The sun had set; its light thin. Heden could see a few stars in the sky and the rust-colored Dusk Moon hanging over the trees. Small, turning slowly. Three times an hour, just like the Dawn Moon. No one in the city paid the two moons any attention, but they still used the word ‘turn’ to mean a third of an hour. Most didn’t think about where the word came from.

Out of habit, he marked the facing of the moon, so he could count the turns, and know how much time had passed. Though only appearing, and at its brightest, during dusk, it would still be visible for several hours, only disappearing at midnight.

It had not yet been a full turn since he left the priory. He hadn’t moved. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he knew he wasn’t going home yet. He was thinking about heading to the Keep, against his own judgment, to see if he could help.

The knights in the priory argued loudly. It meant nothing to Heden. He didn’t know what they were arguing about, and didn’t care.

He heard the absence of sound behind him that indicated someone was inexpertly trying to be quiet, and turned around.

Aderyn was standing behind him, watching him watching the moon.

Heden turned back to the Dusk Moon, twirling slowly in the sky.

“You didn’t finish the pavilion,” he observed.

She sniffed, but otherwise did not move. He could feel her eyes on him.

“The jousting field is complete,” she said. “The melee is staked off. But the tent…Lady Isobel declared there would be no tournament.”

Heden thought about what this meant. What it meant for Isobel to make such a decision, whether Brys objected. He heard the knights inside, arguing.

“I guess they’ve got enough to fight over,” he said.

Aderyn watched him. Her attention was difficult to bear, he wasn’t sure why. It was like a shaft of sunlight bearing down on only him, and he didn’t feel worthy of it. He sensed that her attitude toward him had shifted and there was something akin to sympathy and interest in her gaze. He decided to test that.

“I asked you a question earlier,” Heden said, turning to look at her in the moonlight. “About the giant. If it bothered you that Sir Nudd took matters into his own hands.” Aderyn looked away. “You told me he wouldn’t have done that before Kavalen’s death.”

She nodded, eyes cast down.

“But you didn’t tell me everything. You were ashamed by Nudd’s behavior…”

Her head whipped up and he thought she was going to chastise him again for not using the knight’s full title. But he’d underestimated her.

“It was a cowardly attack!” she admitted, as much to herself as Heden. Her face looked possessed in the starlight.

Heden nodded, he understood. The attack had an impact on her, because of what it meant about the Order. She wasn’t just angry at Sir Nudd, wasn’t just ashamed, she was afraid.

“Stabbed from behind,” Heden said.

“And with no warning. No declaration, no mercy, no chance to surrender or quit the field.”

“I’ve known a lot of knights,” Heden said, “I’m not sure any of them…”

“We are not ‘any’ knights,” Aderyn hissed. “We are the Green Order. Not even Dywel would have done such a thing before the Commander’s death.”

Just saying that pained her. Heden wondered what kind of knights these men and women were, before Kavalen’s death, to inspire such loyalty. He had no idea. They must have been close to magnificent. Part of him would have liked to see that, see these knights who kept to the traditions for a thousand years. Part of him didn’t believe it.

“Well,” Heden said, embarrassed somewhat by the silence and the strength of Aderyn’s reaction. “If I leave, then no one replaces Kavalen. And then no one to lead you, and the order dies.”

He tried to say it smoothly, dramatically. Like Gwiddon would have. Aderyn didn’t respond. Heden took a breath and looked south, thinking of home.

“Why do you not ride to the Keep?” Aderyn asked, curious. “You were a Prelate. Does your service as an Arrogate forbid…”

At the sound of his title, Heden interrupted her.

“It’s not that easy,” he said.

She frowned at him. He turned and saw her confusion.

“You think I ride down there and bless their soldiers, heal the wounded. Maybe do some fighting myself.”

She looked in the direction of the Keep, and then back to him. It was obvious he thought her idea was worthless, and equally obvious she didn’t know why.

“Right now, fear is the only hope those people have.”

“I do not understand,” Aderyn admitted.

“Every day more people flee the Keep. Flee their neighbors, maybe even their families. They’ve been thinking about running for weeks, but they’re afraid of being called cowards. Even traitors, for abandoning their friends.

“But those people,” Heden said nodding southwest, “the ones who shit themselves at the idea of having their heads cut off and spit upon pikes by rampaging urmen, the ones who run. They’re the ones who’ll survive. The people who stay at the Keep are the ones who’ll be eviscerated.

“And what happens if I show up?” Heden said. He turned to Aderyn to make sure she understood this was not a rhetorical question.

“What happens if a Prelate of Cavall shows up and announces he’s going to help?”

Aderyn ruefully held his gaze. “The people stop fleeing.”

“And?” Heden asked.

“More people die when the urq come.”

“I can’t stop a whole army by myself,” Heden said. “It takes men to hold a keep, more than me, and more than they’ve got. All I’d do is give those poor bastards enough hope to convince them to stay behind. Fight and die. And for what?”

“I had not considered that,” Aderyn admitted darkly. She found Heden’s reasoning sound, but very distasteful. “I had never considered the virtue of cowardice.”

Heden didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure if she was mocking him. He thought maybe she had a right. There was a time when he’d have gone to the Keep and damn the consequences. But those principles died a long time ago.

“Anyway,” he said, and kicked the dirt under his boot for no reason. “What are you doing out here?”

“I am to scout the urq,” she said, drawing herself up.

Heden glanced at her, then went back to star watching. He was counting the constellations. For some reason, he couldn’t return her gaze. He felt like he was staring at her when he did so.

“What does that mean?” Heden asked.

He heard her footsteps as she approached him.

“We are a day from the Keep,” she explained. “They are two days from here, but they are an army and move slowly. I can move quickly. I will find them, observe them. They will not see me. And I will report back on their position and movement.”

Heden nodded and looked at her again. She was staring at him. He wondered if she volunteered for this because she knew he was out here.

“Sounds like makework,” he said.

She screwed up her face, trying to understand what he meant.

“If you mean: something to do while the knights do nothing, you are likely correct. But it is my duty, and I will discharge it well.”

She walked in front of him, so he couldn’t ignore her as easily.

She set her shoulders.

“I have decided you will accompany me,” she said.

Heden raised his eyebrows.

“You have?”

“I have,” she said in plain agreement as though there was nothing strange about this.

“What do they think about that?” Heden asked, throwing his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the knights in the priory.

“Well, they are arguing,” she said, as though it wasn’t obvious. Heden thought he got a little sense of what she thought about her idols’ indecision.

With a sigh Heden slung his pack over one shoulder.

“Beats heading to the Keep,” he said.

She smiled.

“Come, Arrogate,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “And see how a squire of the Green comports herself.”

She turned and ran off into the forest. Heden almost missed it, but she spoke a prayer under her breath, and her speed was that of a deer.

Heden sighed and shook his head, put his other arm through the second strap on his pack, tightened the buckles, spoke his own prayer, and ran off after her.

Chapter 30

He was outfitted in gleaming, polished plate. It looked like an antique. His helm was tucked under one arm. Its horns were not as large as Isobel’s but at least as large as Brys’. They were deadly, and covered in blood like the rest.

He carried many weapons. A dagger on his belt as well as a longsword in a scabbard. On his back was slung the same kind of longspear Aderyn had waved at Heden when they met. There was also a quiver of javelins on his back. Heden had seen men walking around with more weaponry on them, but only for show.

He was absurdly handsome. He looked like a figure stepped out of a stained glass window. His fair complexion and fine-boned features would have made even Gwiddon envious. It was hard to tell how old he was. Heden guessed, based on what he knew of Aderyn and how long one had to be a squire, he was in his late 30’s.

Seeing this knight, tall, youthful, his green hair hanging straight down to his shoulders, his face honest and open, standing there in his perfectly made and maintained armor made all the other knights look shabby by comparison. Even the Lady Isobel.

Taethan walked up the length of the nave, ignoring everyone in the priory. Heden watched the other knights’ reactions.

Isobel looked distant. As though trying to remove herself from the world around her. Brys showed opened frustration with the knight, as though he wanted to reach out and shake him. Nudd faced away from them all. Idris and his cohort looked disgusted with the knight. For once, it seemed Cadwyr and Dywel didn’t need to look to Idris from a cue.

In every way Heden could tell, Taethan’s ritual at the altar was identical to Isobel’s. Heden was searching for any sign of ‘the perfect knight’ as the others had called him. He certainly looked the part.

When he was done, he did something none of the other knights did. He walked to his crest, three horses rampant, removed his longspear from across his back, and moved to placed it on the brace under his device.

Just before he placed it in the curve of the wooden brace, he turned to look at the other knights, and let the spear drop. None of them reacted.

Taethan walked back down the nave and approached Heden. None of the other knights would look at him.

The knight stood before him, his face open. No sense of judgment on his face. Just looking at Heden. Heden turned and put one arm over the back of the bench, looking up at the knight whose face seemed carved from marble.

“You know what I think?” Heden opened without preamble. No introduction. Taethan didn’t react.

“I think every single knight in this place knows exactly what happened to your Commander.”

Taethan watched him, no expression. Just listening. Heden expected some attitude, but was receiving none.

“You should have heard them. They acted like they’d never heard of Kavalen,” Heden said, dropping the title to see how Taethan would react. Nothing. “Everyone said talk to you. I bet,” he said, “that you think that’s as much a pile of horseshit as I do.”

Taethan pursed his lips, but Heden couldn’t tell if it was in reaction to what Heden said, or how he said it.

“You want me out of here as much as they do,” Heden said, his voice dropping a little. “Ok. You tell me how your commander died, and I’ll get out of here and leave you to…whatever you do.”

Taethan looked to the other knights as though checking to see if they would interject, but it was just for show.

He turned back to Heden.

“Did you know,” Sir Taethan’s began, “that your father prays for you, every morning?”

Heden peered at him and grimaced.

“You don’t know my father,” he said, pointing a warning finger.

“Only you,” Sir Taethan said, and he pulled at the mail gauntlets, tugging them off. “You have two brothers and two sisters, but he doesn’t pray for them.”

“Why don’t you use the cant?” Heden asked.

Taethan dismissed the question. “It’s not compulsory,” he said, echoing Idris. “Why does your father pray for you alone?”

“How do you know about my family?” Heden asked. He didn’t move, but he let some menace into his voice.

Taethan didn’t relent.

“He prays to both Adun and Cavall,” the knight said, taking off his mailed gloves. “He’s entitled, I suppose. At dawn every day he says ‘Help him.’ He doesn’t say your name, he doesn’t say ‘Help my son Heden,’ even though he has many sons, but the gods know who he means.”

“How do you know my name?” Heden asked, his voice rough. He didn’t like hearing about his father like this, and knew Taethan spoke the truth.

“Prayer,” Taethan said, and the other knights turned and looked at each other in disgust. They’d probably heard the lecture, and didn’t like it, “is a meditation. You see when they start, they’re young, and prayer is just a list. What they’ve been taught. A litany they recite of all their friends and loved ones. But when things go bad, when times are hard, then they start praying over the things they think are important. And that is how they learn what’s really important to them. Discovering that changes them. It’s a kind of self-revelation. Do you see?”

Sir Taethan watched Heden for his response. It sounded like a speech he practiced before, but he was watching to see whether Heden paid attention or not.

Heden thought about what the knight had said but more, why he had said it.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Heden admitted. He never minded admitting ignorance, and had never regretted it.

“Why do you think your father only ever prays for you?”

“I know why,” Heden said. “I know better than you. Probably better than he does. Why do you think the Bishop sent me? You think he drew names by lot?”

Taethan adjusted his armor and moved his helm to the crook of his other arm. Its horns were long and spindly. Heden wondered how often the knights replaced them.

As the knight adjusted his armor, Heden noticed the moss growing on him. It wasn’t as obvious as Isobel. Heden wondered if he strategically picked parts off, and left others. How much of this covering was for show.

The knight was expecting some kind of elaboration from Heden. Heden wasn’t going to give it.

“A test? Is that what this is?” he asked. “You want to see if I’m…what? What quality do you think I need to speak the ritual? How about this; I didn’t kill my commander.”

This upset the other knights. Taethan said nothing.

“Who says we need this lout?” Dywel rasped. “We serve Halcyon, not the Bishop. She will choose the next Commander. Run him out of here.” Dywel spat the last words out.

“You think I came here for my amusement?” Heden challenged, looking from knight to knight. “Curiosity? You think I’m going to head out just because I’ve had my feelings hurt?” Heden shook his head and leaned back against the bench. “We’ve got a lot to learn about each other,” he said.

“As servants of Cavall, we owe respect to the Hierarch,” Sir Brys said. “But not servitude. We serve the Wode.” He looked at Sir Dywel without approval or affection, and said; “I agree with Sir Dywel. Brother Heden,” Brys said, looking at him from halfway across the priory, “we neither seek your judgment nor respect it. This is Halcyon’s priory, not your whore Saint’s. If you will not speak the ritual now, you must leave.”

Heden looked to Isobel to see how she’d react to Brys making that kind of statement. She seemed lost in thought.

“What do you think?” Heden asked Taethan. “You think Halcyon’s just busy? You think that’s why no one’s been chosen to replace Kavalen? Or do you think she’s waiting for me?”

Taethan shook his head slowly. “I hope one, fear the other, and know not.” He seemed sad, looking at Heden.

“Tell me what happened to Kavalen.” Heden said to Taethan. “If there is justice to be meted out, you can do it. Or I can do it, I don’t care. But I can speak the ritual and one of you can take over and the people at Durham Keep will have a chance.”

None of them liked hearing about the Keep, they collectively fidgeted and avoided Heden’s gaze. Except Taethan.

“What about you?” Heden said, looking at Sir Nudd. “Are you going to stand there and hope your oath protects you from doing the right thing? You can speak, you know,” he said. “You know what happened to Kavalen, you could tell me if you thought it was important enough.”

Sir Nudd frowned sadly and held up three fingers. The third knight. Taethan.

“Balls,” Heden said, giving up.

“You are a priest of Cavall,” Isobel said, straining to understand Heden. “The oath of silence is a burdensome thing, it weighs upon him like all the rock of this priory. Thou knowest that more than any likewise. Why wouldst a priest, any priest, attempt to provoke Sir Nudd into breaking it?”

Taethan looked sharply at Isobel. Then at Heden.

“Who said he was a priest?” Taethan asked, surprised. He looked to the other knights, to see if any of them had an answer.

He looked at Heden and was obviously disappointed. Without taking his eyes of him, he said: “Did he ever tell you he was a priest?”

No one responded. Brys stood up and looked angrily at Heden. Aderyn was confused, looking frantically from Brys to Taethan to Isobel.

“Did he say anything other than letting you all assume he was a priest?”

Brys walked up the nave and stood behind Taethan. The other knights, but for Isobel, were in various states of suspicion and outrage. Heden squirmed on the bench. Taethan knew too much about him, and then too much more.

Brys was about to say something damning, when Isobel spoke.

“He said nothing of the kind,” she said. She wasn’t looking at anyone, she was off on her own.

Her voice was clear and calm, but her pronouncement had an authority none could ignore. Heden didn’t believe that some people were born to rule. But he believed some people were better at it. Hard to know Baede and Richard and not think that. Isobel ranked among them. Her sister was a pale imitation.

“It was pure surmise on our part. A fanciful illusion he invited us to share.”

“He’s not a priest?” Aderyn asked, confused.

“I knew it,” Cadwyr sneered.

Idris shot him a look. “No you didn’t.”

Nudd just frowned sadly and turned his back.

Aderyn looked at him plaintively. “Why didst thou lie to us?” she asked. And in that moment the cant sounded perfectly natural.

“I apologize,” Heden said. “It’s a…it’s a bad habit I’ve picked up.”

“You should be proud of yourself,” Dywel said, and looked to Idris for approval. “You’re very good at it. A practiced liar.”

Heden ignored him and looked at Aderyn. “Most people think I’m a priest and I…I let them,” he said.

Aderyn looked back and forth between Taethan, Isobel, and Heden. “But he,” she began. “He warded me when I fought the giant,” she said.

“Tell them what you are,” Taethan said, his voice was light and free of care.

Heden looked down at the flagstones. He didn’t like being the center of attention.

“I’m an Arrogate,” he said.

Isobel stood up sharply, shocked, and turned to face Heden. Taethan smiled widely, cynically. The others were confused. Aderyn watched them all, trying to judge how she should react.

“What is that?” she asked, and now there was anger at her own ignorance.

“Tell her,” Taethan said.

“How did you know my name?” Heden asked. “When you came in here? None of the other knights had a chance to tell you about me.”

Taethan looked as though Heden had just complimented him. He said nothing. Heden found it difficult to talk.

“You tell her,” Heden said, refusing to take Taethan’s bait.

“It’s an ancient tradition,” Lady Isobel interjected, not taking her eyes of Heden. Her attitude toward him had changed. There was respect now and, Heden thought, awe.

“Prithee,” she said, “almost as old as ours.”

Taethan seemed a little put out that Lady Isobel was letting Heden off the hook. He interrupted.

“They are agents of the church,” Taethan said.

Heden nodded.

“Then priests after all,” Brys said, seeming confused but obviously wanting to learn that Heden was trustworthy. Wanting to find a way to shape events to fit his worldview.

“Nay,” Lady Isobel said, shaking her head in disbelief. Like she’d found some plaster statue had turned out to be a priceless artifact. “They must first be annulled. The Arrogates serve the church by leaving it, and taking on those duties abhorrent to Cavall.”

“Abhorrent?” Cadwyr said, interested in spite of himself.

“Awful things,” Isobel said. “I thought the tradition dead because it destroyed those who attempted it.”

“He’s not destroyed,” Dywel said, looking to Cadwyr, who nodded approval. “Maybe he’s not an Arrogate either.”

Lady Isobel cast a glance and Dywel and Idris hit him in the shoulder lightly with his mailed glove, then pointed at Dywel and Cadwyr, scolding them.

“Thou knowest the truth now,” Isobel accused, turning back to Heden. “Should have known it from the start.”

The knights accepted this. Lady Isobel had spoken and none seemed willing to gainsay her. Heden wondered at what it meant that he’d been able to deceive the knights in the first place. Isobel’s response seemed to indicate that it should not have worked. Like Heden, like most priests who served Cavall or his brother Adun, the Knights should have been able to sense truth, but could not.

“How long hast thou been an Arrogate?” Lady Isobel asked.

“Three years,” Heden said.

Lady Isobel nodded, as though confirming a suspicion. “And has it aged thou?”

Heden shrugged. “Not as much as not being an Arrogate did,” he said cryptically. Choke on that, he thought. “Ask Taethan,” my ass.

“What would prompt one to do such a thing?” Brys asked. “Why does the church need someone like you?”

Heden didn’t respond to either question.

Taethan walked forward. Heden felt like a criminal with the knight standing there before him. He averted his gaze. Something he hadn’t felt the need to do with the other knights. It seemed like, until Taethan, Heden had never seen a knight.

“They don’t understand,” Taethan said. “Tell them.”

Heden shifted under his gaze. “It’s not just the church,” Heden said. “I…an Arrogate is sworn to find good men who’ve done or might have to do awful things, and absolve them. Take on their transgressions. Usually things Cavall forbids. Sometimes that means doing it yourself. Which means violating the speech of Cavall.”

“Give them an example,” Taethan said, pushing him.

Heden gave them the canonical example. “A giant is pillaging your herd,” he said. “It’s a big, stupid thing, can’t be reasoned with, but it’s not doing it out of malice, it needs the food. You need the food. So you resolve to kill the giant. But that would make you a murderer,” he said, and Aderyn interrupted him.

“Not in defense,” she objected. “Not to defend your land! The law permits!”

Heden looked at Taethan and tried to hold his gaze. “You tell that to the farmers who’ve come back from killing the thing. Covered in blood. Can’t speak to their wives, can’t sleep with them, ignore their children. You ask them if the law matters. They’re the ones who had to go out and do it. They still feel like murderers.”

Taethan, some secret knowledge firing him, held Heden’s gaze. Heden found himself looking away. He looked at the floor, and then at the back of Sir Nudd.

“They know the giant had as much right to live as anyone.”

Sir Nudd half turned, aware the comment was directed at him.

“So you do it for them. You murder the wretched thing, so they don’t have to. So they can go on being…normal people.”

Taethan nodded approval at Heden’s explanation and turned to the other knights.

“That is an Arrogate,” he said.

“What an awful way to live,” Sir Idris said. Heden noted the rare moment of compassion or introspection from him.

Heden shrugged. “It’s not so bad.”

As Taethan retreated and tucked his mail gloves into his belt, Brys walked forward and confronted Heden.

“You lied to us,” Brys said frankly, pointing an accusing finger at Heden. “Not an auspicious way to begin.”

“He goes,” Idris said. “He is not fit to judge the death of Kavalen, he has no authority to judge, and he has worn out whatever welcome we were foolish enough to grant.”

“Aye,” Cadwyr said.

“That’s what I said,” Dywel said, looking between them.

“He must stay,” Isobel said. “For he is the only way.”

This seemed to satisfy Aderyn.

Brys and Nudd both looked at Taethan. Taethan turned his back on Heden.

“It doesn’t matter,” Taethan said. “The result is the same either way.”

Nudd held up two fingers. The second knight, Isobel. He was siding with her.

Heden stood up and looked at each knight.

“Someone needs to explain something to me, because I don’t get it.” They all turned away from him, could see where he was going and wanted to ignore him. This angered him more. “All I want to do is grant absolution or justice to whoever killed Kavalen. So you can go back to being Knights. So you can save the people at Durham Keep. Every time I bring the Keep up you all look like you’re going to going to vomit. You hate that you’re all sitting here while the urmen march. I can see it. But you won’t ride out against them because of what happened to Kavalen. Ok. I don’t know why that matters, but I can see it does.”

He looked at Brys.

“So tell me what happened. Let me do my job, so you can do yours.”

Brys said nothing. Heden got very angry.

“Why are you all fighting me on this? What possible reason could you have for sitting on your asses and doing nothing while people die?” Why did Taethan matter so much?

Brys was pained, and looked at Taethan, who seemed in some kind of meditation. Lost in thought.

“He goes,” Brys said finally, ignoring Heden’s plea. That made it four against, two in favor, and one abstention.

Heden stepped forward.

“Don’t do this,” he said, his voice low.

Brys turned and looked at the stained glass window.

“You are an interloper here. You may return to the Hierarch and explain to him that you failed, and more that he was wrong to send you.”

“If I leave here,” Heden said clenching his fist, “then that’s it. No one replaces Kavalen. No one else will come up here. And a thousand innocent people die.”

Nudd turned back to them, and walked over. He was almost twice Heden’s height. He was one of the biggest men Heden had ever seen.

Sad, in some kind of pain, Nudd pointed to the archway. Heden liked Nudd, and didn’t want to fight him. More, he didn’t want to cause him any more pain.

Idris put his hand on his sword’s pommel. Aderyn looked confused.

Heden grabbed his pack from the floor, turned, and walked down the nave to the archway. His boots rang out on the stone floor. No one said anything.

He walked outside into the center of the clearing. Saw the setting sun stabbing wan fingers of light through the trees. The warm light of the priory bled out into the clearing.

Heden dropped his pack on the ground.

“Shit,” he said.

Chapter 29

The two men stood there looking at each other for a moment, and then Aderyn ran out of the priory and looked with happy anticipation at the forest.

“Lady Isobel has arrived,” Sir Brys said without feeling. Heden couldn’t tell how Aderyn sensed this, or how Brys could tell without looking that Aderyn had come out of the priory.

A few moments later, a tall, willowy woman rode out of the forest on a heavy warhorse. Her face was noble and lean. Her helm was strapped to her horse. She had green hair, streaked with silver. He would have known this was the Baron’s sister, even if no one had told him.

She looked at Brys and Heden with no expression, then smiled as Aderyn ran across the clearing, under the tent, and to her mistress.

“Come,” Sir Brys said. “We should retire to the priory.”

“Ok,” Heden said, watching behind them as Lady Isobel handed over her shield and lance to Aderyn. After Idris and his cronies, after Brys, Heden wasn’t eager to talk to another knight. But he watch Aderyn and Lady Isobel for a moment, wondering if Brys wanted to give them some time together to get their story straight. That didn’t seem like Aderyn, but he didn’t know Lady Isobel.

As Heden and Brys approached the priory, Heden noticed the walls on the outside were normal granite. When he arrived, before his first encounter with Aderyn, the outside of the priory had been black with soot.

The two men entered the stone building.

“Was there a fire here recently?” Heden asked.

Brys made a point of looking around before answering. “No,” he said. He approached the altar. Heden stopped and watched. “Not ever, to my knowledge. But the priory is very old.”

Brys knelt at the altar and prayed. Heden sat down in a prayer bench, rested his arm on the armrest nearest the aisle and watched.

The prayer was simple. Heden was surprised at how simple, but in the middle of his muttering, Brys extracted something from his person and placed it in his mouth. It looked like a leaf. He chewed it and swallowed it. A sacrament, Heden thought. Made sense. They were servants of the forest. Or the other way ‘round, Heden was beginning to lose track.

When Brys was done, he rose, pushing himself off his knees with some difficulty. Heden knew the feeling. Age.

The knight walked back to Heden.

“So who’s missing?” Heden asked. He was suddenly tired. Exhausted. No rest since before Vanora woke up yesterday. Was it only yesterday?

Brys did not sit down, he leaned against one of the prayer benches. “Sir Perren,” Brys said. “He will not be joining us.”

“Why?”

“Why is no matter.”

“Sounds better when you say it,” Heden said, yawning. “I usually just tell people to go fuck a pig.”

Brys looked at him with disgust. The knights did not like Heden’s mode of speech and liked it even less when he swore.

Heden shrugged, not apologizing, but sympathizing. We each have to put up with the other, he was saying, for a little while at least.

Brys’ manner softened.

“How long has it been since you slept?” he asked.

“Two days,” Heden said.

“Not so long,” Brys said with a little smile.

“Long days,” Heden said.

Brys nodded.

“What’s with the, ah…” he gestured to Brys’ armor, festooned with moss, lichen, and vines. “The greenery?”

Brys looked at Heden for a moment, and it seemed to Heden he was judging the question, working out whether it was alright to answer, or tell Heden to talk to Sir Taethan.

“Squire Aderyn told you we might go months without meeting another knight?”

Heden nodded.

“But we still communicate,” Brys said. “We pick a spot, a tree usually, that seems particularly blessed by Halcyon,” Heden didn’t bother to ask how one might tell such a thing, “and meditate. We cast our minds out into the wode and find the mind of another knight. And this way our demesnes do not overlap and we know where to look for trouble.”

Heden absorbed this. It was not unheard of. “She said something about quiet contemplation,” he said.

“You thought she was being poetic,” Brys said.

Heden nodded.

“Doesn’t answer my question though,” he said.

Brys sighed. “Sometimes a knight may be like that for weeks. In that time, the forest grows over the knight, protects him.”

Heden thought. “What happens if…”

“The wode protects us. It alerts us to any nearby danger to our bodies.”

Heden couldn’t put words to it, but this seemed unnatural to him. It was like a parasitic relationship.

He pictured Aderyn, sleeping against a tree, moss growing over her. He tried to order events in his mind.

“So if she was doing this for weeks, and Kavalen died four days ago….”

“Brother Heden, we might go weeks without bathing,” he said. “After a casting,” Heden presumed this was the knight’s term for what he was talking about, “it may be days before finding a clear stream or lake to bathe in. And in any event, the raiment of the forest is a badge of honor.”

Heden nodded. He didn’t think Brys was hiding anything.

“So who’s going to be the next Knight-Commander?” Heden asked.

Brys looked at the stained glass window. Saint Godwin, the Vigilant.

“Halcyon decides,” he said.

“Is that,” Heden began. “Is that you’re way of saying ‘who knows?’ Or does…”

Brys turned from the image of Saint Godwin and gave Heden a look.

“Halcyon decides,” he said.

“Halcyon decides,” Heden said, nodding once in understanding. “Does she literally show up here and point at someone and say….”

“Did you learn nothing of us?” Brys asked with some annoyance. “Sent here from the High City, did you take no time to learn of us, or our traditions?”

Heden tried to wake himself up. “Not really. I spent some time with the Bishop. He’d never heard of you before he learned about Kavalen.”

Brys nodded as though confirming a suspicion.

“Should you speak the ritual,” Sir Brys said, “Then you will see.”

Heden nodded. He didn’t like badgering Sir Brys, but liked doing nothing and feeling useless even less.

“Halcyon picks the next Commander, but Cavall absolves the order,” Heden said, looking to see how Brys felt about that. He didn’t seem to feel anything.

The three dastards and Sir Nudd came in, all smiling. Whatever else was true, Nudd seemed to like the other three. When they saw Heden, they stopped laughing, and Nudd resumed his earlier sadness.

The huge knight walked up the nave, between Brys and Heden, and knelt to pray.

The three dastards swaggered up to Heden.

“This is normally a time for celebration,” Sir Idris said accusingly, looking down at Heden. “All of us gathering.”

“You think me being here spoiled it?” Heden asked, without moving. His eyes flitted to Sir Nudd, trying to watch the man pray and keep an eye on these three at the same time. “You don’t figure the death of your Commander might have put a damper on things?”

Dywel, the weasel, moved forward again and this time it was Sir Brys who stepped forward stopped him. Heden noticed the little knight waited an instant, to allow someone to hold him back. Heden had his full measure, and knew he could take the knight if it came to that.

“You did not know Commander Kavalen,” Sir Idris said, his jaw clenching.

“No,” Heden said. “And if he hadn’t been murdered, I’d have never heard of him. Or you. Or had to come up here in the first place.”

No one said anything. Idris’ lapdogs looked to him for reaction. Brys was watching Dywel. But no one bothered to deny that Kavalen was murdered.

Black Gods, I know something, Heden thought.

Then: Yeah, the same thing I assumed when I was back in Celkirk.

Lady Isobel walked in with Aderyn following behind. Aderyn looked nonplussed. Heden wondered what has passed between her and the Lady.

Isobel was beautiful and regal. If anything, more regal than her sister the Baron. She was obviously the older sister. Heden realized this meant the Lady Isobel had rejected her hereditary barony to join the Green Order. Probably sixty years ago, if Heden was any judge of age.

The antlers on her helm were not small like Aderyn’s, they were among the largest of the knights but thin and spindly, not the heavy, rough hewn blades of Sir Idris’ helm. Pointed and deadly nonetheless, and covered in dark brown stains.

Her armor was highly polished and reflected the light with a green tint, but the effect was muted—or perhaps enhanced—by the effusion of moss and branches and even a few small mushrooms growing on her. She smelled like rich soil. If Heden had seen her when he was a lad, he’d have thought he was seeing one of the deathless, risen from her grave. She was thin and her face narrow. Her eyes a pale blue.

The Lady looked at the assembled knights, all arrayed around Heden. Either confronting him or ignoring him. She walked up the center aisle of the nave. They all retreated from her. No one said anything.

She approached the altar and knelt before it elegantly. She prayed for several minutes in silence. Removing a leaf from a pouch on her belt and eating it as she looked up at Saint Godwin fighting Saint Pallad.

Heden looked at Aderyn. She glanced at him, and looked away.

After a long silence, Lady Isobel rose, turned and walked back down the nave. She was looking at her boots.

She stopped before Heden, and locked eyes with him.

“Mine squire hath spake to me of thee and thy seeming interest in us,” Lady Isobel said. Her voice light.

Heden didn’t say anything.

“Thou must know by now, thou shalt not gain e’en the smallest bit of purchase ‘gainst us.”

Heden had to remind himself that while Lady Isobel was the oldest of the knights, she wasn’t actually three thousand years old. She wasn’t any older than Heden’s mother. She spoke the knight’s cant so naturally, so fluently, see seemed part of the past come alive.

Heden realized Lady Isobel was done talking, and everyone was looking at him. He shifted in the bench to get more comfortable.

“I am named Heden,” Heden opened, looking at the other knights, then back at Isobel. “Named for my grandfather’s father. My father is Efan and his father was Gowan.”

Sir Brys, standing behind Lady Isobel, smiled discreetly and turned away.

Isobel stiffened almost imperceptibly.

“Thou thinks to shame me, reminding me of the proper forms of introduction.” Isobel observed. She looked at the other knights, each expecting her to do something. Heden didn’t think they were all expecting the same thing.

“Verily,” she said, straightening. “I am shamed. I am the Lady Isobel,” she began, looking more regal in shame than any of the others in pride.

Heden cut her off. He looked relaxed, but he knew he was fighting for the lives of the people of Durham Keep and he wanted to keep Lady Isobel off-guard.

“I know,” he said. “Knew as soon as I saw you. I met your sister.”

Lady Isobel was about to say something, her mouth open, but she stopped. Closed her mouth. Saw Heden anew.

Two tricks to me, Heden thought. Your deal.

“How,” Lady Isobel began, and stopped. Aderyn watched her, concerned. Heden noticed this. “How fares the Baron Noth,” she asked.

“Just like that?” Heden asked. “You’re just going to come out with that, with all of you standing around here like one o’clock half struck?”

“I,” Lady Isobel said slowly. “I do not get your meaning.”

“Horseshit,” Heden said. Aderyn drew her sword.

“Knave!” She said. “Thou forgets thyself!” Heden ignored her and continued.

“She’s waiting for you and your band of moss-ridden blackguards to ride out of the forest and save her people.” There was not a knight in the room who was not angry now, and showing it. Even Sir Nudd loomed over the rest, frowning angrily at Heden. Brys was looking between Isobel and Heden. Isobel was aware she was under assault, and the only one not angry. Not at Heden, at least.

“But that’s not going to happen, is it? Those people are all going to die, aren’t they?”

“What happens to the folk of Durham Keep is their fate, just as…” Sir Idris began, sneering. Heden snapped his fingers at Sir Idris without looking at him, bringing him up short. Idris was furious and surged forward.

Now it was time for Cadwyr and Dywel to stop him. “Not here!” Dywel hissed.

“Not in the priory!” Cadwyr said. “And not a priest!”

Heden, ignoring them, held up a hand and then pointed at Lady Isobel.

“I’m asking you straight,” he said. “Those people at Durham Keep. Your sister and her family and all her subjects. They’re all going to be torn apart by urq, aren’t they?”

“There is still time to act,” Lady Isobel said, her face clouded.

“Did you know the forest won’t let anyone up here?” Heden asked.

All the knights looked at Lady Isobel. Not all of them had heard this.

She took a moment to confess her answer. The priory became cold.

“Yes,” she said flatly, not looking at Heden.

Heden hadn’t expected this. The other knights were frowning. Brys seemed upset.

“You did?” Heden asked. “You knew that and you…”

“How could it be otherwise?” Isobel said. “In any event, it is no matter.”

“That’s a popular attitude around here,” Heden said, looking at Sir Brys.

“You are a cleric,” Lady Isobel said. “I couldst see that e’en had my squire not said the words to me. Of what saint do you avail yourself?”

Heden looked around, unsure of what was going to happen next.

“Saint Lynwen,” he said, and looked away.

“Who?” Sir Brys said.

Lady Isobel raised her eyebrows in appreciation. “Indeed?” she asked, a small smile on her face.

Now it was Heden’s turn to be uncomfortable. Isobel obviously knew who Lynwen was.

“Who was Saint Lynwen?” Aderyn asked, not minding admitting ignorance.

“She was a whore,” Lady Isobel said delicately. “And then a murderess. And then a Saint. Never very popular. And only ever has one follower at a time.”

Idris and his men laughed at the idea.

“And always a man,” Isobel said, locking eyes with Heden as the dastards laughed. He was embarrassed, and looked it.

“A saint and a whore,” Cadwyr laughed. “I think I know which our little priest here ‘worships,’” he said, leering. Dywel and Idris joined in. They could not fight him here, but they could laugh at him.

“What…” Aderyn asked, confused. Not knowing how to react to the news. “What does that mean?”

“It means Cavall forgave her,” Heden snapped. He ignored Cadwyr and looked meaningfully at Squire Aderyn. “It means a man is better than the worst thing he’s ever done.”

Heden looked back at the other knights and saw Brys’s eyes unfocus, thinking about Heden’s words. Heden looked back at Lady Isobel. He was shaken.

Trick to you, milady, Heden thought. And went back on the offensive.

“Ok,” Heden said. “Squire Aderyn told you about me. Sure. You know what I’m here for. Well I know what you’re going to say to me, too. ‘Talk to Taethan.’ Save it. He’s not here. And you know how Kavalen died,” Heden said.

Lady Isobel suddenly stooped as though possessed of the old age he knew she had, and which she heretofore had given no quarter to.

“I’m here to absolve the Order of the unrighteous death of Knight-Commander Kavalen,” Heden said formally. “But that’s not going to happen, is it? And you know it.”

“The ritual may yet be spoken,” Lady Isobel said. “The blame upon Sir Taethan’s head, cleric, if it is not.” Everyone was quiet now, watching the two of them intently. Sir Idris has his hand on his sword. Sir Nudd loomed over them all.

“Nono,” Heden said, leaning forward. The air sparked with restrained violence. He knew he was risking his life here. One knight, maybe. But if two tried to take him. “You don’t get out of it that easy. You know. And you could act, and you could save those people. You’re just as responsible as anyone, and you know it.”

“I cannot do what must be done,” Lady Isobel said, it was some kind of admission, and it seemed to be destroying her. Aderyn wasn’t angry at Heden anymore, she was openly worried about Lady Isobel. “I cannot speak the words that must be spoken. The wisest bear the heaviest burden, and so Sir Taethan must act, if he be not crushed under the weight of the knight’s perfection.” It sounded to Heden like a speech she’d practiced.

“And like that,” Heden said, “your sister dies. And all those people.”

“And more besides,” she said quietly. Heden frowned, trying to guess at her meaning. Where would the army of orcs go, after Durham Keep? Did she know?

“The Lady Isobel has come the farthest,” Sir Brys said, coming forward and putting a hand on her shoulder. “And overcome great adversity to be here. If we are to proceed with this inquisition, let it be anon, when we are rested.”

“Though your words are crude,” Lady Isobel said to Heden, ignoring Sir Brys. He took his hand away as though stung.  “Your bearing is true. You man yourself well,” Lady Isobel said, raising an eyebrow. She was thinking as she was talking. “Many lesser men would be routed by the might assembled here against you. But you hold to your purpose. Squire Aderyn said you cared not for the order, nor even your duty. I know not. But thou cares about the folk of Durham Keep. Care about mine sister besides. And for this, we shall honor ye, even whilst thou defame us.”

Sir Brys frowned at this. “I have no sister,” he said. “Durham Keep or no. If this man hath come here to speak the ritual, then have him speak it.” Sir Idris nodded. “If he hath come to pass judgment upon us, then he must quit the field. He knows not the traditions or our service. He is not worthy to pass judgment. Priest though he be.”

Brys was setting himself up opposite Lady Isobel. Sir Nudd looked between them. Idris and his knights obviously supposed Brys, but this was only because he was saying what they wanted to hear. Even Aderyn seemed confused, not knowing who to listen to.

Lady Isobel was the eldest. But Brys was the second in command. Heden was watching a struggle for control over the Green Order.

“You want me to leave?” Heden said to Brys, but then looked at every knight to make the point. “You tell me what happened to you commander.”

No one spoke. It seemed Brys and Idris were both about to and Heden cut them off.

“And if anyone says ‘Talk to Taethan,” again…” Heden began threateningly.

“No one will say that to you,” a voice behind him rang out like a bell.

Heden knew what to expect when he heard the voice. He turned in his seat. The knight was standing in the archway. Heden couldn’t make him out, he was silhouetted in sunlight.

“For I am here,” he said, his voice young. “Little good though it will do you.”

Chapter 28

“I do not recommend further contact with Sirs Idris, Cadwyr, and Dywel,” Sir Brys said to him once introductions had passed between them.

They stood away from the three knights as they used their horses and their own strength to slowly pull the corpse of the giant out from under the tent and into the forest. Aderyn had withdrawn into the priory so Heden and Sir Brys could talk.  Brys had relieved Aderyn of the burden of moving the giant, and given it to Idris and his two cronies. Brys had some authority.

“You know Squire Aderyn calls them the three dastards.”

Sir Brys pursed his lips and looked out at Heden from under a dark brow. “A dastard is a coward,” Brys said. “No man can be a knight of the Green and a coward.”

Heden nodded. He took Brys’ meaning and did not dispute it. But refined it.

“Not in battle at least,” Heden said. Brys looked away. Did he nod? It was hard for Heden to tell. Brys was Heden’s size and his age. He had short, unkempt green hair and a sharp beard that traced the length of his jaw and ran up to a moustache, also green.

“Commander Kavalen did not think them cowards,” Sir Brys opined, giving Heden an opening.

“What did they think of him?”

Brys sighed. “That is of no matter now,” he said.

Heden scowled, frustrated.

“How do you know what he thought of them? Did he tell you?”

“I was his Lieutenant.”

Heden absorbed this.

“Where are you from?” Brys asked.

“Celkirk.”

Brys nodded.

“You know it?” Heden asked.

“Does that surprise you?” Brys asked.

“Ah…yeah,” Heden admitted. “Aderyn didn’t even know what Corwell was.”

Brys gave him a sharp look. “Squire Aderyn,” he corrected.

Heden adjusted the pack on his shoulder and threw Brys a skeptical look. “You people throw that stuff around pretty casually.”

Brys raised an eyebrow.

“The titles, the cant. I can’t tell if you take it all seriously or not.”

Brys looked for a moment at the grass, then up at Heden. “We used to,” he said. Heden felt suddenly sympathetic. Then, whatever weakness Brys was admitting, it vanished.

“Would it pleaseth thou should I affect our traditional mode of speech?”

“Do you want to get punched?” Heden asked, raising an eyebrow.

Brys smiled. Heden liked this knight.

Sir Nudd emerged from the Priory and began helping the three dastards. The process started going much quicker and the spirits of the knights rose. Heden and Brys watched them.

“Looks like Sir Nudd,” Heden said, making sure to use his title, “has decided those guys have had enough punishment.”

“The Knight Silent is the strongest of us,” Brys said, watching the mammoth knight pulling on the ropes, dragging the giant’s corpse. “He is also the gentlest and most forgiving.”

“You knew he’d come out to help them,” Heden said.

“If I did,” Brys said turning back to face Heden’s questions, “it is because Commander Kavalen taught me.”

“You spent a lot of time with him?” Heden asked. Brys nodded.

“Ader…ah, Squire Aderyn said you might go a year between meeting another knight.”

Brys weighed this thought. “She exaggerates. She is Lady Isobel’s squire. They range for leagues alone. I would spend months at a time with Commander Kavalen. But then, months alone, ‘tis true.”

Heden nodded his understanding.

“Squire Aderyn said you were a priest of Cavall the Righteous,” Brys said.

“I was made a Prelate five years ago,” Heden said, carefully giving a non-answer to a non-question.

Brys shook his head. “She would not know what that means.” Heden accepted this.

“But you do,” Heden said.

“Cavall teaches that man cannot live where injustice thrives,” Brys said without answering. “He called the unjust society ‘the wasted land.’ Where men live false lives.”

Heden was impressed. “Yeah,” he said.

“That should one man die unjustly, it is the death of all,” Brys was meditating on something. Heden thought something was expected of him, but didn’t know what. Sir Brys reminded him of Duke Baede. It was a powerful memory and bought Sir Brys much with Heden.

“Do you believe that?” Sir Brys prompted.

“Yes,” Heden said.

Brys watched Heden, watched how he responded. Heden’s simple answer seemed to satisfy him.

“And how did you conclude that we needed your aid? Did the Baron enlist you?”

“No, the Bishop sent me.”

This seemed to provoke some reaction, but Heden couldn’t read it.

“Ah,” Brys said, taking a long breath. “You bring the ritual.”

“Yeah,” Heden said. And like the three dastards, Brys frowned at the way he spoke.

“Have you read it?”

Heden nodded. “Yeah. Someone has to ask Cavall for forgiveness. Someone outside the order,” he said. “Me.”

Brys betrayed no reaction.

“That means I have no know what happened. And I have to decide it’s worth asking Cavall to forgive you.”

“And how were you instructed to determine that?”

How did I end up being the one interrogated? Heden wondered.

“They didn’t really tell me anything. I was told to use my judgment,” Heden countered.

“Then there is no matter here,” Brys said dismissively. “You knew nothing of us before Kavalen died. You have no authority here. You are not of the wode, so your instructions do not matter. You title does not matter. Cavall, the Bishop. Your judgment. None of it.”

“Kavalen mattered,” Heden said. He wasn’t going to let Brys just run him over. Baede could talk to him like that, when Heden was a younger man and not a Prelate. This knight was not Baede, and Heden was older now.

Sir Brys looked like Heden had stabbed him. Heden felt like he was playing shere against him.

“To some of us more than others.”

“He didn’t matter enough to you to save him,” Heden guessed.

Brys did not deny this, nor deny that he knew how Kavalen died.

“Sir Idris called your Commander a fool.”

Brys said nothing. He looked pained.

“What happened between them?” Heden asked. “I can tell Idris didn’t kill him. But something happened.”

Brys didn’t look at him. “Talk to Sir Taethan,” he said reflexively.

“You son of a bitch,” Heden said. Brys had given him nothing, his reaction betrayed nothing. Heden had no idea what was going on.

Brys grabbed Heden’s tunic and clenched the wool between his mailed gloves, but held Heden at arm’s length. “Do not speak to me thus,” Brys said. “Thou base and churlish knave.” He was really angry, Heden thought, and noticed that some of the knights reverted to the cant when they were angry, some to plain speech. Heden again thought that if he knew more about knights, he’d know what that meant. For the first time in years, Heden missed having a team he could talk to, work problems out with. He never thought that would be true.

He knew better than to react. Brys’ grabbing him was the knight’s way of controlling himself, not lashing out. The man had a bloody great axe on his hip; he wouldn’t use his fists in violence.

He released Heden.

“Why do you pretend that the order is important to you?” Brys asked. “You didn’t even know we existed two days ago.”

How does he know that? Heden wondered. Lucky guess, maybe. He didn’t deny it.

“I didn’t care about any of this until I met Lady Isobel’s sister and watched her bet the lives of all her subjects on you people.”

“Durham Keep can still be saved,” Brys said, and Heden wondered if he was telling Heden, or convincing himself.

“Ok,” Heden said. “Sure. So what the fuck are you doing standing around here?”

Brys gave him an angry look again. “Talk to Sir Taethan,” he reiterated.

“Why?” Heden demanded. “What does he know? Why does everyone keep saying that?!”

Brys didn’t respond. Heden had no idea what was going on, he didn’t know how Kavalen died or why, and no one would tell him anything.

That’s not true, he thought. They’re telling me something. He looked at Sir Brys brooding and then watched Idris and his thugs working together with Nudd. Then he looked at the priory, where Aderyn waited.

“’Talk to Taethan,’” Heden quoted. Brys looked at him out the corner of his eyes.

Heden started walking around Brys, stalking him. “Because Taethan killed Kavalen?” Heden asked, watching Brys for any reaction. Sir Brys stood his ground and ignored Heden. “No,” Heden said. His question had been rhetorical. “If he had, I’d know. I’d see it. From you maybe, but Aderyn definitely. If she thought Taethan killed Kavalen, I’d know.”

“You like Squire Aderyn,” Brys said.

Heden nodded. “I do. She can tell when I’m being stupid, and ignores me.” Heden thought for a moment. “Plus, she’s not a knight yet. So she’s not an insufferable self-obsessed maniac yet.”

Brys took the assault without comment.

“Taethan knows what happened,” Heden said.

Heden took Brys’ silence for affirmation. He thought some more.

“He’s your brother in the order,” Heden was working through it, watching Brys for some reaction. “If you just tell me what happened, you’re betraying him. You all are. So you point me in the right direction, and hope I figure it out.”

Brys, eyes cast down, frowned and took a deep breath. He was questioning his own motivation, something Heden recognized. He knew he was on the right track.

“He did something awful, did something terrible so you wouldn’t have to. I can understand that. Believe me,” Heden said with import. “Whatever it was, you hate him for it, and respect him for it. That’s why I can’t get a read off any of you.

“Kavalen was going to do something, or had done something, and Sir Taethan took it on himself to stop him. Or punish him. Said he was doing it for the good of the order. And maybe you believed it. So you let him do it. You let him do some awful thing, and hoped that would be the end of it. But Halcyon doesn’t accept it. You think I didn’t notice Aderyn’s hair?”

Brys was shocked, had been shocked as soon as Heden had forwarded the idea that Sir Taethan had done something awful. He took a step away from Heden as though in horror. As though Heden had stabbed him. The knight couldn’t know how much his face betrayed him.

“She’s not a knight yet,” Heden said. Brys turned away. “Because Halcyon won’t allow it. Not until I perform the ritual. You thought ‘let Taethan deal with Kavalen and everything will be back to normal,’ but it didn’t work out that way. Halcyon rejected it. So here I come, ritual in hand, prepared to deal with everything. So everyone gives me this ‘Talk to Taethan’ horseshit hoping you can all close ranks and let me get on with the dirty work you wouldn’t do. That’s fine. Listen to me,” he said, grabbing Brys, turning him around. Brys wouldn’t look at him.

“I’m telling you; that’s fine. It’s why I’m here. It’s what I do. Just give me one thing: look at me and tell me I’m wrong,” Heden said.

Brys looked at him, eyes red on the verge of tears, and Heden didn’t know what to believe. When Sir Brys finally spoke, it was like the words were being torn from him.

“Sir Taethan was the best of us,” was all he said, his voice rough. “He is beyond your judgment.”

Heden released him. Heden could tell when someone was lying to him, which was why Brys was making him so angry. He wouldn’t say yes or no, he evaded, evaded, evaded. It was a strange talent for a knight who spent his life alone to have.

“What are you saying?” Was Taethan dead? No, that didn’t make sense.

Brys refused to respond.

Heden gave up. Brys had obviously given up, and he felt bad pressing the man.

“You’re not like them,” Heden admitted, by way of apology. “That’s the only reason I…” Heden stopped, lamely. “It’s just that…you’re the first one of these people I can talk to.” Brys shot him a look. Heden regretted the ‘these people.’

“I’m sorry,” Heden said finally. “I’ll talk to Sir Taethan.”

Brys bent down and hefted his horn-studded helmet. He seemed to have recovered himself from Heden’s onslaught.

“Make no mistake, brother Heden,” he said, helmet under his arm. “You and I, we can talk to each other, yes. I think we understand each other. But as sure as green leaves in spring, we are enemies.”

He said it so casually, Heden had to replay it in his mind.

“You’re just going to say that?” Heden asked.

“You are wrong about a great many things. Not least of which: I am like them,” he said. “Do not judge our outward bearing and appearance,” Brys said, and fitted his helmet on. He looked far more imposing with the massive helm, its bloodied antlers projecting forward menacingly. His eyes barely glinting out from under the visor.

“We are all more alike than we are different. And we will all oppose you,” he said without malice.

“All of you?” Heden asked, frowning.

“Speak with Sir Taethan,” Brys said.

“Right,” Heden said, giving up.

Chapter 27

The main tent of the pavilion was just begun, the sun almost at six of the clock, when the knights Aderyn called ‘the three dastards’ arrived. Heden heard them laughing to each other in the woods before they emerged into the clearing. Aderyn stiffened when she heard them. Neither she nor Heden had spoken since he began helping her. The thyrwight’s corpse lay where it fell. Heden had prayed over it so that its flesh would not decay, nor collect flies. He’d also closed the giant’s eyes. It didn’t help. The memory was enough.

Aderyn kept her back to the knights. Heden took a step backwards, so he could look her in the eye. She gave him a sheepish look, as though apologizing in advance for them. He tossed the maul to her. She snatched it out of the air as though it didn’t weigh 30 pounds.

Heden walked forward and leaned on one of the pavilion stakes. He crossed his arms, waiting for the knights to notice him.

They walked into the clearing like three men carousing through the streets of Celkirk. They were laughing and talking about something Heden couldn’t make out. Their horses followed behind.

They all wore plate armor. Like Nudd and Aderyn, they each sprouted moss and lichen, vines wrapped around them. Their plate was green-tinged, as though made from an emerald metal.

Like Nudd, and unlike Aderyn, they all had green hair. Heden saw their helmets packed away on their horses. Each helm sported a full set of deadly antlers.

The largest of the three was the best outfitted. Obviously got the best choice of armor. The other two were missing pieces, the gorget for the neck. The elbow coverings. The well-outfitted knight walked in the center and the other two looked to him for approval as they laughed and japed.

The lead knight locked eyes with Heden right off, but otherwise did not change his attitude, laughing with the others. When he stopped in front of Heden, the other two turned with surprise. They hadn’t noticed him.

The leader, still smiling, slapped the flank of his horse, and soon there were six horses at the water troughs.

The two sycophants were different in appearance but similar in bearing. The one on Heden’s left was a little taller than Heden, but fit like all the other knights. No fat on any of them. He looked like a brawler. Like a thug in armor. His face was red and pockmarked with scars giving him a look of permanent anger. The other one was a little weasel of a man, Heden’s size. He looked from the lead knight to Heden and sneered.

Heden said nothing. He watched the knights and relaxed on the stake. The lead knight looked him up and down, while his flunkies walked around Heden, pointing to his outfit and laughing. Looking to their master for approval.

After the once over, the lead dastard saw Aderyn and walked over to her, ignoring Heden. The other two seemed disappointed. No words had passed between them.

Heden turned to watch them. Unusually, he felt the urge to go to Aderyn. Protect her. Something he knew she would resent. He shrugged and followed his instincts.

The knights and the squire were already talking.

“I required no aid,” he heard Aderyn say as he approached. She seemed much diminished since the fight against the giant. This did not seem like the same girl who hurled two javelins from horseback, unerringly striking the hills wight. Hitting his leg in a manner that would have let him escape without a fatal wound. “Sir Nudd need not have acted.”

“It is not yours to decide,” the tall one said. “Burran’s quarrel was with Sir Nudd in any case, it was his right to end it as he saw fit.”

“Would that I had put Burran down myself,” the weasel one said, with a sniff.

“But did not and so have no reason to speak,” the big one said. The thug looked at his counterpart and sneered.

There was something about the way Aderyn was talking to the knights. Apart from the way she deferred to them and seemed a little afraid of them. Then Heden saw it.

She would not look at the thug, the meaty one to the left of the big knight.

“Who told you to erect the pavilion?” the big knight asked.

Aderyn looked for a moment at Heden and then met the lead knight’s gaze. “No one,” she said. “I need no instruction on the tradition.”

“Do you not?” the knight asked.

“What does that mean?” Heden asked. The two flunkies spun around.  “You saying she did something wrong?”

Aderyn gritted her teeth. Sorry kid, Heden thought.

The big knight ignored him. Heden couldn’t see his face. The other knights wanted to act, but were looking at the leader for approval.

Aderyn saw whatever look was on the leader’s face and responded.

“His name is Heden,” she said. “He is a priest.”

The big knight turned slowly and looked down at Heden. Aderyn was now behind the three knights, who could not see her. She gave Heden a dangerous look and shook her head deliberately.

“And what import doth he surmise that carries here?” the big knight said, looking at Heden. Talking to Aderyn.

Before Heden could reply, Aderyn prompted. “He’s come about Kavalen,” she said. This seemed to change the knight’s demeanor somewhat. “The bishop sent him.”

“The bishop?” The weasel-faced knight challenged. “Who is the bishop to us?”

“Silence, lout,” the big knight said absently. “Squire Aderyn,” he said, and Aderyn stepped around to his front. “Tie off a rope and secure Burran’s feet. Use your courser to pull the body into the forest.”

“But sir,” she said, pointing to the corpse. “He must weight twelve tons!”

The knight said nothing, but when Aderyn went to comply, he stopped her grabbing her shoulder and pointing to Heden.

“Introduce us,” he barked, as though reminding her of a duty forgotten.

Aderyn looked ruefully at Heden and said; “These are Sirs Idris,” she said indicating the main knight, “Cadwyr,” she said indicating the thug without looking at him, “and Dywel,” she said, nodding to the weasel.

Aderyn stalked off to get some rope.

“Well how now, little priest,” Idris said, watching Aderyn walk away. “Why comest thou here?”

“You know her horse will kill itself trying to pull that giant,” Heden said.

“You came to guard our squire’s horse?” Idris said, smiling at Heden. The other knights laughed. Idris let them. “Here now, acolyte,” Idris said, deliberately insulting Heden. “We have no food needs blessing, the priory is tidy, you may remove yourself and quit this place, lest some harm comes to you.”

“Yeah,” Heden said, and the three of them clearly did not like his mode of speech. “I took the Prelate’s cloth five years ago.”

Sir Idris kept his eyes on him, no reaction, unwavering. The other two’s heads whipped around and they looked at Heden as though he might explode at any moment. Heden got the distinct impression that Idris had guessed Heden’s rank before he insulted him.

“Kavalen’s dead,” Heden said. “You’re down one knight.”

“Commander Kavalen,” Idris corrected, but without much enthusiasm.

“Sure,” Heden said. “You’re still down one knight.”

“Thou hast not answered my question, little priest. Why cometh thou here? What concern is the Green to you?”

Heden knew he and Idris were going to come to blows sooner or later, and Idris knew it too. They were just probing each other, testing to see which issue could reasonably used to push the other to violence. Heden liked it this way. Everyone knew what was what.

“There’s a ritual,” Heden said.

“Do you know it?” Cadwyr asked.

Heden didn’t look at the thug. He just cocked his head in appraisal of Idris. “Yes,” he said.

“Well, then speak it, man, and leave this place,” Cadwyr said, dismissing Heden with a wave.

“Did you know there’s an army of urmen marching on Durham Keep?” Heden asked. This seemed to affect Idris, shutting him down somewhat. The other two knights looked at Idris with some alarm.

“Thou must speak to Taethan,” Idris said, and watched Aderyn trying to get a rope around the dead giant’s ankles. Heden noticed he didn’t use the knight’s title.

“Yeah,” Heden said. “But he’s not here and you are.”

“Then thou must abide here until he arrives!” Sir Idris exploded. He mastered himself quickly grimacing as he did so, angry at Heden, and then angry at himself for showing his anger.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” Heden said.

“Speak to Taethan,” Idris said, gritting his teeth.

“I will,” Heden said. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

“What happened is past and of no matter now. Only Taethan matters,” Idris said and he seemed to be sulking a little.

Heden frowned at this change of tack. The other knights were pointedly ignoring Heden and watching Aderyn.

“Ok,” Heden said, realizing that perhaps he’d been asking the wrong questions. “Tell me about Sir Taethan,” he was careful to use the knight’s proper title.

There was something in Idris Heden had seen before. The last time was with the Dwarf at the Sun & Anvil in Celkirk the day before. It was hatred and respect.

“He is the perfect knight,” Idris said biting the words off sarcastically. Heden thought he was quoting someone.

“The perfect fool, more like,” Dywel said, laughing.

“The perfect ass,” Cadwyr added, amused. They both seemed unaware of Idris’s attitude toward Taethan.

“Aye,” Idris said, annoyed. “And as thou art each an expert on fools and asses, thou wouldst know well.”

“Will he take command of the Order?” Heden asked.

Idris was done.

“Dost thou surmise that thy station as a priest and Prelate of Cavall wouldst earn thou e’en the tiniest measure of protection here?” he asked. Heden noticed that, like Aderyn, the knight’s cant came and went.

Heden made a show of looking around. “What is there to be protected from?”

Idris laughed, “You knowest well.”

Heden nodded slowly, deliberately. He did know. He wondered if Idris was dumb enough to try something here, knowing it would either result in the death of a knight, or of Heden, and that this would be disaster for the Order in either case.

“You want to take out your frustrations on me,” Heden said. “You go right ahead.”

As if on cue, Dywel smiled and took a step forward. Idris slammed a mailed fist into his chest and held him back.

“Sir Idris here is smarter than you,” Heden said, not taking his eyes off the lead knight. “He knows the Order needs me for the ritual.”

Dywel looked up at Idris, uncomprehending. These knights were not used to complex issues. Idris was better at it.

“Do what thou must,” Idris said. He wasn’t angry any more. He was in control again. “Remind Taethan of his duty. Then speak the ritual, and leave.”

“Or stay,” Cadwyr said. “And take our measure.”

Heden threw the thug a glance, and went back to Idris.

“When did Kavalen die?” Heden asked.

“Six days ago,” Idris replied, sighing wearily. This met Heden’s understanding of the timetable.

“And you’re, what? Returning from his burial?”

“Where we are from and what we have done is of no concern to you!” Dywel, the weasel said, pointing defiantly at Heden but staying one pace behind Idris.

“You don’t seem very upset about burying your commander.”

Cadwyr put his hand on his sword, and Idris looked down at him, keeping him in check. Dywel noticed this and leaned forward to sneer at his compatriot.

“He was a fool,” Sir Idris said, and as he spoke, he seemed to become nobler. It was unusual for anyone to care what he thought, Heden guessed, and part of him liked the attention.

“And deserved to die?” Heden asked.

The other two knights scoffed and shook their heads. Idris looked at him blankly.

“Perhaps,” he said. “Ask Taethan.”

Never ‘Sir Taethan,’ Heden noted again.

Cadwyr and Dywel were frowning at something going on behind Heden. Idris was ignoring whatever it was in favor of watching Heden’s response. Heden turned and saw Aderyn talking to another knight. His horse had already taken up with the others, and his helm was held under his left arm. The new knight pointed at Idris and Aderyn turned to jog over to them, the knight watching from afar.

“Sir Brys would have words with you,” Aderyn said to the three knights.

Idris frowned and looked across the clearing, through the pavilion, at the other knight. He stalked off, and the other two followed. Heden waited a few moments, staring at Idris’ back, before he followed with Aderyn at his side.

“I hate knights,” Heden said, scowling.

“Remember that you are a trespasser here!” Aderyn hissed at him. “An interloper!”

“Whatever,” Heden said.

Chapter 26

The giant was taking a long time to die. Heden stood and watched, a look of horror on his face as the massive creature made terrible noises and wept to itself. Even with its breast pierced, its inhuman health kept it alive.

Aderyn on her horse, the vanquishing knight on his, took no notice of the huge hulk dying before them. They rode up to each other. Aderyn looked like a child compared to the huge knight.

The knight removed his ornate helm. Heden got a closer look at the antlers. There was no doubt as to the blood on them, no question about their function. They were not ceremonial.

The knight had long dark green hair, at first Heden thought it was black. The top of his head was bald, the bald spot forming a perfect circle, his straight hair falling down to his shoulders. He had a boyish face, but was obviously older than Aderyn.

He nodded at her once.

“Sir Nudd,” she said, bowing in her saddle. “Your aid was not required. It was only a hills wight.”

Sir Nudd got off his horse and walked around the dying giant. Anywhere south of the duchy of Gaeden, this man would be called a giant. He said nothing to Aderyn, who dismounted and stood by her horse with Heden behind her. Once the knight had completed his circle, noting the two javelins sticking out of the giant’s right leg, he stood before Aderyn and nodded to Heden.

“This is brother Heden,” Aderyn said, her voice unsteady. She was still recovering from the fight, her body coursing with unspent energy. “The Bishop of Cavall sent him.”

Sir Nudd glanced at Heden and frowned, then looked back at Aderyn.

“About Commander Kavalen,” she said, and looked down.

Heden was only half paying attention. He was seriously considering healing the giant’s wounds, and also hating himself for not acting. And hating himself more because he knew he would not act. Black Gods, he thought. What’s wrong with me?

Sir Nudd looked at Heden and appeared to sense his thoughts. He went back to his horse, removed the two-hander, and walked up to the weeping giant lying face down in the dirt. The ground was soft with its blood and drool and tears.

Nudd brought his sword down onto the Giant’s head. The blow was not enough to kill the giant, though it cracked his skull. The creature made one last desperate effort to pick itself up and get away, but all it managed to do was turn its head and look at its assailant with huge dark eyes, red with tears. It moaned briefly, no words just pleading.

Sir Nudd continued. It took several blows, but in the end the thing was dead. Heden watched its eyes dilate becoming huge black pools. It made the dead giant look like it had died in terror. Which it had.

Heden found it took deliberate effort to draw air into his lungs. He was on the verge of tears himself. He looked at Sir Nudd as though for the first time, and saw the huge knight looking back at him, puzzled.

What’s wrong with me, Heden tried to pull himself together.

Sir Nudd approached with heavy foot steps and looked down at him with some sympathy, maybe some pity. His armor was old and been repaired several times. Heden guessed it weight as much as he did. He smelled of moss and brackish water. Of earth and mold. In places, Heden couldn’t see the armor, and he wondered whether the knight wore armor covered in vegetation, or vegetation covered in armor.

His shield was polished, but the polish couldn’t cover the many dents and damage done to it. The device engraved on his shield was seven small birds. They looked to Heden like stylized hummingbirds. Sir Nudd turned to Aderyn and held up three fingers.

Aderyn nodded. “I told him to speak with Sir Taethan,” she said.

The knight nodded. He turned and snapped his fingers, and his horse walked up to the trough next to Heden’s and Aderyn’s horse and began drinking. The knight walked in long slow strides to the priory, entering without having said a word to Heden or Aderyn.

The clearing was quiet. Aderyn and Heden both stood still and looked at the priory. At some point, the birds started chirping again.

Aderyn broke the spell, looking around the clearing, at the scene of the battle with a combination of confusion and loss. Eventually she climbed atop the giant’s back and began the laborious process of pulling Sir Nudd’s lance out of the dead giant’s back.

“Sir Nudd,” Heden said.

Aderyn yanked the lance out of the corpse and, exhausted, threw it onto the ground in front of Heden.

“He is the strongest of us,” Aderyn said from atop the dead giant, wiping sweat from her brow.

Heden nodded, recovering himself. “I bet.”

Aderyn hopped down to the ground in front of Heden like a bird and stared at him. He avoided her gaze.

“Thou hast never seen a giant felled before?”

He ignored her. He was getting sick of the knight’s cant.

“What happens to it now?” he asked, looking at the blood pooling around his feet. He didn’t bother moving out of the way.

Aderyn looked at the massive corpse and shrugged. “It is not seemly for the Green to have the corpse of a hills wight here at the priory,” she said. “Some might consider it boasting. Imagine perhaps that we are issuing a challenge. And the thyrs are, if not our allies, at least not our enemies.”

“This wasn’t an enemy?” Heden said.

“This was an exceptionally stupid giant, rejected by his mate,” Aderyn wiped some of the sweat from her forehead and tried to manage her hair. Her bruises were yellowing, healing quickly, and she was no longer bleeding. “Seeking to blame his failings on the Green. His people will understand,” she said turning to look at the corpse. “Though not if we leave it here without ceremony.”

“There’s a ceremony?” Heden asked. He couldn’t look at the giant’s face anymore, its wide staring black eyes and gaping mouth were too much for him. He turned and looked at the forest.

Aderyn nodded and began pulling the pavilion materials away from the blood.

“Soon Sir Brys will arrive and see the corpse and order the three dastards,” her hand flew to her mouth and she turned, hoping Heden hadn’t heard her. She tried again. “Sir Idris and his two…” she stopped and Heden was reminded that she’s spent almost her entire life among the knights and the forest. Talking to anyone who was not a knight was very unusual for her. She wasn’t used to people listening to her.

“Three other knights will clear the body away, take it into the forest. They will perform the ceremony and the body will be accepted by the wode.”

Heden kept quiet, let her talk. Then changed the subject.

“You going to finish that,” he said, referring to her continued preparations with the pavilion, “with this thing sitting here?”

Aderyn didn’t look at him, she just went back to work. “My duties remain,” she said. “I shall erect the main tent over the body of Burran and keep the sun off him until Sirs Brys and Idris arrive.”

Heden watched her go through the motions. Fighting the hills wight, she seemed more alive than anyone Heden had met in years. Now she looked like a walking corpse.

“Would you have killed the giant,” Heden asked, “if Sir Nudd had not arrived?”

She stopped working and just stood there, her back to him. She didn’t speak for a moment.

“But Sir Nudd did arrive,” she said, not turning to face him. “So ‘if’ is no matter at all.”

“It bothered you, that he took matters into his own hands.”

Heden expected Aderyn to rebuff him, but through blind fumbling he’d hit upon the right question.

“He would not have done so, ere Kavalen’s death,” she said, her voice hollow.

Heden knew he’d gotten lucky, and let it drop for now.

“Nudd doesn’t talk,” Heden said.

Aderyn, hefting the maul to return to work, stopped and shot a violent look at him. “Sir Nudd,” she said.

“Isn’t that what I said?” Heden asked.

Aderyn shook her head. “The proper form of address is Sir Nudd. I am Squire Aderyn. His father could call him…by his given name alone. You,” she said, turning back to the stake and hefting her maul, “may not.”

“Sir Nudd,” he said. “Sir Nudd, I apologize. He doesn’t talk a lot.”

She started hammering another stake into the ground. “He swore an oath of silence upon taking the Green. Few are strong enough for that oath. We are lucky to be among him.”

“The hummingbirds,” Heden said, nodding. He knew it would be something like this.

“What?” Aderyn said, not taking her eyes off her task.

“His device is seven hummingbirds.”

“He is the seventh,” Aderyn said.

“Yeah,” Heden said, “but hummingbirds are…in folklore they’re noted for their silence.” Aderyn stopped hammering and turned her brilliant, blue-eyed gaze to Heden.

“They were the messengers of the ancient Gol gods,” he said, staring at the dead giant’s horror rictus. “Because they hover and fly silently. One of them brought a message to Áengus when he went into the World Below to rescue Eithne. It was the only creature that could get past the guardians, because it flew so quietly.”

Aderyn stared, amazed by Heden’s knowledge. He glanced at her and shrugged.

“I always thought it should have been an owl,” he said. “Hummingbirds make a terrible buzzing sound. Can’t count the number of times I had the piss scared out of me by an owl flying past me like a ghost.”

Aderyn went back to hammering stakes. The sun was no longer overhead. It was mid-afternoon.

“Sir Nudd seems sad,” Heden said. Back to work.

“He was always of a melancholic disposition,” Aderyn replied. Heden wondered if she was trying to ignore the dead giant as much as he was. He turned his back on her and looked at the sun dipping below the level of the trees. He guessed it was three o’ clock.

“Not helped much by Kavalen dying,” he said.

Aderyn grabbed the maul just beneath its head, and strode over to Heden.

“You!” She said, spinning him around to face her. “You will not speak to Sir Nudd of Commander Kavalen.” She punctuated her words by tapping the hammer against his breastplate. Heden saw the tendons on her forearms straining, the muscles in her arms rippling. She seemed impossibly strong.

She stared into his eyes. He was listening, trying to understand, and obviously concerned. He wondered if she was angry at him for being here, or at Nudd for killing the giant. Her eyes softened, she looked down and let the head of the maul fall to the ground, the shaft loose in her hand.

“It would destroy him” she said, looking at nothing.

Neither of them said anything. Heden wanted to reach out to help her, but she seemed as distant now as she was strong a moment ago.

Heden gently reached down and took the maul from her loose grip. When she didn’t resist, he walked away with it.

After a moment, she turned and saw he was hammering a stake into the ground.

“You were right about not taking your armor off,” Heden admitted. “That’s good advice.”

She watched him work, not knowing what to make of this man.

Chapter 25

“What are you doing?” Heden asked, leaning against the archway of the priory.

Aderyn ignored him. Again. She was driving large stakes into the ground with the maul. Spread out around her were huge, brightly colored sheets, pinions, ropes and flags with many crests, all taken from the chest. There was a riot of color in the scattered sheets, but the dominant color was green.

They were the makings of a pavilion.

Heden looked around the beautiful glen surrounding the Priory. The fresh air on his face helped him forget that he hadn’t slept. Another horse stood next to his, drinking from one of the troughs on either side of the entrance to the priory. The horse was smaller than Heden’s and lightly armored. It had not been there when Heden arrived and so must be Aderyn’s.

“What is all this?” Heden asked, looking at the colored fabrics on the grass.

“Canst thou not see?” Aderyn asked, mildly.

“We’re back to that?” Heden said with a sigh.

“Hast thou not eyes?” She grunted as she swung again. Though she was half Heden’s weight, she was strong. It took only two attempts to drive a stake into the ground.

Heden sighed and walked around the woman as she worked. It would take her all day at this rate, but she seemed resigned to the task. Heden smiled. He recognized the attitude.

“No, I can see it’s a pavilion, I’m asking why you’re bothering to set it up.”

“The stakes mark the center of the jousting field. Then,” she said nodding to a large circle where no grass grew, “I stake off the melee. Then the tent where there will be food and drink. Whenever the knights gather together,” she said, grunting as she drove another stake into the turf, “there is a tournament.”

“Really?” Heden asked, a little surprised.

Aderyn didn’t answer.

“Every time?” he asked.

“Every time,” she said, and stopped to wipe sweat from her brow. She drew her copper and flax hair back in an impromptu pony tail to keep it out of her face.

“You’re going to erect a whole tournament pavilion in your armor?” Heden asked.

“Never remove your armor in the forest, except to bathe,” she said. Heden got the sense she was quoting someone. “We are never safe, even here.”

Heden took in the idyllic scenery in and tried to imagine an army of urq swarming out of the forest. Even with his experience, it was hard to imagine. The green trees and yellow grass, the blue sky and beautiful white clouds. There were birds and butterflies and bees all around. Occasionally, a grasshopper would leap from Heden’s footfall. This was how the world must have looked, he thought, when it was just the Elves.

“How often do you all get together?” he asked.

“Once a year,” she said, with a shrug. “Sometimes more.”

Heden watched and thought.

“You’re saying the Order only gathers together once a year?”

She ignored him. She’d already answered him and he was just trying to catch up.

“But they must…they must see each other between tournaments.”

She hammered another stake into the ground. It was going to be a large pavilion with several tents.

“Each knight,” she said, “has a demesne covering perhaps a dozen leagues.”

“A what?” Heden asked.

“A dozen leagues,” she replied dryly.

“No, you said something else before that.”

She stopped hammering and thought.

“Demesne?” It sounded to Heden like ‘deh-main.’

“That’s it.”

“It is the knight’s territory. All the forest knows the demesne is under the protection of the knight, and more: knows which knight any part of the forest belongs to.”

Heden tilted his head. “I’ve never heard that word before,” he admitted.

“It is a life of solitude and quiet contemplation,” Aderyn said, going back to work. “A knight may go months without meeting another soul to speak to.”

“Quiet contemplation,” Heden said, watching her work. Watching the strength of her body. She could have used that hammer to crush a man’s skull in one blow.

“It is a noble calling,” she said.

“Quiet contemplation until an elgenwight attacks.”

She smiled without looking at him. “Then it is a test of mettle.”

“Or an army of urq,” he said, ignoring her for once.

She stopped smiling and stopped hammering.

“That rarely happens,” she intoned. Then went back to work.

“Let me help you,” Heden offered.

“Leave,” Aderyn said immediately, hammering another stake into the ground.

“What?”

She turned to look at him and leaned on her maul. “If you wish to be a help, then leave us. Leave now, leave the forest, return to your world and leave us be.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You could,” Aderyn said. “I have taken the full measure of you and I surmise you have quit the field before.”

“You’re wrong,” Heden said, defending himself. He knew it was uncharacteristic of him, but he was offended that she thought she knew him already.

“Besides,” he continued. “I was sent here to fix whatever’s wrong.”

Aderyn just shook her head. “There is no way to fix what is wrong,” she said. “You can only make it worse.” She had dropped the cant. And for some reason, Heden believed her.

“Do you know what happened to Kavalen?” Heden asked.

“All the forest knows,” she said, taunting him a little.

“But you won’t tell me,” he said.

“You must speak with Sir Taethan.”

“If I ask,” Heden said, trying a trick, “Sir Taethan what happened to Kavalen, what will he tell me?”

She laughed at him. “You are so crude, you stumble about so comically. Do you expect that to work?”

Heden shrugged one shoulder sheepishly.

“Worth a try,” he said.

“Well, Sir Taethan will be here soon, you can ask him your…”

She stopped talking abruptly, and her whole body tensed, though she didn’t take her eyes off Heden. Heden straightened up. It looked like she was about to attack him.

He looked behind him to see if maybe she saw something past him, but as he did so he heard her maul hit the ground.

He turned back and saw her sprinting in two layers of armor to her horse. Her running footsteps the only sound in the suddenly silent forest.

Heden realized he’d left his backpack in the priory. His heart was racing and he wasn’t yet sure what…

The ground shook, like a distant tower toppling. Heden’s legs went a little weak. He became disoriented, and imagined the threat could be behind any of the trees surrounding him. Not now! He thought, and fought to master himself.

Aderyn had gained her horse and from it quickly donned her helm, a shield, and pulled a sword from a scabbard.

The ground shook again. And again. And then several times in rapid succession, the dull roar of impact getting impossibly loud in Heden’s ear. The ground shook violently, the water in the troughs spilled out, but the granite priory didn’t budge.

Bursting from the trees into the clearing was something shaped like a man. A huge man with skin tanned dark brown, wearing animal skins and improvised armor pulled, it seemed, from all manner of man and urq. It wielded a small tree trunk and its teeth were rotting. It had a thicket of chestnut brown hair on top of its head, and its huge eyes burned with hatred. It was a thyrs. Men for whom they were mythical called them giants, and why not? But any folk of the north, the folk of Durham Keep, would call them thyrs, or thyrwights. Which was their own name for themselves.

“I’VE COME TO KILL A MAN!” the thyrs bellowed. It seemed massive, but Heden’s instincts took over and he compared the giant to the trees. The trees were much taller. This was a minor giant of the hills. Not one of the really big ones you got in the mountains. It had been years since Heden had dealt with anything like this, and even then he had a whole company with him. But he wasn’t a Prelate then. His heart stilled. He was unarmed, but 13 years of this sort of thing came back to him.

Aderyn stood in the center of the clearing, the stakes of the future pavilion surrounding her. Heden noted it gave her a small advantage, the stakes acting like pikes set to receive a charge. Her horse stood proud next to her, neighed a challenge and stamped its front hooves.

“I will have to do!” Aderyn called out a challenge. “I will settle your feud with Sir Nudd and end your life ‘ere you take another step if you do not leave this place and return to your home!”

Black Gods, Heden thought. Would I have done that at twenty-eight? I’d have probably shit my pants.

The thyrs looked around, seeming to ignore Heden. He peered down at Aderyn.

“LITTLE KNIGHT,” he pronounced, drawing the words out. Heden thought Aderyn grew in stature. “I’LL CRUSH YOUR BONES AND SUCK OUT YOUR BRAINS!”

Aderyn didn’t wait for the thyrs to finish his sentence. As soon as it was obvious the thyrwight wasn’t going to turn around and leave, she ran forward, closing the distance between them. With several paces left to go, she launched herself high into the air, her speed and strength supernatural, her sword poised to stab downward into the naked right thigh of the huge man-like creature.

Heden weighed several options carefully, all in an instant. Calling upon powers beyond the need could have dire consequences for him. Summoning a Dominion or assuming the mantle of Cavall could result in Heden being a slave to his god for years and questing through who knows what foreign lands or underground worlds.

Watching Aderyn summoning strength beyond mortal ken and leaping something like 20 feet into the air, he knew she wasn’t going to make it. The thyrs was as fast as he was big. Heden remembered their speed.

He said a quick prayer, pointing at Aderyn. Warding her. Three words. There was no visible sign of the prayer’s effectiveness. Heden had no doubt the prayer worked.

The thyrwight took advantage of Aderyn’s advancing leap, and swung his club like one might swat at a fly. Aderyn’s attack seemed fast, but not compared to the giant’s reaction.

His tree-trunk club hit Aderyn square in the chest, at the apex of her leap. There was a crunching sound, as of metal on wood, and a loud grunt. Aderyn was hurled up and over the clearing, into the forest beyond. Heden’s head craned up and over and back, watching her sail through the air until the forest behind him swallowed her. The sound of breaking tree limbs continued for several moments, getting quieter and settling down over time.

Aderyn’s horse turned and rode off into the forest after her.

The giant grunted to himself and smiled. He took two steps forward, crushing some of the pavilion’s stakes under his thick-soled feet. He looked around the clearing as though he’d just conquered it and was now seeking other challengers. Then he looked down at Heden apparently noticing him for the first time.

“WHO ARE YOU?” The huge figure asked, sniffing. The words came out like ‘oooeruuu?’ He was aware of Heden, but didn’t seem to care about him one way or the other.

Heden realized something was expected of him.

“Uh,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Hello,” he said loudly. He kept looking over his shoulder, wondering if he should go help Aderyn. But he felt as though standing his ground was safer.

The thyrs sneered at him. “LITTLE MAN,” he said. “NOT EVEN A KNIGHT!”

It seemed as though the giant figure was considering crushing Heden outright. Heden sighed and pulled the talisman of Lynwen from under his breastplate and leather.

Heden didn’t know the situation with the thyrs, and this meant he had no idea what kind of prayer would be effective. He didn’t think it was evil. It might be safe to blind the thing, or turn its legs to stone, but these were minor orisons and might not work on so strong a creature as a hill wight.

Before he could finish praying, and therefore technically before his request was complete, something behind Heden caught the giant’s attention.

“WHUT?!” the giant grunted, confused. “ALIVE?!”

Heden had to turn to see what the thing was talking about, even though he sensed it. He had to see it.

Aderyn was winded, bruised, bleeding, and she’d lost her helmet, but she was grinning like a madwoman bracing herself against a tree at the edge of the clearing, her horse behind her. Heden’s wards had protected her, but more, she had a vitality, a courage beyond anything Heden had seen in many years. He was in awe.

She stepped into the clearing, pushed her hair away from her face, and nodded. “Aye Burran,” she said. “Your father couldn’t kill me. What makes you think you can!?”

She’s taunting him, Heden thought. If he gets mad enough he might really hurt her.

Burran roared, tendons standing out on its neck, and Heden’s ears rung. In response, Aderyn barked a sound like “hai!” and her horse started to gallop forward. She grabbed the pommel of the saddle as the horse rode past, and swung herself up.

The horse lowered its head and seemed determined to bear down on the thyrwight.

Aderyn pulled a javelin from a quiver on the horse’s saddlebags. Heden realized that having stopped his prayer, he’d missed an opportunity to fell the thyrs, and thereby end this conflict. There was something about watching this squire fight the giant that mesmerized him.

Burran obviously expected another leaping attack and crouched down, bracing himself, a gap-toothed smile on his face. But Aderyn, commanding the horse with her knees, spun her mount around halfway across the clearing and hurled the javelin.

Heden watched as the thin piece of wood with a sharp metal tip sunk into the giant’s right shin, burying itself in the bone, causing Burran to cry out and grab his leg. Before the javelin had found its mark, the horse had spun around and Aderyn had readied another.

Seeing the result of her first throw, she hurled another. Putting her whole body into it, bracing against the horse. She grunted with effort and this time the javelin pierced the giant’s hand and stuck in his thigh. The horse never stopped moving, always ready to leap away should the thyrs lunge forward.

“NO FAIR!” Burran keened, and fell to one knee. Aderyn stopped the attack and, eyes wide, breast heaving with effort, she readied another javelin and watched to see what the giant would do.

What it did next, was die.

Without warning, Burran arched his chest up as though struck from behind. The tip of a lance jutted out from his chest, pushing his hide armor out and poking through it a few inches. He howled and fell forward, bracing himself on the floor of the clearing.

“OOOAAA, NOOOOO,” he cried piteously. “NOOO,” he said, “NOT DIE.”

As he slowly lost the strength to hold himself up, Heden saw the butt of the lance poking out from its back. The entire lance had buried itself in the giant’s chest. As Burran fell, he revealed the creature that killed him.

At first, Heden was certain he was seeing an elgenwight in plate armor. One of the elk-men of the wode. They were huge, the bucks as tall as fifteen feet. They had the head, arms and torso of a man, and the body of a horse, with huge antlers sprouting from their foreheads. Like most of the wise creatures of the wode, they were created by the Celestials, and they were among the deadliest foes in the wood. Morso than the brocc, the urq, most of the thyrs.

Heden blinked and looked again. It was a man. A man on a horse, both in heavy armor. But the man’s helmet had two massive antlers sprouting from it, projecting forward like a dozen spears. They were deadly, and half covered in what Heden assumed was dried blood. The warhorse was one of the biggest Heden had ever seen. The man had to be eight feet tall. He had several weapons on his person and strapped to the horse, one a massive two-handed sword. With his eyes shrouded in his helm, the huge blood-covered antlers projecting forward, and his heavy plate covered in moss and vines, he looked like a demon of the wode. Menace boiled off him like steam.

The horse bore a white caparison over its armor with a green circle in the center of it.

“People react badly to seeing them,” Gwiddon had said.

The Green Knight had killed the giant.

Chapter 24

Heden held the shield with one hand and used the other to block the sun streaming in from outside. The shadowed form in the archway resolved, and he saw a woman pointing a long spear at him. It wasn’t a lance, as Heden understood it. It showed a tell-tale dullness and weather-beaten quality that Heden had learned to associate with constant use and a sharpness that didn’t need enchantment to kill.

The woman was slim and lithe, but clad in chainmail with hard leather underneath. She had a shield strapped across her back, a dagger on her belt, and a sword in a scabbard. She seemed in her late twenties. She wasn’t crouching, but was coiled and ready to strike. She had long red hair streaked with blonde. Bleached from hours and days in the sun.

In addition to her arms and armor, which gave every impression of being well-used and expertly repaired, she was covered in what looked like moss and vines. The moss grew from every crevice and the vines twined around her arms and legs, some sprouted small leaves. All in all, she looked like part of the forest had come alive. She was a strange clash of civilization and feral wildness. Heden remembered Gwiddon saying most people didn’t react well to the Green Order.

“I, ah…,” Heden began. “I’m not here to, ah,” he bumbled.

The girl frowned at him and cat-footed forward into striking range. Heden didn’t move.

“Replace that shield ‘ere another word passes thy lips, or by the wode I shall strike thee down,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

He noticed she swore an oath on the forest itself. Not, for instance, Halcyon, the patron saint of the order. He took a deep breath, aware that this woman could make a bad decision forcing Heden to hurt her even in her own defense, and carefully turned and replaced the shield on its hook.

When he turned back to face her, he found her spear tip at his throat. He stood rigidly still, remembering the knight in the wode who found him on his ass.

“What is it with you people?” he managed, looking down at the shaft of the spear. He wondered if he was fast enough to grab it and kick her away, but the length of the spear made this unlikely. And he wasn’t a young man anymore.

“Eh?” the woman asked, peering at him. He looked away from the spear, and noticed she had blue eyes, her skin golden from the sun. She was peering at his neck.

“This is the, ah,” Heden said, pausing as her spear tip pressed lightly into his neck, “second time one of you have acted like I’m a threat.”

She ran the spear tip down his neck toward his collar. He instinctively twisted his head up and away, but didn’t otherwise move.

“Why is everyone around here afraid of me?” he asked, his voice low.

“Silence, lout,” she said, and used the spear tip to push down on the collar of his breastplate. “Or you will bleed your life out here on the priory floor.”

Delicately, she used the tip of the spear to fish a metal necklace out from under his collar. How had she seen it there?

She slid the spear point under the necklace and pulled, and the whole necklace came out from under his breastplate and leather. There was a talisman hanging from it.

She stepped forward, grabbed the spear under her right arm, halfway up its shaft, and leaned in to get a closer look.

“You bear a saint’s talisman,” she said. The spear was no longer at his throat, but uncomfortably close nonetheless.

He didn’t say anything. She threw him a dark look and pressed the spear hard into his neck.

“I said…,” she began.

“Alright, alright,” Heden said, raising his hands and backing away a little. “Yes, that’s my talisman. You’re right.”

She pulled the spear away and let the talisman fall to his chest.

“A priest then?” she asked, straightening up. He was glad she didn’t ask him which saint.  “A priest sent hither from Durham Keep?”

“Sort of,” Heden said, frowning. He rubbed his neck. “My name’s Heden,” he said. He’d hoped a little to shame her into being polite and introducing herself. He was disappointed.

They now stood at a respectful distance and though she was still tense, it no longer seemed as though she was going to attack him.

“You’re a knight,” Heden guessed.

“That I am not,” the woman said angrily.

Heden’s eyes darted around.

“You’re not?” he asked as though perhaps he’d somehow come to the wrong place.

“Is it not obvious?” she asked, and shook her head, letting her hair fall behind her face in a manner she seemed to think was meaningful.

Heden chose to shut up. He could not remember ever regretting silence.

“My mistress shall be here anon,” she said, uncoiling. “We shall wait for her, and she shall find me guarding thee.”

“You’re a squire,” Heden realized.

“I am that,” she said. “Why how now, do you look so amazed?”

“How old are you?” Heden asked.

She leaned on her spear and cocked her head at him. There was a naked element of challenge about her.

“Eight and twenty years, I have.”

Heden blinked.

“You’re twenty-eight? You’re a squire and you’re twenty-eight? Isn’t that a little late to get started?”

“My mistress accepted me when I was thirteen,” she said proudly.

Heden was silent for a moment.

“You’ve been…hang on, you’ve been a squire for fifteen years?”

“Upon this solstice I wouldst have been a knight,” she said, relaxing a little. Her face betrayed melancholia. “Earning my spurs, I would have been the youngest to take the Green since the Lady Isobel.”

“Why are you talking like that?” Heden asked, frowning.

“What sayest thou?”

“Yeah, like that.”

She grimaced at him and relaxed a little.

“The Green is an ancient order,” she said carefully. “The knight’s cant is traditional.”

Having decided Heden was no threat, she walked around him to one of the long walls of the nave. He noticed she was wearing high, hard boots. Expensive leather. Good boots, he thought.

“Furthermore,” she said walking up to one of the crests, “it is historical.” She placed her spear on a small wooden stand. There was one before each crest. Each knight was permitted one squire, and this is where the squires put their spears while at the priory. She placed hers under the crest of the second knight.

“Why are you covered in moss and vines?” Heden asked. She ignored him.

“Thou art no man from Durham Keep, though ye may have come by there. I can tell from your speech and manner. Hast thou come from the southern plains?” She looked up at the crest above her spear.

It seemed as though she had not completely mastered the knight’s cant. Her words sounded forced, not elegant. It was the speech of someone from five hundred years ago and Heden wondered how she could have learned it. Probably from the other knights.

“Do you have to talk like that? I mean, is it required?”

She turned from admiring the knight’s crest and gave him a very cynical appraisal.

“Did you come from the southern plains?” she spoke deliberately.

Heden tried to smile winsomely in gratitude. He hoped it didn’t look like a grimace.

“I’m not…ah,” he shook his head. Trying to dislodge a thought.

“Vasloria, man. Did you come here from the southern nations?” She was impatient. “What is the matter with you? It is clear the answer is yes, why can you not speak the truth?”

“I’m sorry,” Heden tried smiling again. “We’re only about ten miles into the forest,” she obviously didn’t take his meaning. He shrugged. “It just seems strange to refer to Corwell as ‘the southern plains.’”

“Corwell?” she asked.

Heden stared at her.

“Yes,” he said slowly, peering at her. “The country directly to the south.” She obviously didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Where were you born?” Heden asked.

She laughed derisively. “This is of no matter to you.”

“Well, that’s probably true,” Heden admitted. “But I’d still like to know.”

She seemed a little disarmed by his honesty, and there was something else. Something he didn’t quite understand. He took advantage of this.

“You haven’t told me your name,” he reminded her.

“I am named Squire Aderyn,” she said, a little shyly. “’Twas born in the hamlet of Brode some thirty leagues hence.”

“There,” Heden said, smiling genuinely. “That wasn’t so hard.”

He knew Brode. It was a little larger than Durham Keep. Heden threw out his suspicion that time was playing tricks on him here in the wode, that this squire might be from before the Age of Nations, before Corwell was a country. Far simpler was the explanation that she was 13 when she joined the Order and few peasants ever had an interest in or a real knowledge of the wider world beyond their town and Barony. Corwell was less than 300 years old and some places still resented the system of King and Counts that supplanted the Dukes and Barons of the Gol.

Heden remembered his assignment. Kavalen, the dead knight. But this woman was a more immediate puzzle and Heden instinctively believed solving her now would be fruitful later. He decided not to mention the knight he met earlier. Explaining to someone else how he chopped someone’s head off and they put it back on didn’t seem like the best way to make a first impression.

“What are you doing here alone?” Heden asked.

“I have come to prepare the…,” she began without thinking. Then she spun around and became defiant. “I need not answer you!” she said. “I am a squire of the Green, this is our priory, you are the interloper!” She put her hand on the hilt of her sword. “Who art thou and why cometh thou here?” The cant was back.

“I’m here because something’s happened,” he said lamely. Not sure how to phrase it. She reacted by looking at the floor.

“The Baron sent you here?” she asked, lowering her voice. “To ask for our aid?”

“No. No, not exactly. I mean, yes in one sense, sure. She knows I’m here. She wants me to succeed. But the Hierarch of the Church of Cavall the Righteous sent me.” He used the formal term for the bishop out of instinct.

“We have had no messenger from Durham Keep,” she observed, and leaned against one of the prayer benches. “”Tis passing strange.”

Heden was careful not to respond right away. His instincts told him that just coming out and telling her the forest wouldn’t allow anyone up here would be a mistake.

“Do you know anything,” he said slowly, not sure if this was a good question to ask, “about an army of urmen marshalling to the north?”

Her face lost its expression. She became still and didn’t answer. Heden took that as a ‘yes.’

“The Hierarch sent me,” he said walking forward slowly like a man approaching a wild animal. “because a knight has died.”

She looked down and said “Thou must speak to Sir Taethan, he will be here anon.”

“Taethan,” he said. “Is he the commander of the order now?”

She shook her head in disbelief at the foolishness of his question, more to herself than anything else, and did not answer.

Instead, still leaning against the end of one of the prayer benches, she gave him a very knowing look. “You are a handsome man, though passing old.” Heden raised his eyebrows. “Have you been with many women?” Her eyes flitted to the archway, the entrance to the priory.

“What?” he asked flatly.

“Women,” she reiterated. She pulled her chain shirt down over her leather armor, and inflated herself slightly. She then indicated with a flourish of her hands the inward and outward curves relevant to her point. “You are familiar with the phenomenon? Spear and distaff? Jousting on the fields of love?”

“I’m sorry?” Heden asked, and found himself absurdly blushing and speechless. It suddenly felt warm in the Priory.

She laughed. It sounded like birdsong. Her eyes danced. She walked up to him and stood too close, looking up at him with blue eyes and sculpted red lips.

“You are, I can tell. You have won many a tournament, I judge. And though aged, you are still young enough to know to be flattered and flustered when the time comes for it, well played.” She flounced away.

She had caught Heden off guard and now he knew what was strange about her. She was proud, strong, and confident but that wasn’t it. She behaved like someone who’d spent very little time among people. She said whatever came to mind. Fifteen years as a squire in the wode, and she had almost no experience with anyone who was not a knight.

“When was the last time you went home to Brode? Or saw Durham Keep?”

She ignored him again. He thought he knew the answer. Part of him was annoyed by the fact that she ignored so much of what he asked, but he respected it. She didn’t answer when she thought the question wasn’t important. And she was avoiding telling Heden a lot.

She went into one of the small rooms to the left and right of the altar, and came out a few moment later with a huge chest on her right shoulder, and a huge wooden maul in her left hand. The chest was so big, it looked like it would crush her. She didn’t even seem to notice the weight.

“My mistress will be here anon,” she said as she walked past him, toward the archway leading outside. “You will wait for her here and she shall take your full measure.”

She left the priory, and Heden alone. He waited a few moments, looked at the stained glass depicting the last battle of Saint Godwin, and put Lynwen’s talisman back under his plate and leather. He wished he could remember more about Godwin.

He shrugged, and walked outside to see what Aderyn was doing.

Chapter 23

He stood behind a tree at the edge of the clearing for a full turn, staring at the priory. The building the headless knight with flowers inscribed on his armor called a chapel. Heden wasn’t sure what he’d meant by that. It was an obscure term.

He watched the priory. No one went in, no one came out, no movement within. It looked deserted. His horse stepped up and put its massive head over Heden’s shoulder, as though it were looking at the priory too. Wondering if they were going to approach, or just stand there. Then it made a horse noise, and Heden reached into his pack and gave the beast another apple. As the horse chewed, Heden reached up and absently scratched its ear.

It stood, a narrow stone building with a single large tower, on the far side of a large clearing, maybe 4 acres across. The trees marking the edge of the clearing were all very close to one another, in contrast to the rest of the wode. It was a dark building, and the dirt around it looked black.

Heden was watching the priory, and not watching it. He was thinking about the knight, or whoever or whatever it was, whose head he’d chopped off. He’d seen many strange things in his years as a professional, certainly much stranger than a man putting his own head back on, but something about this knight was personal. Directed at Heden. It unnerved him in a way dragons and celestials and floating cities had not.

The knight had been testing him. Had intended to test him from the beginning, and Heden had seeming passed. Why the test? No one else had gained the priory since the death, the probable murder, of the knight-commander. Renaldo said anyone who came in, just came out again. Turned around without realizing. That was a kind of magic Heden understood. The knight mystified him.

There was a dreamlike quality about the man he fought. But nothing could be more real than the man who found him on his ass and helped him up. The man he talked to. Heden had replayed that conversation a dozen times as he followed the path that led here. It revealed nothing.

He related to the man. Understood him. Was he meant to? Was the knight he fought the real thing, and the man he conversed with the invention? A fabrication designed to find out more about Heden? He went through a dozen possibilities and then shook his head. No point. If there was anything to be gleaned, he wasn’t smart enough to do it. He missed Elzpeth.

He reached up to his neck. He’d healed the wound on his arm and his shoulder, but left this one. He wanted to remember the encounter was real. He pulled his hand away. The blood was dried, the thin cut already healing, but some dried blood came off on his hand. Real enough.

The horse sniffed the air, and Heden noticed there were two troughs of water in front of the priory. Looked like there was water in them. He saw no well. Could be rainwater. Didn’t matter. The horse needed a drink either way.

Heden and the horse walked into the clearing.

The sky was bright blue, the day brilliant. Large white clouds drifted by. It was beauty Heden was not immune to. He missed scenes like this in the inn. He checked the ground. It looked as though it had been churned and then matted down. If by horses, there was no obvious sign. But he knew he was terrible at reading the ground.

As they approached, Heden saw there was a large stained glass window set on the north facing wall. It would be on his right if he entered so the sun would shine through it.  He led the horse to one of the troughs. It slurped up the clear water while Heden looked around again, taking in the whole clearing. He didn’t know what he had expected, but at least some horses. Knights rode horses, didn’t they? Maybe a pavilion.

The stone was granite, but black in many places. Most places. Heden’s boots sunk into the soft dirt all around. Rich soil, he thought.

He walked slowly around to the back of the priory, looking closely at the blackened stone. It looked as though the priory had burned, but whether recently or in the distant past, Heden couldn’t say. Wouldn’t rain wash away soot? Maybe not without soap or quicklime. The dirt within a few inches of the priory was also black.

Heden ran his hand over the granite and soot came off. He put his hand against the rough hewn rock. It was still warm. But no warmer, Heden thought, than it would have been just from absorbing the heat of the sun all day.

He looked up at the stained glass window, still intact. This was a puzzle. What kind of fire would leave this much soot and not melt the glass? Who would try and burn a granite building? Someone trying to kill the people inside.

He walked back around to the front and looked in. A foyer lead to a long, narrow nave and several small rooms branching off. At the end of the nave, past several prayer benches, was a small altar on a raised dais. Where were the knights?

Feeling like an interloper, he walked into the priory.

The stained glass window dominating the north wall was large. It seemed odd to Heden, then he realized. He’d never seen a church oriented in this way. The entrance west, the nave leading east to the dais. Usually the entrance was north or south, so the stained glass window would be above either those entering, or the priest at the altar. Why the difference here? Was it significant? No way for him to know.

He stood in the middle of the priory, even empty it felt intimate compared to the cavernous enclosure ofLlewellyn’s cathedral. He looked at the window. The glass artwork depicted a scene he recognized: Godwin the Vigilant, Saint of Cavall fighting Saint Pallad the Black, Saint of Nikros. He knew the story. Godwin lost. The glass depicted their final battle. It was, Heden thought, a strange moment to commemorate, but then he often felt that way about the stories of Saints.

He turned and continued up the nave, his boots loud on the flagstones. The altar was typical. Raised. A stone rectangle with pictures of knights in Cavall’s service carved into it. Behind it, nested into a cubby hole at the back wall, Heden saw a font about four feet high in a recessed hole.

Something about the font triggered Heden’s instincts. He walked around the altar and examined it.

He resisted the urge to try and move it or inspect it to see if it hid anything significant. Sometimes even writing hidden away from view was useful, but this was a priory and he reminded himself it held nothing secret. No dwarf would arrive and use a metal pole to make the altar slide away revealing a complex underground chamber.

He leaned against the altar and looked at the font. There was a little water in it. This meant someone had tended it recently. It looked exactly like a bathing pedestal for birds such as noblemen had in their castle grounds.

Then he saw it. The font was of a different stone from the altar, the flagstones, the wall. Everything else was granite. Hard to work, requiring master masons to ensure the building didn’t collapse under its own weight. But the font was limestone. It was, Heden realized, much older than the rest of the building. It was weathered, heavily so. Heden suspected the priory was built around it. He imagined the small stone pedestal, its bowl filled with water, alone in the forest with no building around it. Sunlight reflecting off its water. Something that could not happen now. This priory had started off as a simple shrine, a font hidden away miles in the forest. How old was this place?

He touched the font. Ran his hand around its edge and put his fingers in the water. He said a prayer to Lynwen. Not much of one. Thankfully no response, and continued his survey of the priory.

Along both walls, five on one side, four on the other, were several crests painted on wood about seven feet up each wall. Each was very simple, and all followed the same theme. Each had a white field with a solid green circle in the middle. Each was adorned very discreetly with one additional element, no two alike. This crest has crossed swords. This one stylized shields. Each had a different number of elements, no two the same. Two shields, seven crossed swords. A sprig of holly with six branches. Three horses rampant.

Heden noticed two things. Beneath each crest was a hook, as though to hang a shield, Heden guessed, and below that a wooden brace, as though to hold a spear or a lance. They were all but one empty.

The one held a large metal shield. A knight’s shield. With the green circle on a white field, the sign of the Green Order, Heden surmised, and in the middle of that green circle, one yellow star. The sun.

Kavalen.

Without thinking, he reached up and lifted the heavy shield off its hook. The shield had been heavily damaged and some attempt at repair had been made.

Heden turned it around. Not repair, just reshaping. From behind, he could see the shield had been pierced twice. By what, he couldn’t tell, and the metal then pounded back in shape. The leather straps were new. But the shield was now useless. The reshaping was for show. Its owner, he knew, was dead. And the shield hung as a memoriam.

“Replace that shield upon its hook,” a soft voice came from behind Heden, causing him to jump almost out of his skin. He turned, alarmed, and saw a figure framed in silhouette in the entryway.  “Or my lance will find your heart.”

On to Chapter Twenty-three!

Chapter 22

It took a long time to clear even a small path and he despaired as sweat fell from his face. His muscles, not used to such work, ached. He paused for a moment and tried to find the sun again. Wondered at what his father would think of him getting tired after only a few hours’ hard work.

He looked at the axe in his hand. How many years it had been since he used it. Twenty? It had once been a trusted tool used almost every day in a variety of situations. Back when a single crown was a lot of money. It now seemed inadequate to the task at hand, but Heden knew the power of persistence. And he never had much of a sense of time. Hours would pass and he wouldn’t notice. He enjoyed tasks like this. For which the only solution was hard work, and hours of it. He was his father’s son.

The horse didn’t appear to mind the passage of time with little progress. It seemed perfectly happy to stand there, no one on its back, and nibble at the leaves on the vines and ferns. Sometimes it would take a turn and prune an entire bush. Sometimes it would gently mouth a leaf from a bush and leave it. Probably poisonous. How does it know? Heden wondered. Mysterious horsey senses men did not wot of, probably.

He set back to work. Part of him knew it was unrealistic to expect that he’d be able to chop his way wherever he was going, but he was stubborn. There had been a path, it was now gone, and Heden’s toiling was his way of telling whatever powers whisked it away that they could go fuck a pig before he’d give up. He remembered Renaldo. This was Heden’s performance.

He exposed a large root curling above and below the ground, on which had been anchored a great deal of vegetation. Unable to get a good angle of attack via any other method, he climbed atop the twisting root and stood there looking down. As he prepared to hack at it, it snapped under his weight and though he tried to catch himself, all he managed to do was flip head over heels and land on his back, his cloak over his head.

He heard the horse whinny in amusement. Stupid horse, he thought.

He pulled his cloak from off his face and froze. There was a man standing before him. Just at his feet. He held a longsword pointed at Heden’s throat, its blade catching the sunlight that streamed through the leaves hundreds of feet above. The horse wasn’t commenting on Heden’s athleticism, it was trying to alert Heden to the presence of the stranger.

He was a knight without a helm. He wore plate, but it was plate for the working day. None of the frippery Heden saw the White Hart sport back in Celkirk, all ornament for show. This was smooth. Worn smooth by many blows and repairs. Not gleaming silver, but dull grey. There seemed to be a pattern etched into it, but it was spotty and Heden couldn’t make it out. The man’s sword looked just as well-used. Heden thought he sensed some sorcery on the blade, but didn’t think it mattered. He was guessing any knight alone in the Wode who could get the drop on him wouldn’t need a sorcerous blade to be a threat to him. Not at this distance. Not with Heden on his ass.

Without moving the sword at Heden’s throat, and without making a noise, the knight looked around. Checking to see if there was anyone else around.

“I’m alone,” Heden volunteered.

The knight took one more survey of the area, and then a step back. But did not lower the sword or in any other way change his posture. Heden sat up a little, but made no other attempt to rise.

“Yeah,” the knight said. “I can see that.” He turned full around, checking for something, and then back to Heden.

“You’re alone alright.” There was sarcasm in his voice, some kind of judgment.

“I have a horse,” Heden said in his own defense.

The knight looked at the horse, happily ignoring both of them, deforesting the wode, thinking horsey thoughts.

“That’s debatable,” the knight said. He hadn’t put the sword down.

A moment passed. Neither man spoke.

“We just going to sit here like this?” Heden asked.

“You’re going to sit there like that,” the knight said.

“Ok,” Heden said, giving up.

The knight made his way to the horse. He moved like a wolf. When he reached the horse, he rifled through Heden’s gear. Threw open the flap of Heden’s pack and pushed his arm in. Heden watched the knight’s eyes go wide, he pulled back and looked at the pack, and then thrust his arm in up to the shoulder. The small pack swallowed his arm.

He pulled his arm out, closed the flap, and took the pack. He rounded the horse, continuing his inspection. Then he made his way back to Heden.

Heden relaxed and laid his head against the root, looked up at the canopy of leaves, and ignored the knight.

The knight stood over Heden for a few moments more, and then sheathed his sword. He leaned down and extended his hand.

“Come on,” he said. Heden took his hand and pulled himself up, grateful for the help.

“What are you doing here?” the knight asked.

“I think I’m looking for you,” Heden said, brushing the dirt and dead leaves off his ass.

“Me?” the knight took a step back and gave him a doubtful appraisal. He had a round head, his copper hair cut so short Heden wondered what the point was. He was a little bigger than Heden, but seemed thinner. Heden considered his own judgment of men to be keen, and he saw in this knight a kindred spirit.

“I’m looking for the Green Order,” Heden said.

The stranger shook his head. “Not me,” he said. “I can take you to them, though.” He jerked his thumb to his left. “They’re in the wode.”

“In the wode?” Heden asked. “This isn’t the wode?”

“Well, I suppose to some,” the knight said. “Not by my reckoning, though. Far as I see it, the wode proper don’t start until you hit the brocc.”

Heden nodded, he understood. The closer, the more intimate your relationship with the forest, the nicer you became with where the wode started and stopped.

“Who are you?” he asked. “What do you do up here?”

The knight shrugged and extended his hand a little bit behind him. Responding to no obvious command, Heden’s horse wandered over until the knight was able to grab the horse’s reins. “There’s a living to be made here, like any other,” he said. “Come on.”

He started off, leading Heden’s horse, and Heden noticed the footpath had come back.

“Where’d this come from?” he asked.

“Eh?”

“This path. We followed it in,” he said, promoting his horse to a companion, “but it disappeared.”

The knight smiled. “It happens,” he said. “Path this small, you wander off for only a moment, suddenly you can’t see it for all the brush. You spend enough time in here,” he said, “you learn where they are.”

Maybe this wasn’t a knight, Heden thought. He seemed more like a woodsman. Spoke like any man from Durham Keep.

“You know Durham Keep?” Heden asked.

The man scowled liked Heden had insulted him, “’Course I do,” he said. “Durham Keep and Gravesford. Villane, Hoddenhill. Tane and Sealton Heath. ‘Course I know them, what kind of question is that? Where are you from?”

The knight, or whatever he was, led Heden’s horse, and Heden walked along with.

“South,” Heden said. “I’ve come a long way to talk to these knights.”

“Well,” the knight said. “They’re not going to want to talk to you.”

Heden sighed as the two men and the horse walked at a leisurely pace through the woods. With company, the place seemed far less threatening. Mundane. Even beautiful.

“How come?” he asked, and realized he’d slipped back into the northern dialect. ‘How come’ instead of ‘why?’

“They don’t like people,” the man said.

“That’s a…” Heden cleared his throat and tried to master his own manner of speech. “That covers a lot.”

The knight shrugged. “It’s how they are.”

Heden let a moment pass in silence.

“How are they?”

“Pretty high-handed,” the knight said wearily. Heden concluded this man had dealt with the Green often, and they did not come off favorably in his estimation. “Rarely leave the forest, so they don’t spend much time around men. They’re rude. Full of themselves. Don’t seem to get along much with each other, neither. Each one,” he said, and stretched his arm across half the forest around them, “covers leagues on his own. Alone for months. I think maybe they’re a little mad,” he said.

“Covers the forest doing what?” Heden asked.

The knight shrugged. “Keep the beasties in line. The urq, the thyrs mostly. The elgenwights. Stop them from raiding the towns.”

“You get elgenwights this far south?” Heden interrupted.

“Oh sure,” the knight said throwing a glance at Heden. “Them and the brocc, always at it. The brocc are mostly on our side,” he said. Heden nodded, he knew that.

“The fae, too,” the knight said. “Kids from the towns come into the forest on a dare, and the fae snatch them up. Don’t mean nothing by it, they don’t know any better. But still,” the knight said.

“But still,” Heden echoed, knowing the fae as he did. “How far are they?” he asked.

“Few miles,” the knight said. “They have a chapel they all gather at,” Heden presumed he meant the priory the bishop spoke of. “But it’ll take the better part of a day. We’ll skirt the brocc territory. They’re devils when they’re riled up. I have a hard enough time dealing with them alone. I try and bring a stranger through, there’ll be trouble no matter what.”

Heden realized why he found the knight so easy to talk to. He’s a campaigner, Heden thought.

“Where’s your company?” Heden took a chance.

“My company?” the knight said, his lip curling at the strangeness of the question.

“Man like you,” Heden said, looking down at his feet eating up the distance. Passing the time. “All alone up here. You know the order, you know the brocc. Doesn’t figure. I’m guessing you’re a campaigner.” Like I was.

“Not me,” he said. “Not a ratcatcher. I was a squire,” the knight said with some wistful bitterness. “Prenticed to a knight. But he…he’s dead. Just me now.”

Heden and the knight and the horse walked through the forest. Heden didn’t say anything.

“Well, these knights sound like complete shits,” he said, changing the subject.

The knight with him smiled. “Aye,” he said. “So what brings you to meet them?”

Heden sighed. “I don’t know,” he said.

“You’ve come a long way for ‘I don’t know.’”

“Yeah,” Heden agreed. “There’s some kind of crisis in this order and someone at the high city,” he said, not mentioning the bishop, “decided I should come up here and look into it.”

He was being vague, but only because the details confused him. Death, possibly murder, of a man he hadn’t met, by something or someone he didn’t know, and the forest conspiring to keep people out. A conspiracy he seemed to have thwarted.

“Why you?” the knight asked.

“Shit,” Heden said. “I have no idea.”

“Seems strange,” the knight said.

“What?”

“Just seems strange to send a man all the way up here without telling him much of why. You some kind of expert on knights?”

Heden barked a laugh. “I hate knights.”

“Really?”

“They’re insufferable pricks. Present company excluded.”

The knight hung his head. “I never earned my spurs,” he said. “My master died before the ceremony.” That left the squire in a perpetual loophole, but usually another knight in the order would finish his training. Probably the other knights all had squires.

“You up here all alone, dealing with the elgenwights, the thyrs. Any man would say you were a knight,” Heden said. Aware that for most squires, the opinions of those outside the order were meaningless.

The knight looked at him and smiled. “Thanks,” he said.

“What order are you with?” Heden asked.

“It don’t seem strange to you,” the knight asked, ignoring Heden, “they send someone up here who hates knights? They don’t tell him anything about what’s going on?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“You come all the way up from the high city and you didn’t think about it?”

“I…,” Heden started. He shook his head. “They wanted someone who could deal with the knights on special terms,” he didn’t tell the knight his real station. His relationship with the bishop. “Probably they thought sending their own knights up might get people in trouble. They wanted someone to solve the problem, not make it worse.”

“How you going to solve the problem?” the squire asked.

“I don’t know,” Heden admitted. “I’m not sure I care anymore,” he remembered the inn. His heart clenched at the idea that he might suffer another attack here in the wode, and he wanted to go home. “I just want to do my job and go home.”

The knight stopped, the horse stopped. Heden took another few steps and then realized the knight was no longer leading them, and he turned around.

“Your job?” the knight asked, tilting his head a little to one side, weighing Heden’s statement.

Heden was confused. “Yeah,” he said. “Deal with their crisis and get out of here. That’s my job.”

“How workmanlike you make it sound,” the knight’s voice had changed a little. His accent was different. “Like a carpenter hired to set a beam.”

Heden shrugged, no defense. “Sorry,” he said. He realized he sounded like a mercenary. He wondered what the knight’s interest in all of this was.

Then he noticed the path had disappeared again.

“We’re off the path,” he said.

“You will not find the Order,” the knight said.

“What?”

“If was a mistake for them to send you.” The knight seemed bitter, almost angry.

Heden looked around. Was this the exact same spot they’d started off in, after walking for a full turn?

He looked at the knight anew. Pointed at him rudely.

“You never told me your name.”

“Dolt,” the knight shot back. “Everything that’s happened and of course they send you. A hundred children in a dozen towns could tell you who I am.”

Heden got goosebumps. “What order are you with?” he asked again, remembering now that the knight had not answered again.

“It matters not,” the knight said. “You will not gain the green chapel.”

“I will not…” Heden repeated. “Who are you to say? What business is it of yours?”

The knight grew visibly wroth and drew his sword. “What business of mine?! No business, clod. Thou dunce. Thou oafish ass. What business of yours?”

Heden stepped back at the drawn sword. Was this a knight of the green order? Was he being tested?

He held his hands up, showing he meant no harm. “I’m just here to….” The knight stepped forward, closing the gap, interrupting him.

“’Just?’” he quoted back. “Just indeed. Just and merely. Merely and barely. Barely here, barely a man. Thou shalt not gain the green chapel, dolt.”

“Well,” Heden said, trying not to let things get away from him. “Then we’re at an impasse, because it’s the only reason I’m here. You said you’d lead me there. Will you?”

“You are here,” the knight sneered, “for no reason of your own.”

Heden took this as a ‘no.’ “Ok,” he said, and turned to continue in the direction he remembered the knight indicated.

The knight leaped forward effortlessly, until he was blocking Heden’s way again.

“Turn around,” the knight said, and pointed his sword at Heden.

“I won’t,” Heden said. “You’re going to have to deal with me here, or let me pass, one or the other.” He took another step forward.

The knight took a step forward as well, until the two men were only two paces apart. He pointed his sword at Heden.

“Quit the field,” the knight pronounced, and in Heden’s eyes he’d changed since they’d met. He seemed physically larger, his armor brighter. The fine detail in it now recognizable as a vine with blooming flowers. “Or I will strike thee down.”

“What are you doing, man?”

“I say thee,” the knight spoke slowly, he pressed the tip of his sword into Heden’s breastplate. “Turn around, and get thee hence from this place, or I shall run ye through and no mistake.”

Heden locked eyes with the knight and covertly dug one booted foot into the dead leaves and dirt. “You think I’m going to turn around now? Because of you?” He leaned a little into the sword point, his plate and mail more than enough to prevent harm. This forced the knight to press back to hold his ground. “You can go stick your prick in a pig’s ass.”

The knight bared his teeth. “Then it be battle between us,” he said.

But at the word ‘battle,’ Heden was already in action. He kicked the dirt and leaves into the face of the knight as he twisted away from the sword. The knight shouted with disorientation as he simultaneously tried to clear his eyes, and stumbled forward as Heden pulled away from the pressing sword point, causing the knight to lose his balance.

In the time it took the knight to recover, Heden drew his own sword, clumsily as he wasn’t used to sword fighting now, but in enough time to clear the scabbard and then hammer the knight in the back of the neck with the pommel as he stumbled past. He could have struck with the edge of the blade, but didn’t know how far the knight would take this.

“Knave!” the knight shouted, and wheeled, swinging his sword around. He was an expert. Better than Heden, even in Heden’s youth, and soon the two men were dancing and scrabbling through the fallen leaves and branches on the floor of the forest. Heden retreating all the while.

Heden spoke a prayer and warded himself. The knight’s eyes went wide with surprise, but he smiled as well, relishing the power of his foe and pressed the attack. As though Heden’s prayers had given him permission to let loose.

It was difficult, maybe impossible, for Heden to fight back while losing ground and think of another prayer at the same time. Too many options. Too many prayers learned and forgotten, and three years in the inn, shut in, alone.

The knight got through his guard, slashed his once across his right arm and when Heden winced, he struck again, stabbing into Heden’s left shoulder.

The pain brought clarity. Prayer wasn’t necessary. Anger would suffice.

And Heden was very angry.

He fought back with new ferocity, and now was pushing the knight back. The more Heden fought, the more ground he gained, the more the knight seemed to enjoy it. The more he smiled. This only angered Heden more.

Sloppy, fighting more with fury than skill, Heden left many openings and though the knight was forced back by Heden’s wild attacks, he countered once, and then struck through Heden’s flailing, thuggish offense. The tip of the knight’s sword sliced at Heden’s neck, cutting a thin line that quickly oozed red.

The knight seemed pleased with himself and dropped his guard, smiling, as though offering Heden a chance to yield.

But Heden couldn’t see the knight’s attitude, his eyes saw only red, and he did not consider yielding.

He slashed out. The blade of his father’s father, not magical, merely very, very sharp, swung around and sliced through the knight’s neck.

He intended to trade sharp cut for sharp cut, and was therefore amazed when his blade cut clean through the knight’s neck, through bone and muscle and sinew. The knights’ eyes went wide with alarm and his mouth opened in surprise as his head flew off his shoulders.

Heden stood gawping. Breathing like a horse having run a league. He was amazed that his blow, not intended to kill, only to scratch, had decapitated his opponent.

But he was more amazed that the knight was not dead. His body did not fall to the ground. Instead it dropped its sword, and raised its hands to where its head once was. Felt the air where once was flesh and bone.

The knights’ head lay in the brush, eyes wide, mouth forming silent words. The head seemed to be talking to the body.

The body wandered over clumsily, bent down, and picked up the head. The knight’s hands placed the head upon his shoulders. He fitted it on like one might set a stone atop a wall, balance it to prevent it from falling off. When he took his hands away, he was whole again.

“Alright, you made your point,” the knight said, scratching his neck. His speech returned to normal. Or its mode when they first met. Heden didn’t know what normal was anymore. He was lost at sea. His mind whirring, immobilizing him, as he tried to find some context, some meaning, behind the headless knight made whole again.

The knight walked forward, approaching Heden, but only reached down to pick up his sword. He looked at Heden anew. Raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe pig-headed bloody-mindedness counts for something.”

He sheathed his sword. “Might be just what you need with that lot,” he said mostly, it seemed, to himself. He looked past Heden and clucked his tongue twice. Heden’s horse walked forward.

Heden, unbelieving, watched as the knight took the horse’s reins, took Heden’s unyielding left hand, and wrapped the reins around it.

“Good luck,” he said, and walked away, around a tree and out of site. Heden’s eyes followed him but he otherwise didn’t move from the spot from which he’d cut off the knight’s head, his mouth still hanging slack.

Then he took a great gulp of air, and burst after the man, knowing what he would find.

The knight had disappeared. There was only Heden’s horse. And the empty wode.

On to Chapter Twenty-two!

chapter 21