ANNE FLINCHED in the maze of hedges under the balcony as she heard footsteps creeping up on her. A stealthy presence, most foul, like a shift in the wind. She turned and he was there.

His frame was large, his face ruined with scars from battle. But it was not these things that made her shiver. It was his eyes. Their remoteness-rigid, dark pools. His face was buried deep in his dark hood. On the hood, a small black cross.

Not in church, knight? She scowled, her words stabbing with irony.

Do not worry for me. His cold voice crept out from the drawn hood. I make peace with God in my own way.

He came before her as a supplicant, yet he was possessed of the harshest cruelty. The tunic of a knight, but a disgraced one, dressed in rags. Still, she was forced to deal with him.

I do worry for you, Morgaine, Anne said scornfully, for I think you will burn in Hell. Your methods are evil. They pervert the goal you aim to achieve.

I may burn, lady, but I will light the way for others to rest next to God. Perhaps evenyou...

Do not flatter yourself that you are God's agent. Anne sneered. You make my skin crawl that you do my husband's work.

He bowed, unoffended. You need not bother with my work, madame. Just know that it goes well.

I saw how well it goes, knight. I wasthere.

There, madame? The knight's eyes narrowed.

St. C俢ile... I saw what you did. Such cruelty even beasts from Hell would find shame in. I saw how you left that town.

It was left a better place than when we arrived. Closer to God.

Closer to God? She stepped up to him, looked into his depthless ey............