think. He would not so bestir himself without reason, but his reasons are not those of other men.

The prince-marshal vented an unhappy Mm. It was not a noise of disagreement.

The archdivine cleared his throat. “I would observe, Lord Ingrey, that by your testimony to Learned Lewko-and certain other evidences-it seems your spirit wolf is now unbound. You stand in violation of your dispensation.”

His bland tone concealed not so much menace, or acute fear, as pressure, Ingrey decided. So. He knew how to deal with simple pressure.

“It was not by my will, sir.” A safely uncheckable assertion. “It was an accident that occurred when Learned Hallana took the geas off me. And so, in a sense, the Temple's own doing.” Yes, blame the absent. “While I can't say it was the gods' will, two gods have been quick enough to make use of it.” Was that the barest nervous flinch on Fritine's part? Ingrey took a breath. “Now you desire to make use of it, too, setting me to guard Princess Fara. This seems to me a grave mandate, for a man you do not trust. Or do you mean to extract the use of me first, then turn on me? I warn you, I can swim.” Fritine considered this bait for a long moment and shrewdly declined to bite. “Then it behooves you to continue to make yourself useful, don't you think?”

Hetwar shifted a little uncomfortably at this blatant exchange. It was not that he was above threats, but he had always managed to find smoother ways to move Ingrey to his will, a courtesy Ingrey appreciated aesthetically if nothing else.

“Since you put it so compellingly,” said Ingrey-Hetwar grimaced, he saw out of the corner of his eye-“I will undertake to be your spy. And the princess's bodyguard.” He gave Biast a polite nod, which Biast, at least, had the mother wit to return.

“This brings up the disposition of the prisoner,” said Hetwar. “If Wencel is suspect, so is his courtesy of housing Lady Ijada. It may be time to move her to more secure quarters.”

Ingrey froze. Was Ijada to be torn from his wardenship? He said carefully, “Would that not prematurely reveal your suspicions to Wencel?”

“By no means,” said the archdivine. “Such a change was inevitable, after the funeral.”

“It seems to me her present lodging is adequate,” protested Ingrey. “She makes no attempt to run, trusting to Temple justice. I did mention she was naive,” he added, by way of a jab at Fritine.

“Yes, but you cannot guard two places at once,” Biast pointed out logically.

Hetwar, finally growing alive to the sudden tension in Ingrey's stance, held up a restraining hand. “We can discuss this later. I thank you for volunteering in this difficult matter, Lord Ingrey. How soon do you think you might slip into Horseriver's household?”

“Tonight?” said Biast. No! I must see Ijada! “It would look odd, I fear, if I were to arrive before he begged me of you, Lord Hetwar. Nor should you let yourself be persuaded too readily. And I am in need of food and sleep.” That last was unblunted truth, at least.

“Perhaps you might arrange to visit her yourself, then.”

“I have no uncanny powers to set against Wencel!”

You begin to believe you need me unburned, then, do you? Good. “Is there no Temple sorcerer to set in guard, meanwhile?”

“The ones I deem suitable are out on tasks,” said Lewko. “I shall dispatch an urgent recall as soon as I may.” Fritine nodded to this.

“Peace, prince,” said Hetwar to Biast, who was opening his mouth again. “I think we can take no further sensible action tonight.” He pushed up from his writing table with a tired grunt. “Ingrey, step out with me.”

Ingrey excused himself to the seated powers, making sure to direct a special little farewell bow to Gesca just to worry him. If Gesca was Horseriver's spy, how would Wencel react when this report reached him? Although the earl must have anticipated Cumril's accusation. At least Gesca might testify that the suspicion hadn't come from Ingrey. Yes. Let Gesca run, for now. Follow his scent, see if it goes where I think.

Ingrey followed Hetwar down the dim, carpeted corridor, well out of earshot of the closed study door. “My lord?”

Hetwar turned to him and stood close under a sconce. The candlelight edged his troubled features. “It had been my belief before now that Wencel's keen interest in the upcoming election was on his brother-in-law's behalf. He has been deep in my councils therefore. Now I've cause to wonder if, like Boleso, it is some much closer desire.”

“Has he made new actions aside from his odd interest in Ijada?” “Say rather, old actions seen in a new light.” Hetwar rubbed his forehead, and squeezed his eyes shut, briefly. “While you are guarding Fara, keep your eyes open for evidences of any, shall I say, unhealthily personal interest on Wencel's part in the next hallow kingship.”

“This statement does not reassure me, Ingrey. Not when a certain wolf-lord has uttered the words kingship and magery in the same breath. I know very well you left things unsaid in there.”

“Wild speculation bears its own hazards.”

“Indeed. I want facts. I do not wish to lose a valuable ally through offensive false accusations, nor conversely to fail to guard against a dangerous enemy.”

“My curiosity in this matter is as great as yours, my lord.”

“Good.” Hetwar clapped him on the shoulder. “Go, then, and see about that food and sleep you mentioned. You look like death on a platter, you know. Are you sure you weren't really ill, this morning?”

“I should have much preferred it. Did Lewko report my confession?”

“Of your so-called vision? Oh, aye, and a lurid tale it was.” He hesitated. “Though Biast seemed to take some comfort in it.”

“Did you believe it?”

Hetwar cocked his head. “Did you?”

“Oh,” breathed Ingrey, “yes.”

Hetwar stood very still, first seeking Ingrey's eyes, then, after a moment, dropping his gaze uncomfortably. “I regret missing that entertainment. So what did you and the god really say to each other?”

“We…argued.”

Hetwar's lips curled up in a genuine, if dry, smile. “Why does this not surprise me? I wish the gods well of you. May They have better luck getting straight answers from you than I ever did.” He began to turn away.

Hetwar turned back. “Aye?”

“If, ah…” Ingrey swallowed to moisten his throat. “A favor. If, for any reason, my cousin Wencel should suddenly die in the next few days, I beg you will see that I am brought at once before a Temple inquiry. With the best sorcerers Lewko can muster doing the examination.”

Hetwar frowned, staring at him. The frown deepened. He started to speak, but closed his lips again. “I suppose,” he said at last, “you imagine you can just hand me a thing like that and walk off, eh?”

“So you swear, yes.”

“You are confusing swear and curse, I think.”

“Swear.”

“Yes, then.”

“Good.”

Ingrey bowed and retreated. Hetwar did not call him back. Though a low and breathy cursing did, indeed, drift to Ingrey's ears as he turned for the stairs.