thought.
He didn't know if he wanted the nightmares or not, though they were the closest thing to memories he had. He did know he didn't want the skull-splitting pain that waking from the nightmares always brought. Bastien groaned and flung an arm over his eyes. His hand came down on the jug Warin had left behind. Wine, perhaps, more than dreaming, had brought on this morning's agony. He remembered that he and Warin had talked deep into the night, but he had no idea what they'd discussed. It was often that way with Warin. Sikes's man brought strong wine raided from French merchants as they traveled along the port roads.
The potent drink always tasted foul, but it brought forgetfulness to Bastien. He didn't know why he was grateful for the wine's effect, since he'd forgotten enough for a lifetime already, but he always welcomed Warin into his hut.
Until the morning came tromping heavily on his head.
"There's a price to be paid for peace," he said, and was surprised that he had the strength to croak out even those words.
"Well, you look like you've paid enough for now," Cynric said from nearby.
Bastien was glad the old man was in the hut. "Is Warin gone?" he asked through the pain. The price for leadership was ignoring any hurt to body or soul.
Especially hurt he'd been fool enough to inflict on himself.
"Warin left before the first light," Cynric answered. "I set Odda to follow him.
He came back an hour ago."
Attention to details was another key to leadership. Bastien had been trying to Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm
find Sikes's camp for some time. It bothered him that the elusive old fox knew his band's whereabouts but kept his own hiding hole secret.
Bastien made himself sit up as he asked, "And?"
"And Odda lost Warin's trail near Lilydrake."
"Damn." Bastien scrubbed his hands across his face, scraping the palms on beard stubble. His mouth felt like something furry had used it for a den. When he looked up, Cynric's gaze was riveted worriedly on him. "Yes?"
"Did you dream, Bas?"
Shadow figures skittered and faded across his mind. No image stayed long enough to be securely caught. "I dreamed."
"Thought so." Cynric paused, then added, "You called out a woman's name."
Excitement rushed through Bastien's blood. He lifted his head eagerly. "A name?
Who?"
Cynric cleared his throat, then he licked his lips while Bastien waited impatiently. Finally, he said, "Isabeau."
"Isabeau?" Bastien repeated the word, but it made no sense. He didn't know anyone named Isa—. "Oh, her."
He got up and walked from the hut. Cynric followed him out. The day was mercifully overcast, the breeze cool against his throbbing temples.
"Odda brought news."
Bastien turned his head at Cynric's words. "Of Sikes? You said he lost Warin."
"That he did. Near Lilydrake."
Bastien was tired of hearing the name. "What is Lilydrake to me?" The place where my heart's buried , he mourned silently. His heart and his sanity. The saints knew how he would have survived if Cynric hadn't found him as he Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm
wandered mad and feverish away from that cursed castle. He could remember being at the gate with a woman—his wife—though he could not conjure the image of a face and form he knew he loved.
"Lady Isabeau's in residence at the castle."
"The place is a burned wreck." It hurt to say the words in a calm, cold voice. He remembered fire, and screams, and running and running until his lungs nearly burst. He'd run away from Lilydrake. "The place is cursed."
"Perhaps, Bas, but the good lady is there. She has workmen repairing the walls.
And…" Cynric paused dramatically.
"Out with it."
"The sheriff's in residence as well."
"Reynard? At Lilydrake? Not two miles from our camp?" Cynric nodded. "Come to hunt us down with the lady's help, has he?"
"Now, we don't know that the lady is helping him. She was friendly to us when we were prisoners, you'll recall my telling you."
"Aristocrats care nothing for peasants like
He didn't know if he wanted the nightmares or not, though they were the closest thing to memories he had. He did know he didn't want the skull-splitting pain that waking from the nightmares always brought. Bastien groaned and flung an arm over his eyes. His hand came down on the jug Warin had left behind. Wine, perhaps, more than dreaming, had brought on this morning's agony. He remembered that he and Warin had talked deep into the night, but he had no idea what they'd discussed. It was often that way with Warin. Sikes's man brought strong wine raided from French merchants as they traveled along the port roads.
The potent drink always tasted foul, but it brought forgetfulness to Bastien. He didn't know why he was grateful for the wine's effect, since he'd forgotten enough for a lifetime already, but he always welcomed Warin into his hut.
Until the morning came tromping heavily on his head.
"There's a price to be paid for peace," he said, and was surprised that he had the strength to croak out even those words.
"Well, you look like you've paid enough for now," Cynric said from nearby.
Bastien was glad the old man was in the hut. "Is Warin gone?" he asked through the pain. The price for leadership was ignoring any hurt to body or soul.
Especially hurt he'd been fool enough to inflict on himself.
"Warin left before the first light," Cynric answered. "I set Odda to follow him.
He came back an hour ago."
Attention to details was another key to leadership. Bastien had been trying to Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm
find Sikes's camp for some time. It bothered him that the elusive old fox knew his band's whereabouts but kept his own hiding hole secret.
Bastien made himself sit up as he asked, "And?"
"And Odda lost Warin's trail near Lilydrake."
"Damn." Bastien scrubbed his hands across his face, scraping the palms on beard stubble. His mouth felt like something furry had used it for a den. When he looked up, Cynric's gaze was riveted worriedly on him. "Yes?"
"Did you dream, Bas?"
Shadow figures skittered and faded across his mind. No image stayed long enough to be securely caught. "I dreamed."
"Thought so." Cynric paused, then added, "You called out a woman's name."
Excitement rushed through Bastien's blood. He lifted his head eagerly. "A name?
Who?"
Cynric cleared his throat, then he licked his lips while Bastien waited impatiently. Finally, he said, "Isabeau."
"Isabeau?" Bastien repeated the word, but it made no sense. He didn't know anyone named Isa—. "Oh, her."
He got up and walked from the hut. Cynric followed him out. The day was mercifully overcast, the breeze cool against his throbbing temples.
"Odda brought news."
Bastien turned his head at Cynric's words. "Of Sikes? You said he lost Warin."
"That he did. Near Lilydrake."
Bastien was tired of hearing the name. "What is Lilydrake to me?" The place where my heart's buried , he mourned silently. His heart and his sanity. The saints knew how he would have survived if Cynric hadn't found him as he Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm
wandered mad and feverish away from that cursed castle. He could remember being at the gate with a woman—his wife—though he could not conjure the image of a face and form he knew he loved.
"Lady Isabeau's in residence at the castle."
"The place is a burned wreck." It hurt to say the words in a calm, cold voice. He remembered fire, and screams, and running and running until his lungs nearly burst. He'd run away from Lilydrake. "The place is cursed."
"Perhaps, Bas, but the good lady is there. She has workmen repairing the walls.
And…" Cynric paused dramatically.
"Out with it."
"The sheriff's in residence as well."
"Reynard? At Lilydrake? Not two miles from our camp?" Cynric nodded. "Come to hunt us down with the lady's help, has he?"
"Now, we don't know that the lady is helping him. She was friendly to us when we were prisoners, you'll recall my telling you."
"Aristocrats care nothing for peasants like
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