Since none of her boy children had survived infancy, she had long ago promised her eldest daughter, Djoodith, that title and lands and wealth would, upon the death of Komees Hari, go to the girl’s husband, Eeahgos of Mahrtospolis, second son of the komees of that city, a Kath-ahrohs or pure-blood Ehleen and, most important, a good Christian. She knew the Bastard to be as much a pagan as his horse-loving, Christ-hating father. To declare him legitimate and confirm him heir would be to dash her fondest hopes and dreams; it would mean that, barring a heaven-sent miracle, never would she live to see the lands and monies of Daiviz reaffirmed to the service of God and the True Faith-from which service they had been stolen by her husband’s barbarian forebears.
She had confided her hopes and her fears to her only peer then a member of the Thirds-dear, sweet Myros of De-skahti. It was thanks only to him and to the few other fine, upstanding men who clove still to the old loyalties that Komees Hari’s nefarious design had not been accomplished three years ago.
Because he knew of her fears of her husband and the Bastard, knew of her unparalleled devotion to the Faith, knew of her love for all things Ehleen and her deep and uncompromising contempt for the Kindred and all they represented, Myros had first approached her, dropped a few hints of the planned glories, then introduced her to the new kooreeos of Morguhn, the saintly Skiros.
She had become one of the very few women and the only noble woman who had been initiated into the Deeper Mysteries of the Faith, and, if she had been a zealous Christian previously, the witnessing of her first Holy Sacrifice made her a fanatic. The spurt of blood under the keen edge of the Holy Skiros’ knife, the dying screams of the pagan child whom he was sending to God, had fulfilled in her a longing which she had never before recognized.
And when she partook of that Communion Cup, she had known to the innermost fiber of her being that the blood of that pagan child truly had been transmuted into the authentic Blood of Christ, for she could feel that precious holiness spreading out from her vitals, permeating the whole of her being with its blessed goodness. Since that miraculous event, she had never missed any of the necessarily rare and clandestine repetitions; indeed, on one occasion when the blessed Skiros had lacked a Sacrifice, she had contributed little Ehlaina, her pretty blond love girl.
She had hoped to take both the Bastard and his retainer alive so that the personal priest, recently sent her by the Holy Skiros, might offer them as Sacrifice, and all true Christians in her hall, especially her three daughters, might be recipients of that all-encompassing holy goodness. Which was another reason why the defections of her girls had so maddened her. Nor had the defeat of her alternate plan improved her disposition.
Red Death, the blood-bay king stallion of Komees Hari’s herds, had been an object of her hatred since, upon the death of his predecessor-the redoubtable Boar Killer-her husband had bought him back from the barbarian princeling whose warhorse he had been. In the nearly ten years since this dumb, brute animal had been brought from the north, she had watched in sick hatred as the komees evinced more and ever more friendship and respect and, yes, even love for the huge beast. He lavished more devotion on that horse than ever he had on her or their daughters, yet had the temerity to brutally denounce the civilized pleasures she took with her succession of love girls as depraved and unnatural!
Still trembling with rage at the escape of the Bastard, she had called to her Gaios Morguhn-despite his name and un-Ehleen appearance, he was a good and dutiful son of the Holy Church-and ordered him to mindcall Red Death. It would do her heart good to see him, at least, butchered to the Glory of Christ
Knowing the dangers inherent in displeasing the Lady Hehrah, even when she chanced to be in a good mood, Gaios fidgeted uncomfortably and slowly shook his red-blond head. “My . . . my lady, the . . . the king stallion will . . . will only respond to the mindcall of … of Lord Hari.”