One day, perhaps soon, Marl would find a way to supplant even the dread Lord Winterbourne. But first there was the problem of the Moidart.
Few among the ruling classes had not heard of the Lord of the North. He had survived numerous assassination attempts during his thirty-year reign. He had been shot, stabbed, and almost burned to death when the old manor had been set ablaze. Marl drew rein and looked beyond the present house to the blackened timbers and collapsed stones of the old building some distance away within the trees. No attempt seemed to have been made to remove the ruins.
A middle-aged officer with a heavy jaw and tired eyes stepped from the manor house and strode down to meet the riders. He exchanged a few words with the two sentries who had accompanied the Redeemers from the gates, then turned towards Marl.
‘Good afternoon, gentlemen. I am Captain Galliott and I welcome you to the Winter House. I shall show you to your rooms, but first, as is the custom in the north, would you please hand over your weapons to the guards. No knives, swords or pistols are allowed in the earl’s presence.’
‘By heaven, sir,’ said Marl, who had been forewarned of this rule, ‘we are Redeemers and Knights of the Sacrifice. It would be unseemly to surrender our weapons.’
‘Indeed it would, sir,’ said Galliott smoothly, ‘but do not consider it a surrender. You are merely offering a mark of respect to the Moidart. The weapons will be well looked after, and offered to you upon your departure.’
‘Very well,’ said Marl, with a sidelong glance at the slender figure of Kurol Ryder. He carried two knives within his riding boots, long, sharp disembowelling blades. These would suffice.
The three Redeemers dismounted, removed their sword and knife belts and left their pistols in the scabbards upon the pommels of their saddles.
Galliott led them up the steps to the main doors, and then onto the first floor gallery. Here each of the men was assigned a room. Marl’s was the largest. It was comfortably furnished, with a fine bed, fashioned from pine, boasting an ornate headboard. There was a writing desk set by the window, and in the hearth a fire was glowing. ‘I shall have a servant bring you some refreshment, Sir Marl,’ said Galliott.
‘Just a little water, captain. I need to pray and continue my fast until this evening.’
‘Of course, sir. The Moidart is busy at present, but I will send a servant when he is free.’
‘Most kind, captain.’
As Galliott withdrew Marl removed his black riding cloak and draped it over a chair. Then he lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. Despite the training Winter Kay had offered him, and the added energy supplied by the Orb, Marl had never found it easy to break free of the confines of his body. It was always an effort involving intense concentration, and not a little discomfort. Searing head pain always followed. However, he managed it and his spirit floated above the bed. For a moment he gazed down on his form, then slowly drifted through the door and out onto the gallery. Galliott was standing at the bottom of the stairs talking to a soldier. Marl floated closer.
‘They gives me the creeps, captain, and I don’t mind admitting it,’ said the man. ‘All dressed in black and pretending to be holy. I’ve heard stories about them bastards. Freeze your blood it would.’
‘You shouldn’t listen to stories, Packard. They are Knights of the Sacrifice and they are fighting a war on behalf of the king. More than that, though, they are guests of the Moidart, and will be treated with the utmost respect.’
‘I’ll do that right enough, captain. But the sooner they’re gone the better.’
Marl floated on, down the long corridor and through the empty dining hall. He heard voices and entered a room containing two men. One was sitting at a desk, the other standing before him. The conversation was of little note – something to do with tax revenues and the shortfalls caused by the severity of the winter and the death of more livestock than expected. Marl took the opportunity to study the Moidart. The man was slim, the skin of his face drawn tight over high cheekbones. He had long hair, drawn tight over his skull and tied in a pony tail. His clothes were well cut, a jacket of black satin over a white shirt with lace cuffs. He wore no jewellery. Marl moved closer, staring at the man’s face. It was cruel and haughty. Here was a man very much like Winter Kay, a natural ruler who expected instant obedience. Marl could see arrogance in him, and a steely determination. Not a man to flatter unnecessarily. He would read it instantly and feel contempt for the flatterer.