The Black Chalice Read Free Page B

looked behind where they had come, there was only woodland, shimmering with sun.
    This tale they told to the bishop of Ravensbruck, who promptly ordered an escort of soldiers, and went in search of the castle. He would exorcise it, he said, and cast the woman out, for all this kingdom belonged now to Christ. Like the triumphant ravagers of Dorn, the bishop and his escort were never seen again.
    But the two priests could not forget that magic place. However much they prayed and fasted and did penance, they could not free themselves from memories, or from their longing to go back again. One at last undertook a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and died in the journey. The other withdrew to an isolated monastery, where, according to the stories, he ended his days quite mad.
    * * *
    “Perhaps we shouldn’t go there after all, my lord.”
    Paul’s heart leapt at the seneschal’s words, but he said nothing, his face lowered as he unfastened his master’s hauberk in their small, ugly room.
    Reinhard was sitting with his back to the door, his arms resting lightly on his knees. He would spend the night there, perhaps lying down for a few hours of sleep, or perhaps not; but no enemy would enter the room without killing him first. A good man, Reinhard was, loyal and solid as a rock. But he was no match for Karelian in mind or in spirit, and he never would be— a fact which pleased Paul very much, though it shamed him to admit it.
    “You’re very serious about this,” Karelian said.
    “I fear no enemy I can see, my lord,” the knight said stoutly. “I think you know it well—”
    “I do,” Karelian interrupted him, smiling faintly.
    “But these evil things…! What harm would be done if we returned to Karn? Count Arnulf won’t blame you for the delay, knowing the bridge is gone. And besides, the wedding won’t be till after Twelfthnight.”
    The count sat on his bed, and Paul dropped to one knee to begin tugging off his boots.
    “Faithful Pauli,” Karelian said to him. “You haven’t said a word, but you also think we should go back to Karn, don’t you?”
    Paul faltered, staring at him. There was warmth in Karelian’s eyes, but there was also a kind of weariness— the weariness of a man who was always stronger than the men around him, and who sometimes got tired of it.
    There is no reason in the world to go back to Karn. That was what Paul wanted to say. We are men, we are warriors, we are lords. Are we going to be scared off by wood nymphs and ghosts?
    And in another part of himself, he wanted even more desperately to say: Oh, please, my good lord, let’s turn back! It’s dangerous there, and we’ve no reason to go, and everyone’s afraid…!
    “It’s for your lordship to decide,” he said. He had meant to speak firmly, like a brave knight eager to follow wherever his liege might go. But his voice was small and dry, and gave him away completely.
    “I see,” Karelian said. “Well then, listen, both of you, and I’ll tell you something, and maybe you’ll rest easier for it. Before we left the Holy Land, I went to see a mage in Acre, a man whom other knights had spoken of—”
    Paul sank onto his heels, appalled. “A Saracen?” he whispered.
    “He told me many extraordinary things, some of which I knew already, and some of which I still don’t understand. And he also told me this: I might go safely where other men saw danger, and I should most fear danger where other men believed they were safe. So….” He smiled, and tousled Paul’s hair lightly. “I don’t think we’ll have much to fear in Helmardin.”
    “You trust the prophecy of a Saracen, my lord?” Reinhard asked harshly.
    Karelian stood up, his easy mood broken in a breath, and the seneschal hurried on: “I’m only thinking of your welfare, my lord—”
    “And so am I,” the count said grimly. He walked to the window, staring out at nothing, for the night was overcast and black. “I’ve looked for guidance in many places over the