«What the devil?» Kenneth muttered under his breath, as he kneed his mount out of line and gigged it hard along the procession past Alyce and his son, the Kierney captain right behind him, to pull up sharply next to Trevor and the bannerbearer. Behind him, he could hear growing consternation as the others also began to realize what had happened here at Hallowdale. In the square ahead, several dozen men and women were turning to regard them warily, even defiantly. The smoking stake told its own story.

«Dear, sweet Jesu», Kenneth whispered, slowly signing himself with the Cross. And then, turning to the Kierney captain: «Sir Thomas, leave me half your men and turn the column around. Get the women and children out of here. Wait at the outskirts of the town. Trevor, Xander, men of Lendour, you’re with me!»

As though the move had been rehearsed, Sir Thomas and half a dozen of the Kierney men turned the column and fell back, bearing the women and children and baggage animals with them as Trevor and Xander formed up the rest behind Kenneth and his Lendouri men-at-arms. As Kenneth pressed his mount forward, his hard gaze searched the upturned faces of the folk who reluctantly parted before him — defiant faces at first, but gradually giving way to his tight-jawed scrutiny, guiltily averting their eyes. Without being told, his knights fanned out behind him to line the eastern edge of the square, halting with hands on swordhilts.

With Trevor at his side and Xander and his bannerbearer following behind him, Kenneth slowly rode all the way around the remains of the pyre, the clip-clop of the horses’ steel-shod hooves the only sound save for the faint jingle of harness and the whuffles of the waiting knights’ tight-reined steeds. He forced himself to look closely at what was still chained to the stake in the center of the burned-out pyre, and realized that there had been two victims of this town’s hatred. One, by its size, could only have been a child.

«Who is in charge here?» he demanded, completing his circuit and turning his horse to confront the villagers, searching the faces that now would not meet his gaze.

«I am the Earl of Lendour. I asked who was in charge», he repeated, his tone sharper now. «By what possible authority has this been done?»

Silence.

«You have usurped the king’s High Justice. I want to know by what authority. Speak, or I shall have every man-jack of you flogged until you do — and the women as well, if I do not get an answer! You did not spare them» — he jerked a gloved hand toward the evidence before him — «and I shall not spare you, if I do not receive an immediate explanation».

«They was Deryni», said a sullen voice from the back of the crowd.

«What?» Kenneth turned his horse in the direction of the voice. «Who spoke?»

«They was Deryni», the voice repeated, as a bandy-legged man with an enormous beard moved clear of the others and gazed up at him defiantly. «And we carried out God’s justice. The Deryni be an accursed race, an’ those transgressed against His law».

He gestured toward the pyre and spat, an eloquent gesture of contempt. Aghast, Kenneth kneed his horse closer to stare down at the man, aware of Trevor half a horse-length behind.

«And who decided that God’s law had been transgressed?» he demanded. «Tell me! Who?»

«Th’ priests», another man sneered. «Who d’ye think? Th’ bishop’s preachers come last week, an’ told us what to look for. They was Deryni, all right», he said belligerently, jutting his chin in the direction of the stakes.

For a moment Kenneth merely sat there, numb with shock, trying to fathom the kind of hatred that could have made good men commit such evil. The reference to bishops’ preachers raised strong suspicions about who might have been behind this latest incident of hatred against Deryni — there had long been rumors that Bishop Oliver de Nore’s followers sometimes burned Deryni in the region — but he had never thought to come across an incident firsthand. Being married to a Deryni wife, and one for whom de Nore held a particular hatred, he dared not undertake an immediate investigation of wayward preachers on his own, or challenge their bishop, but he would certainly report this to the king.

«I cannot accept that a loving God had this in mind for even the most notorious sinners», he finally said coldly, sweeping them with his hard gaze.

«The holy Scriptures say that sinners will burn in hell», a new speaker made bold to say.

«Perhaps after the Final Judgement!» Kenneth snapped. «But it was not your place to pronounce that judgement, nor to administer punishment».

«That isn’t what the priest said!» another voice shouted.

«What?»

«We knew what to do», the first man sneered. «The woman thought she was better’n us, an’ conjured up poisons an’ cast spells on innocent folk, an’ worked her evil magic so her man could get what was nay his! We dealt wi’ him, too». His sly glance over his shoulder drew Kenneth’s attention to the body hanging from an upper window of a nearby building, and his jaw dropped.

«And what of the child?» he demanded. «What of the innocent child?»

«She were a bad seed! An’ how could she be otherwise, with twa sich parents?» one of the women blurted. «Now she canna follow her mam’s evil example».

Now well and truly disgusted, Kenneth briefly closed his eyes, schooling himself to forbearance — for he knew how close he was to snapping — that he must not mete out judgement on his own, in the heat of his anger and outrage, without taking more dispassionate counsel.

«You have done a terrible, wicked thing», he finally said, his voice low and deadly. «All of you will answer to God for it in the Hereafter, and to the king in this life — for be certain that I shall report to him what I have seen. In the meantime, you will take what is left of those wretched souls and give them decent burial».

«Respectfully, we will not, my lord», said an educated voice he had not heard before, from off to the left.

Kenneth swiveled in his saddle to search out the new speaker: a tall, gangly individual in a mud-colored monk’s robe, sharp eyes as black as coal.

«You refuse to do this? You, a cleric? Even the Church does not deny decent burial to Deryni».

«These were not decent Deryni», another man said. «We will not do it».

«And if you force them to do it», said the monk, «they will simply dig up the remains after you have gone, and throw them in the river».

Kenneth was not normally a man to admit defeat, but he knew when he was fighting a battle that could not be won, at least for now.

«Very well», he said quietly. «It seems I cannot keep you from your folly. But know that the matter does not end here. Look to your souls, people of Hallowdale, for your God certainly shall do so. And your king shall certainly know of this as well».

With that, he wheeled his horse around and rode out of that place, Trevor and his escort falling in behind him.