Page 101 of Forbidden

“Yes, lord.”

As Alfred turned to leave, he eyed the peregrine warily. She had been known to fly at men rather than at feathered prey, and she suffered no leash such as other falcons wore while on their household perches.

A soft whistle from Erik’s lips soothed the fierce bird. She flared her wings, folded them neatly at her sides, and resumed watching with unblinking intensity as Erik’s fingers caressed the dagger’s gleaming blade.

A distinct odor preceded the pilgrim’s arrival to Stone Ring Keep’s great hall. The smell was a compound of greed, fear, eagerness, and a body that hadn’t known the kiss of water since baptism.

“Did you find it in a hen roost?” Erik asked idly of Alfred. “Or was it buried beneath a pile of dead fish, perhaps?”

Alfred snickered. “No, lord. It came walking up to me all of its own.”

“Ah, well,” Erik murmured, “not everyone has a Learned appreciation of the solace of a warm bath.”

The pilgrim shifted uncomfortably. Though the clothes he was wearing were made of fine cloth, they fit badly, as though cut for another man. Or several men. His hair would have been flaxen, if clean. He took in the great hall with pale, darting glances, as though afraid to be caught looking at the gold and silver plates displayed in their accustomed tiers near the lord’s dais.

Erik caught the direction of the pilgrim’s glance. The lord’s mouth curved. It wasn’t a pleasant smile.

When the pilgrim saw Erik’s expression, the odor of greed gave way to the acrid scent of fear. The hounds stirred and snarled softly among themselves. The biggest of them stood and stretched, yawning widely, giving the nervous guest an excellent view of teeth sharply gleaming.

“Stagkiller,” Erik said, “quit teasing it.”

The hound’s jaws snapped shut. He scratched at the fragrant rushes with long, strong nails, turned around three times, and lay down.

“Great lord,” the pilgrim said, stepping toward Erik.

The hounds came to their feet in a single, lithe rush.

“Come no closer,” Erik said calmly. “They smell fleas on you. They can’t abide the creatures.”

Alfred began coughing, only to stop at an incisive glance from Erik.

“Speak,” Erik said to the pilgrim.

“I hear there be a reward for knowing of the Scots Hammer,” the man said.

Erik nodded.

The pilgrim darted a quick glance at Alfred.

“You may leave,” Erik said to his knight.

Alfred, on the edge of objecting, caught a slight motion of Erik’s dagger.

“Yes, lord.”

When the sound of Alfred’s boots had faded from the great hall, Erik gave the pilgrim a hooded glance that was chillingly like that of the peregrine.

“Speak quickly and to the point,pilgrim.”

“I be in the forest and hear a scream,” the man said in a rush, “and I run to see what passes and—”

“In the forest?” Erik interrupted. “Where?”

“Yonder a few hours’ walk.”

Erik followed the direction of the man’s dirty finger.

“Near the Stone Ring?” Erik asked.