Chapter 8.1

We did not rush back to Songless Castle. None of us was anxious to account for ourselves to our lord, or to explain why his betrothed refused to come to him. The inns along the way were much more comfortable than the carriage, and I had my harp and my lady to occupy me. Jason and Ison had their dice and the beer, and Charles had his prayer book. When the storms rolled through, we stayed longer than we had to in rented rooms.

It was with regret that we rolled up the road along the Gateway River and into the town below the castle. Snowflakes danced in the air, and the puddles in the street were crusted with ice. On the motte above us, the castle towers thrust up into the cloud-filled sky.

"Is that Songless?" Elise asked, peering out the window.

I nodded.

"It’s small, and quiet."

It did seem so, after Rockridge.

"We’ve only got the river to guard," Charles explained.

We turned a corner and trundled past the church. The doors were still tied shut with black cloth, though it was ragged with age. Elise looked at this, then peered up at the bell tower, muffled in swaths of black cloth. "Why is that building in mourning?"

"It’s our Cathedral," Charles said solemnly, though Cathedral was much too big a word for the building. "It’s closed to worship, until the day that the Old Lord makes his amends with the Bishop of Slatten. Though that may be hard, what with him being judged by a higher judge now."

"Did you ever go there?"

He nodded. "I was baptized properly – but it was closed before I could take communion."

"And where’s the Guildhall?"

I pointed to the other side of the street, where snow-draped bushes covered the rotten remains of scorched timbers.

She frowned.

"That was the Bard-killers best work," Charles said, but his voice was sour. "That’s what upset the church."