"Leave the simple things to me.
I am well equipped to deal with them."
Ranulf choked on a swallow of pottage. Gareth looked at him with cool disapproval. The young guard quickly composed his face into a serious expression.
Clare did not appear to notice the byplay. She hugged herself and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. "Does it seem to you that there is something rather unpleasant about the smell of the fog?"
"Nay." Gareth rested his hand on the hilt of the Window of Hell. "It smells as all fog smells. Of dampness and the night."
Clare sniffed experimentally. "I think there is another odor embedded in it."
"What odor is that, my lady?" Ranulf asked.
"I do not recognize it," Clare said. "But I do not much care for it."
Hoofbeats sounded in the distance. The light of a torch glowed in the swirling fog.
"Open the gate," a familiar voice shouted from the road. "I have news."
Ranulf leaned over the railing and peered intently down at the man on the horse who had appeared out of the fog. "Tis Maiden Comstock, my lord."
"Open the gate," Gareth ordered. He looked down as the horseman trotted through the gate and into the torchlit courtyard. "What news, Maiden?"
"My lord, a boat carrying five armed men came ashore at the harbor under cover of fog. We killed two, but the others have retreated to a boathouse."
"So the magician did find a way through the mist,"
Ranulf muttered. "Mayhap he really does comprehend the black arts."
Gareth ignored him. "Why have the other three men not been captured, Maiden?"
"They are skilled bowmen, sir. Thus far they have managed to keep our men pinned down. Sir Ulrich has ordered us to wait until they use up all of their arrows. He says we'll have them soon enough."
"Aye. From the sound of things, we will. I'll be right down." Gareth turned to Ranulf. "I'm going to the harbor. You stay here in the tower."
"Aye, my lord." Ranulf looked disappointed, but he did not argue. "Do you believe that one of the men Sir Ulrich and the others have trapped is the magician?"
"I don't know yet. When one is dealing with an alchemist, nothing is for certain."
Clare stirred in the shadows. "My lord, please have a care. I do not like this."
Gareth took a step toward her. He captured her chin in his hand. "Twill all be over by dawn." He kissed her quickly. "Go back into the hall and bar the door. Do not come out for any reason until I return. Do you comprehend me?"
She touched his cheek with gentle fingers. "Aye, my lord."
There was so much he suddenly wanted to say, but this was not the time or the place. Gareth looked into Clare's eyes for a few seconds. "Later. We will talk later." He released her chin and headed for the tower stairs.
The horse that he had ordered to be kept saddled and ready was waiting for him in the courtyard.
William held the beast's head.
"Can I go with you, my lord?"
"Nay." Gareth vaulted onto the horse's back and took up the reins. "You will stay here with Clare and your mother and the servants. You are to guard the inside of the hall while Ranulf keeps watch outside.
Is that understood?"
William straightened his shoulders. "Aye, my lord."
Gareth swung the horse's head around and set off at a gallop into the fog. Maiden Comstock raised his torch and wheeled his own mount to follow.
One of the servants closed the gate solidly behind them.
Ulrich had just completed his task when Gareth and Maiden Comstock reached the harbor. Flickering torches cast a hellish glow over the bodies of the two dead intruders. Three others stood in sullen silence, their hands bound behind them.
A cluster of villagers had emerged from their cottages to watch the excitement.
Gareth dismounted and tossed the reins of his horse to Maiden. "Well done, Ulrich."
"This is the lot," Ulrich said. "They were not much trouble."
Gareth looked at the three surviving bowmen. "Which of you is Lucretius de Valemont?"
The captives stared at him. One shook his head.
Gareth contemplated the men thoughtfully. "There are many ways to die.
Not all of them are swift.
Give me the answers I seek."
One of the bowmen, a barrel-chested man of middle years, peered at him.
"Your men call you the Hellhound of Wyckmere. Do they speak the truth?"
"Aye," Gareth said.
" Tis said your oath is as strong as your sword."
"Aye."
"If we speak the truth, will you give us your word that our ends will be quick?"
"Aye." He had never tortured a man in his entire career as a hunter of cutthroats and thieves, Gareth thought. But there was no need for these three to know that.
The bowman considered for a short time. "The thing is, m'lord, we don't know any Lucretius de Valemont. And that's the truth. I swear it."
"Who hired you?"
The man shrugged. "A masterless knight who called himself Sir Raymond.
He paid us well to come ashore in a boat tonight. He said he knew how to get us through the fog."
"Why did he want you to come here to Desire?"
"Said we'd find easy pickings here in the village. But I swear he said nothing about the isle being defended by the Hellhound's men."
"How did he guide you through the mist?"
The bowman exchanged uneasy glances. The spokesman looked at Gareth.
"Sir Raymond came with us. He gave us directions after he consulted some magical device that he kept hidden in his cloak."
"Magic." One of the bowmen spat on the ground in disgust. "Told ye we should never have taken up with his kind. I never liked this business, even if that damned renegade knight did promise us enough loot from the convent to sink a ship."
The third man glowered at him. "Ye were eager enough to talk Brock and Dagget and the rest of us into it. We'd be set for life, ye said. Instead, we're all going to hang, thanks to ye."
Gareth rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, effectively silencing the argument. "Where is this Sir Raymond?"
"Like Brock told ye, we don't know, m'lord," one of the men said.
The spokesman stirred uneasily. "He got out of our boat a few yards offshore. He climbed into a smaller boat that we had brought along to carry the booty. Said he'd meet up with us later at the convent gate. Then he up and disappeared in the fog."
Gareth stilled. "And you five continued on into the harbor?"
"Aye. Not like we had any choice in the matter. We could not return to Seabern in this fog without Sir Raymond and his damned magical device." The bowman gave a fatalistic shrug. "Your men were waiting for us on the quay and that was the end of the thing."
"Me ma always said I'd finish me life at the end of a rope," one of the other bowmen remarked.
Ulrich looked at Gareth. "These three may well be lying, my lord."
"Aye." Gareth scanned the faces of the bowmen. He saw nothing in their eyes but stupidity and dumb resignation. He looked at the two dead bodies on the quay. "Fetch Dalian."
"Aye, my lord. He joined us earlier," Ulrich turned to the men gathered nearby. "Dalian, come here, lad. We need your help."
There was no response.
"He's not here, sir," one of the men-at-arms said. He looked around in confusion. "Mayhap he was injured by one of the bowmen's arrows."
"I'll check with the villagers," Maiden said. He went over to the small cluster of curious onlookers.
When he returned a moment later, his eyes were grave.
"Well?" Gareth asked.
"Dalian seems to have vanished, my lord."
Ulrich looked thoughtful. "I warned you the lad might well prove dangerous, my lord. Mayhap he has lied to you all along."