Read Online Count Scar - SA by C. Dale Brittain, Robert A. Bouchard - Free Book Online
Authors: C. Dale Brittain, Robert A. Bouchard
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question of their authenticity. "The religious house our capellanus comes from was built on what was once Peyrefixade land," I told Bruno, leafing through the records while seated with my feet up in a window seat in the great hall. If I turned my head I could look out the narrow window at clouds scudding across the ridges, first obscuring and then revealing distant peaks much taller than mine. "And the brothers pasture their sheep on more land that the countess's grandfather gave them, and grind their grain in a mill theirs by his gift."
"So is that why his Order wants him here?" suggested Bruno. He sat on the floor beside me, sharpening his knife. "Keep an eye on you, make sure the new count doesn't try to claim it back?"
"That would make sense from the canons' point of view," I said with a frown, "but it doesn't explain the duke. Sending Brother Melchior here seems to have been our duke's idea—certainly not Melchior's own. But the county of Peyrefixade must be, at least potentially, the most troublesome in his duchy. If, for example, I decided to defy him or to make an alliance with the princes south of the border, he would have real trouble rousting me out. Perhaps he's hoping that a priest from the Order of the Three Kings will encourage me to make even more gifts to his Order, thus ensuring that I never have a strong material base from which to threaten him."
Inwardly I wondered, as I had several times before, if the duke's hints about his daughter were also part of a plan to keep me even from thinking of challenging him.
The emperor had confidently assumed that his sworn liege men would never turn on him, and I would be sworn to Duke Argave at the end of the week, but perhaps here in the south they anticipated that men would break their word.
"I don't understand about that priest," said Bruno with a quick look around and a lowered voice, though there was no one nearby. "He's supposed to be a Magian, but I haven't seen him do any magic yet. Even the bouteillier can do better tricks than he can. And if the priest's whole Order is made up of conjurers, why can't they just conjure food and clothing out of the air rather than having to make it like everybody else?"
"You'll have to ask Melchior that yourself," I said, returning to the charters. "It looks as though the late Countess Aenor tried to take back some of her grandfathers pious gifts after she inherited."
"Did the canons use magic to stop her?" asked Bruno, interested.
"I don't know. All I have is the record of the agreement when the quarrel ended." I skimmed through the document, puzzling over some of the words in the antique language still used for formal charters. "This suggests, without actually saying so, that they threatened to stop praying for her grandfather and for her own parents, who had died earlier. They all seem to be buried at their religious house."
"Well, they couldn't be buried here on the mountain," said Bruno reasonably. "No soil to speak of—certainly not six feet of it."
"Earlier counts must have had a mausoleum," I said absently. "Maybe that's what those rumors I've heard about secret passages here were all about—though Raymbaud's map didn't show any mausoleum."
"There weren't earlier counts," said Bruno unexpectedly. He held up his knife to the light, squinting to judge the sharpness of the blade. "Your great-grandfather was the first count at Peyrefixade. The castle was built by the heretics, those people who call themselves the Perfected."
"How did you learn that?" I demanded, swinging my feet to the floor. "There are no charters in here more than forty years old." This was my castle and should not have such dark secrets in its past, certainly not secrets I didn't even know.
Bruno grinned. "Talking to some of the servants. You can learn a lot that way. Men will tell things to another servant they'd never tell a master."
"And that's why I put up with having you around," I said good-naturedly, leaning back again. "But tell me
"So is that why his Order wants him here?" suggested Bruno. He sat on the floor beside me, sharpening his knife. "Keep an eye on you, make sure the new count doesn't try to claim it back?"
"That would make sense from the canons' point of view," I said with a frown, "but it doesn't explain the duke. Sending Brother Melchior here seems to have been our duke's idea—certainly not Melchior's own. But the county of Peyrefixade must be, at least potentially, the most troublesome in his duchy. If, for example, I decided to defy him or to make an alliance with the princes south of the border, he would have real trouble rousting me out. Perhaps he's hoping that a priest from the Order of the Three Kings will encourage me to make even more gifts to his Order, thus ensuring that I never have a strong material base from which to threaten him."
Inwardly I wondered, as I had several times before, if the duke's hints about his daughter were also part of a plan to keep me even from thinking of challenging him.
The emperor had confidently assumed that his sworn liege men would never turn on him, and I would be sworn to Duke Argave at the end of the week, but perhaps here in the south they anticipated that men would break their word.
"I don't understand about that priest," said Bruno with a quick look around and a lowered voice, though there was no one nearby. "He's supposed to be a Magian, but I haven't seen him do any magic yet. Even the bouteillier can do better tricks than he can. And if the priest's whole Order is made up of conjurers, why can't they just conjure food and clothing out of the air rather than having to make it like everybody else?"
"You'll have to ask Melchior that yourself," I said, returning to the charters. "It looks as though the late Countess Aenor tried to take back some of her grandfathers pious gifts after she inherited."
"Did the canons use magic to stop her?" asked Bruno, interested.
"I don't know. All I have is the record of the agreement when the quarrel ended." I skimmed through the document, puzzling over some of the words in the antique language still used for formal charters. "This suggests, without actually saying so, that they threatened to stop praying for her grandfather and for her own parents, who had died earlier. They all seem to be buried at their religious house."
"Well, they couldn't be buried here on the mountain," said Bruno reasonably. "No soil to speak of—certainly not six feet of it."
"Earlier counts must have had a mausoleum," I said absently. "Maybe that's what those rumors I've heard about secret passages here were all about—though Raymbaud's map didn't show any mausoleum."
"There weren't earlier counts," said Bruno unexpectedly. He held up his knife to the light, squinting to judge the sharpness of the blade. "Your great-grandfather was the first count at Peyrefixade. The castle was built by the heretics, those people who call themselves the Perfected."
"How did you learn that?" I demanded, swinging my feet to the floor. "There are no charters in here more than forty years old." This was my castle and should not have such dark secrets in its past, certainly not secrets I didn't even know.
Bruno grinned. "Talking to some of the servants. You can learn a lot that way. Men will tell things to another servant they'd never tell a master."
"And that's why I put up with having you around," I said good-naturedly, leaning back again. "But tell me
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