"Loki's bird, a treacherous thing." Lagman stared at the Red Kite circling in the air, then looked at Eric. "My uncle used to say that when a Red Kite speaks to a man, that man will find his doom. That's what the Witch from the next valley told him."
"Red Kites can talk?" Belem asked. "I've heard crows can."
"There are many kinds of language," Lagman replied.
The sky was pearly gray, with nothing but the distant Red Kite.
"The sky is getting dark. If we can't find those Arabs, we need to find a place to rest," Eric said.
Eric blew his horn, signaling them to move on and ordering the scouts ahead.
After marching for a while, they saw Priest John. He had his arm around the shepherd boy with the long name, comforting him in a low voice.
The Shepherd Boy was convulsing. His snot-streaked face, twisted in agony, turned to Eric. He could barely make a sound, weeping silently.
"His friends," Priest John said mournfully, gesturing to a pile of corpses.
Eric took a closer look.
