The Charnel Prince - J. Gregory Keyes [63]
“As have I,” the knight replied. “I have vowed to find the perpetrator of this obscenity. Anything you know may be of use to me.”
“Have you no clues?” Sir Quinte asked.
“A few. It was done by foreign knights bearing no standard or markings, like your friend here. They slaughtered the sisters and then rode off in different directions.”
“As if they were searching,” Neil muttered.
“Yes, as if searching for someone,” Sir Chenzo affirmed. “But searching for whom, Sir Viotor? That is the question, and I suspect you have some inkling of the answer.”
Neil averted his eyes, trying to think. He could not imagine that the slaughter at the coven and the murder of the royal family in Eslen were coincidence. Whoever had sent the assassins to slay his beloved Fastia had also sent killers here, to murder her sister.
If Anne were dead, then he could justifiably consider himself released from his vow. He could return to the queen and protect her.
But the queen’s conversation with the shade of Erren indicated that Anne was still alive only two weeks ago. Judging from the ruins, the coven looked to have been burned longer ago than that. So she must have escaped the general slaughter, and was being pursued by the perpetrators.
That meant that her pursuers already knew who she was. The secret he was sworn to protect was no longer a secret at all.
If that was so, the only things that remained secret were his identity and what his mission was. He had to preserve his anonymity; if Anne was still alive, he might be her only hope. He could not allow himself to be waylaid.
And so, saying a silent prayer to Saint Freinte, Neil lied.
“I see that I must trust you with my seceret,” he sighed. “My name is Etein MeqMerlem, from the isle of Andevoi. There is a young lady whom I love, but her parents disapproved of our affections. They sent her to a coven to keep us apart. I know not which coven, but for three years now I have searched for her, from Hansa to Safnia, thus far without success.
“Now I have come here, and you tell me of this terrible thing.” He sat straighter in his saddle. “I know nothing of these murders, but I must know if she was here. If she lives, I will find her. If she is dead, then I will avenge her. I pray that you will help me in my quest.”
“I knew it!” Sir Quinte said. “I knew your quest was for the sake of love.”
Sir Chenzo studied Neil with one eyebrow upraised. “What was the lady’s name?” he asked.
“Muerven de Selrete,” he replied. Then, anxiously, “Please, was she here?”
The knight shrugged. “The records of the coven were burned along with everything else. I’m sorry, but there is no way of knowing.”
“Yet the bodies—”
“Long buried, and—you’ll forgive me—mostly unrecognizable, in any case.”
“I know that she lives,” Neil said. “I feel it in my heart. Can you at least tell me the direction the largest group of searchers went in?”
Sir Chenzo shook his head. “I am sorry, Sir Etein, I have my own vows and duties. But please, accompany us to the place where we are guested. Take ease for the night. Perhaps you will remember something there that will be of use to us.”
“I’m afraid I must decline,” Neil replied. “I must renew my search immediately, especially now.”
“Please,” Sir Chenzo said. “I insist.”
The look in his eye made it clear to Neil that he was not merely being polite.
They rode from fields of yellowing grass and purple thistle into vast vineyards and finally up to a rambling white-walled estate roofed in red tile. By the time they reached the mansion, the sun had set, and only a faint glow remained in the west.
Servants in plum doublets and yellow hose took their horses, and they passed through a gate and into a large inner courtyard. A few servants in the same livery were sweeping it as they entered, and a page led them through another door and into a hall lit brightly by candles and hearth. A few people were gathered around a long table. The most notable of these was a woman of middle years and large girth, who rose from the head of the table as they entered.
“Portate az me ech