The Charnel Prince - J. Gregory Keyes [191]
“He was a holy man,” Euric said. “Do not speak ill of him. And if you must know, I am not ansu-blessed as he was. Only one of us at a time is given that honor, and Hrothwulf was the chosen.” He nodded toward another of his captors, a man with hair as black as coal but with skin so fair his cheeks were pink, like a baby’s.
“Well, send him over. I’ll fight him—again, I mean. I’ll sit him down on his ass a second time.”
“I’m starting to like the old man’s suggestion of a gag,” Euric said.
“You haven’t gagged me since I’ve been your captive,” Cazio said. “I don’t imagine you will now.”
Euric smiled. “True. It’s much more satisfying to show you how completely your words don’t bother me.”
“Which is why you struck me, I suppose,” Cazio said.
“No, that was just for the pleasure of it,” Euric countered.
“Don’t make a fool of yourself, lad,” z’Acatto said. “You let him talk because you’re hoping he’ll get you mad enough to untie him. You want to fight him as much as he wants to fight you.”
“Well,” Euric allowed, “I would like to see how he thinks he could beat me with that little sewing-needle of his, yes,” Euric said. “But I’m on a holy mission. I can’t think of myself when my task comes first.”
“There’s nothing holy about chasing two young girls all over creation,” z’Acatto grunted.
“That’s done with,” Euric said, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Didn’t you know? We found them just after we caught you. In fact, Hrothwulf thinks you killed them.”
“Killed them?” Cazio blurted. “What are you talking about?”
“They had their throats slit, both of them, just over the hill from where we caught you. There were already ravens pecking at their carcasses. That’s how Auland got hurt.”
Cazio stared at him. “What, the fellow who lost his eyes? The one that died of blood poisoning before the day was even up? You really think a raven did that to him?”
“I saw it myself,” Euric said. But he looked strange, as if somehow he doubted what he was saying.
“Although—” He broke off. “No. I saw them. Their heads were nearly off.”
“You’re lying,” Cazio said. The girls had just gone over the hill to answer nature’s call. He’d only taken his eyes off them for a few minutes. Still, he pictured the girls, brigand’s grins cut in their throats, and suddenly felt a wave of nausea.
“You sons of whores,” he swore. “You get of distempered dogs. I’ll kill every last one of you.”
“No,” Euric said. “You’d be dead already, if we didn’t need a swordsman. But the old man will do, I think, if you’re so very impatient to meet Ansu Halja. Rest assured, you will die, and it won’t be pleasant, so take this time to pray to the ansu you pray to.”
He put a loop of rope around Cazio’s neck and jerked him to his feet. Then he threw the rope over a low-hanging branch and tied it off, so he couldn’t sit down without choking himself.
He left Cazio trying to think of new curses.
That afternoon, more men rode in, most dressed like men-at-arms, but more than a few like clergy. That brought a brief hope, but it didn’t take long to see that they were friendly with the knights.
Cazio had little to do other than watch them work, and try not to fall asleep.
The camp was near a rough mound of earth and stone, the kind that in Vitellio were called persi or sedoi, and often had fanes built on them. Those taking holy orders were said to walk such stations in a proscribed order to be blessed by the lords. But whatever was going on here seemed decidedly unholy. The newcomers had captives with them, as well, women and children, and they set about planting a ring of seven posts around the mound then clearing back the vegetation. Others began constructing a stone fane upon its summit.
“Have you any idea what they’re about, z’Acatto?” Cazio asked, studying his enemies as they went about their antlike business.
“Not really,” the old man said. “It’s hard to think without wine.”
“It’s hard for you to stand without wine,” Cazio replied.
“So it should be,” the old man replied. “A man should never be denied