I WALKED FROM THE HUT and tried to clear the repulsive sights from my mind. I had seen it all before. Men and women hung and flayed, body parts scattered as if the murders meant nothing at all.

Civetot. Antioch. The Crusade...

These riders in the dead of night who wore no colors and would not show their faces. The towns burned, savagery. Were these acts Baldwin's? Norcross was dead. Could his men still be running free, terrorizing villages? What precious treasure did they seek?

Put it together , I told myself.What does the puzzle signify? Why can't I solve it?

The Crusade... Suddenly it resonated everywhere. Arnaud had just returned from there. Adh俶ar too, whose horrible death I had heard of at Baldwin's court. Their villages were ransacked and destroyed-just like my inn.

Dread shot down my spine. These faceless riders who killed with the savagery of Turks... Were they the same ones who murdered my wife and child?

Cold, clammy sweat clung to my back. It all began to fit.

The killers wore no crest or markings, only a black cross.

No one knew where they came from or what they sought. Then I remembered something. Matthew had said it was as if it weremy home ,our inn only , that the bastards were interested in.

What did they want with me?

During the long ri............