The Charnel Prince - J. Gregory Keyes [24]
“It’s done, Your Grace,” Winna replied.
The praifec nodded. “Very well.”
He placed his hand on the shoulder of the boy, who had sat silent through all of this. He had black hair and eyes to match, and his skin was dark, darker than Aspar’s.
“Allow me to present Ehawk, of the Wattau, a tribe from the Mountains of the Hare. You know of them, perhaps, Holter White.”
“Yah,” Aspar answered curtly. His mother had been Wattau, his father an Ingorn. The child they bore had never been welcome in either village.
The praifec nodded again. “The events you three have been a part of are of great concern to the Church, most especially the appearance of the so-called Briar King. Up until now, we have considered him to be nothing more than a folktale, a lingering superstition, perhaps inspired by an illiterate memory of the Warlock Wars or even the Captivity, before our ancestors broke the shackles of the demons who enslaved them. Now that he has appeared, of course, we must reassess the state of our knowledge.”
“If I may, Your Grace, my report—,” Stephen began.
“I have read your reports, of course,” Hespero said. “Your work on the subject is laudable, but you lack the full resources of the Church. There is, in holy z’Irbina, a certain set of volumes which may be read only by His Holiness the Fratrex Prismo. Immediately on hearing of the events at Cal Azroth, I sent word to z’Irbina, and word has now come back to me.” He paused.
“Word and more,” he continued. “I will explain that later. Anyway, at the time I did not feel that I could wait to hear from z’Irbina. I sent, under Church auspices, an expedition to track this—creature, and to learn more of it. The expedition was a strong one; a knight of the Church and five monks of Mamres. They hired Ehawk in his village to act as a guide. Ehawk will now relate what he saw.”
“Ah,” Ehawk said. His accent was thick, and it was that of someone not used to speaking the king’s tongue. “Hello to you.” He fixed his eyes on Aspar. “I’ve heard of you, Sir Holter. I thought you’d be taller. It’s said your arrows are the size of spears.”
“I’ve shrunk down for His Grace,” Aspar grunted. “What did you see, boy, and where did you see it?”
“It in the territory of the Duth ag Paé, near Aghdon. One of the monks—Martyn—heard something. And there they were.”
“They?”
“Men and women, but like beasts. They wore nothing; they carried no weapons. They tore up poor Sir Oneu with their bare hands and teeth. A madness was upon them.”
“Where did they come from?”
“They were the Duth ag Paé, I’m sure of it. Maybe all of them, except no children. There were old people, though.” He shuddered. “They ate the monks’ flesh as they killed them.”
“Do you know what might have driven them to madness?”
“It’s not just them, Sir Holter. As I fled, I came across village after village, all abandoned. I hid in holes and under leaves, but they found my horse and tore her up. I heard them at night, singing songs in no speech of the mountains.”
“But you escaped them.”
“Yah. When I left the forest, I left them. I came here because Martyn wished it.”
“Martyn was one of my most trusted servants,” the praifec amplified, “and very powerful in Mamres.”
“What sort of madness sweeps whole villages?” Stephen wondered.
“The old women . . . ,” Ehawk began; then his voice trailed off.
“It’s all right, Ehawk,” the praifec said reassuringly. “Speak what you will.”
“It’s one of the prophecies. They said that when the Etthoroam wakes, he will claim all in the forest for his own.”
“Etthoroam,” Stephen said. “I’ve seen that name. It’s what your people name the Briar King.”
Ehawk nodded.
“Aspar,” Winna murmured. “Colbaely is in the King’s Forest. My father. My family.”
“Colbaely is far from the country of the Duth ag Paé,” Aspar said.
“How does that matter, if what this boy says is true?”
“She has a point,” Stephen said.
“They are not confined to the depths,” the praifec said. “We’ve had reports of fighting in towns all along the edge of the King’s Forest, at least in the east.”
“Your Grace, you must