Witches in Red

Chapter Fourteen

As Amelie came out of the memories, she found herself looking up at Quinn’s face, but his expression was faraway. At some point, he’d taken his hand from her jaw and now had both palms pressed against the ground.

She didn’t hesitate.

Scrambling out from beneath him, she rolled and pulled the dagger from her boot, holding it in front of herself as she crouched just outside his reach.

His eyes cleared too late. Grabbing for her, he missed, and when he started to rush, he saw the dagger and froze. But she could almost see his mind working, and she feared that in battle he thought too much like she did—always leaning on the element of surprise. He would not do anything that might be expected.

Then . . . balancing herself with her free hand, she felt her fingers touch upon a jagged, good-sized rock.

How long until Jaromir noticed she should be back by now? Probably too long, and he didn’t even know where she was. But he’d go to the weapons cache first. Without looking down, she closed her hand around the rock.

She needed to distract Quinn for a few seconds.

“You did that to Sullian!” she accused. “How could you? He was your friend.”

To her surprise, he blinked and answered, “I had to. I’d reached a point where I needed more control. With him gone, even as a corporal, I’d be second-in-command.”

Perhaps he’d been playing a part for so long he was hungry to be himself and speak of these things.

“Did you turn a guard right outside our quarters tonight? So the wolf would kill Céline and me?”

“I had to,” he repeated. “I’d chosen Graham as the next target. I should have chosen him sooner. He’s no soldier. But . . . your sister knew, and if she could see the future, then you might be able to see the past.”

“So then you decided not to turn Graham, and you turned whatever poor soul was closest to our tent?”

He didn’t answer. She saw a flicker in his eyes . . . and realized he was done talking and about to charge—or do something. He was a trained soldier. A lieutenant. More, he was strong enough that he’d broken the neck of a Móndyalítko shape-shifter. She was good with her dagger but no match for him physically.

Moving as fast as she could, she threw the rock, aiming for his head. It connected with a cracking sound, and his neck snapped back. Darting through the brush, she ran back the way they’d come—toward the provisions tent.

Jaromir immediately set up a circle of perimeter guards around the mining encampment, with men to spare. Once Captain Keegan had been settled inside one of the shacks, Jaromir turned to a more detailed assessment of the weapons on hand. All the soldiers had at least one. About half the men had spears, seven of them carried loaded crossbows, and the rest had swords.

Even in their current situation, the camp was certainly defensible.

But how could Quinn have ordered everyone over here without gathering more spears and crossbows first? The man must have been badly shaken to overlook such essentials. That thought got him thinking that Quinn and Amelie should have returned by now.

They would probably come trotting back at any moment.

It would be best to have the first hunting party set up. Looking around, he noted that too many of the miners and Móndyalítko were still outside their homes, trying to learn what was happening. Several of the men carried pickaxes, and Jaromir welcomed their help, but he thought the elderly, the women, and the children should be moved inside behind locked or barred doors.

Seeing Céline and Rurik only a few paces away, he closed the distance. He could have Céline see to the civilians, and Rurik could help him with a hunting party. Jaromir knew the detailed backgrounds of all his men.

“Rurik,” he said, “isn’t your father Prince Lieven’s gamekeeper?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’ve hunted with him?”

Rurik had sheathed his sword, but his left hand now gripped his right, as if the question unsettled him. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. I want you to walk the perimeter and pick out five other men with experience as well. Replace them with our surplus guards. I don’t want the line weakened. As soon as Amelie and Corporal Quinn get back with more weapons, you can lead the first hunting party.”

Even in her red cloak, Céline shivered slightly in the night air, and Jaromir turned to her. “Can you get the women and children to go back inside? Have them lock or bar their doors.”

“Of course,” she answered.

But Rurik hadn’t moved, and a light sheen broke out on his forehead. “Sir . . . perhaps I should stay here. I’m the only man from Sèone you have, and you’ll need me to ride for our escort when this is over.”

Jaromir stiffened. Rurik had been acting strangely since the morning he’d been ordered to replace Pavel, but now he sounded desperate. Céline was watching him in confusion as well. Rurik was no coward. Jaromir knew him to be a solid fighter who had once saved Anton from a rushing wild boar. Rurik didn’t fear hunting . . . so what made him so desperate now?

He’s hiding something.

The thought sickened Jaromir that one of his trusted men was keeping a secret . . . but it couldn’t be denied. It was all over Rurik’s face.

“All right.” Jaromir nodded. “Just pick out a party, and I’ll have someone else lead it.”

Relief passed across Rurik’s face, and Jaromir moved like lightning, stepping behind him, pinning his arms, and lifting his feet off the ground.

“Céline!” Jaromir called.

He didn’t have to tell her what he wanted.

She came toward them with her hand out.

Rurik went wild, kicking and struggling to break free. “No! Céline! Don’t do it. It’s not what you think. Don’t do it!”

Céline stepped to the side, but she didn’t slow down. She knew Rurik would never be able to break away from Jaromir . . . and Jaromir was right about this. She’d suspected something was off about Rurik for days now, but he’d never appeared even close to this desperate before. He was hiding something.

This was hardly the time or the place for a reading, but they were in danger from something unknown here, and no possible clue could be put off.

Reaching out, she gripped his right hand—which was held tightly against his side—and closed her eyes, feeling for the spark of his spirit.

A sensation of panic hit her like a wall. The first jolt hit within seconds, followed immediately by another jolt, and the mists rushed in. She was jerked forward in time so fast that she grew dizzy speeding along the corridor of white and gray.

The mists cleared.

She stood in a great hall. Rurik was kneeling on the stone floor beside her.

Looking up, Céline saw a muscular man with graying hair and a proud bearing sitting in a chair on a dais up above. He wore a loose red jerkin accented by gold thread. Three jeweled rings on each hand adorned his fingers.

“My lord,” Rurik said with his head bowed.

“My son’s report was vague, as always. That is his way. Tell me, who inside the camp was responsible?”

Inside the vision, Céline’s mind raced. The man on the dais was Prince Lieven. She’d never seen him before, as no vision of the future had ever taken her to Castle Pählen. But what was Rurik doing? He appeared to be giving the prince a report outside of what Anton had authorized.

“The criminal was Corporal Quinn,” Rurik said. “A spy and infiltrator of Prince Damek.”

“And these two . . . seers that my son employs, they uncovered this for Anton?”

“Yes, my lord. Prince Anton is ever resourceful in those he chooses to serve him.”

Just as Lieven was about to speak again, the mists closed in, and Céline was jerked away, rushing backward in time. It was the briefest future vision she’d ever experienced.

But when she opened her eyes and she saw Jaromir holding Rurik, she was so shaken and disoriented that she stumbled and fell to her knees and could not stop herself from crying out.

“He’s a spy for Anton’s father! He’s going to tell Prince Lieven all the details of this mission that Anton would not!”

Jaromir roared and shoved Rurik forward.

In one swift motion, Jaromir drew a dagger from the sheath on his belt.

“Sir, no!” Rurik shouted, spinning around. “I’m no spy!”

Céline tried to recover from the rapid, dizzying vision, and she somehow scrambled in between Jaromir and Rurik, blaming herself for this. Jaromir would kill anyone he suspected of betraying Anton, and she knew it. She’d seen a body lying at her feet once.

“Lieutenant!” she cried, holding one hand up.

“I’m no spy!” Rurik insisted. “My father asked me to share anything that would make Anton look better to Prince Lieven. Prince Anton won’t report any dark deeds done by his brother, nor ever say a word about his own strengths. My father . . . he thought I should use my position as a messenger to tell Prince Lieven the truth, that Anton is a better leader. I’d never do or say anything to injure him, Lieutenant. You have to believe me.”

Jaromir still had murder written all over his face, but he hadn’t struck yet . . . and he was listening.

“So, that’s why you were so desperate to survive this mission?” Céline asked. “Because Prince Lieven is expecting a report from you?”

Wordlessly, Rurik nodded, but he hadn’t taken his eyes off Jaromir.

Then, as her head cleared further, Céline began remembering the more detailed content of her vision.

“Jaromir . . . when Prince Lieven asked for the name of the one responsible for all the deaths here, Rurik told him it was Quinn.”

Jaromir turned his gaze from Rurik to Céline.

“What did you say?”

“It’s Quinn! Or that is what Rurik was telling Lieven. Amelie is alone with him!”

Rurik was looking back and forth between them in confusion, but Jaromir didn’t care.

He had to think.

His instincts told him that Rurik was no traitor. Something would have to be done about him, but he wasn’t a traitor . . . and Amelie was alone with a killer.

“Rurik, you stay here and make sure the perimeter holds,” he ordered. “Céline, get those people inside. I’m going for Amelie.”

Without waiting for a response from either of them, he turned and bolted for the path.

Amelie almost couldn’t believe it when she reached the tree line without being caught from behind. She hadn’t even heard Quinn coming after her, and she wondered if the rock might have dazed him.

However, now, peering out from the brush into the open camp, she thought that making a run for the path to the miners’ encampment would be foolish. It was possible that Quinn had lost her trail and was watching from somewhere along the tree line as well, waiting for her to emerge. Although he claimed to be a good tracker, she wasn’t bleeding and it was dark. If she’d gotten a decent head start, there might have been little for him to track.

But he could still be watching for her, and if so, she’d never outrun him all the way to the path.

Looking straight ahead, she saw the front entrance to the huge provisions tent. It was a short run, and there were crossbows and quarrels in there—somewhere along the east wall. She crouched, took a deep breath, and sprinted, running as fast as she could for the open front flap and dashing inside.

Only then did she turn to peek back around the side and see if she was pursued. Again, she was caught in near disbelief. Where was he? He’d struck her as . . . determined.

A crashing sound echoed from within a few paces of where she’d emerged, and Quinn stumbled from the forest, carrying his spear and bleeding from his head. He looked both ways and then fixed on the provisions tent, breaking into a jog straight for the entrance.

Except for a general direction—the east wall—Amelie didn’t know precisely where the weapons were stored in here, and Quinn was coming.

Surrounded by barrels and stacks of crates, she came to a fast decision, the only one she could think of. Moving deeper into the tent and down a row of crates, she dropped low and hid herself.

Hopefully, Quinn would run in, go straight for the weapons, believe she was not here, and then run out again, looking for her.

After that . . . she’d have a few options.

Footsteps pounded through the entrance, and she could hear him breathing hard.

After Jaromir ran off, Céline stood facing Rurik, but he wouldn’t look at her. His hands were shaking, and it was possible that he blamed her for what had just happened. In a way, she understood.

But she was a good deal more worried about Amelie and hoped that Jaromir would reach her quickly. How could the killer be Quinn? He’d been the only one here in whom Jaromir had placed any confidence.

“Rurik?” Céline asked, hoping he would still be willing to work with her.

Just then, Guardsman Graham came jogging up, carrying a spear, and he appeared distraught.

“What is it?” Céline asked. She didn’t hear a disturbance anywhere.

“I . . . I’ve been searching,” Graham answered, “and all the men are accounted for except Saunders. He’s the only one missing.”

Something occurred to Céline. “Was he on guard near our tent tonight?”

Graham nodded miserably, and Céline felt for him. If the new soldier-wolf was Saunders, that meant poor Graham had lost both his friends.

Rurik glanced at her first and then Graham in sympathy. He seemed to understand the implications as well.

“I’m sorry, Graham,” he said. “But the lieutenant left us with orders, and he was right about those civilians. I’m going to check the perimeter. Céline, you try to get those people back inside their homes and tell them to bar the doors.”

“Yes,” she answered, stepping away. “Graham, why don’t you come and help me? I think some of the miners must know you.”

She was trying to give him an occupation, but the tactic worked, and he fell into step beside her. They went to the Móndyalítko wagons first, as she thought she might gain help from Mercedes in getting their people indoors.

Marcus was nowhere in sight, but nearly all the other Móndyalítko were outside, looking around. Several of them were armed and surrounding their few children. Perhaps they had not had good luck in the past by shutting themselves away and leaving the fighting to the soldiers.

“Mercedes,” Céline said, hurrying up. “We really should get the children inside. It’s not safe for them out here.”

“Do you think those soldiers can keep that beast out?”

“I think they have a good chance.”

Finally, Mercedes nodded and walked over to the group of armed men. Céline looked around and saw Mariah standing off by herself, staring into the forest.

Céline went to her and said gently, “Mariah, come inside.”

The girl didn’t move or look away from the trees. “They burned Sullian’s body,” she whispered.

The sorrow in her voice was heartbreaking, leaving Céline puzzled. “You liked Sullian?”

“He was kind.” Mariah nodded slowly. “And they burned him.”

Céline could not begin to imagine all that this poor girl had suffered, but at the moment, she wanted to get Mariah inside a wagon.

“Come with me. Please.”

Mariah’s head turned slightly as Marcus came jogging out of the north-side forest. He was still barefoot with his shirt hanging loose over the top of his breeches. There were dark spots on the front of his shirt from the claw marks on his chest, and Céline wondered how badly they were bleeding. She wished she’d thought to bring her box.

He jogged right up to them. “I’ve done a full sweep above us, and I’ve seen no sign of the beast.”

Coming to a decision, Céline leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “We know who is responsible now, so we should be able to stop it from happening again.”

His black eyes fixed on her face.

Just then, a soldier on the west side of the perimeter screamed.

Jaromir ran through the Pählen camp straight for the provisions tent. He barely slowed down as he passed through the front flap, but he knew the weapons were stored in racks along the east wall, and so he jogged through rows of barrels and crates, emerging in a more open area.

There . . . he came to a stop at the sight of Quinn casting around wildly with a spear in one hand and a dagger in the other. He was bleeding from the head.

Amelie was nowhere to be seen.

A cold fear filled Jaromir’s stomach, but he fought to keep his face calm.

“Lieutenant,” Quinn said.

“What’s happened?” Jaromir asked, as if he knew nothing. “Where’s Amelie?”

Quinn used the back of his dagger hand to wipe some of the blood off his forehead as Jaromir approached.

“The beast attacked us on the way, and we became separated,” Quinn answered.

“And you just abandoned her and came in here?”

“I thought to come in here for more weapons, and then I would look for her.” He glanced about nervously.

“More weapons?” Jaromir asked. “You already have a hunting spear and a dagger. How much more could you use?”

Quinn stopped glancing around and fixed directly on him. The tension was thick, and Jaromir decided to drop the ruse. He drew his sword.

“What did you do with her?”

Without a flicker of warning, Quinn swung hard with the butt of the spear.

Céline stood frozen as the scream carried through the night air. The sound of shouting—and more screaming—followed.

Graham dropped his spear and began running toward the flurry of sounds.

“Don’t!” he shouted. “It’s Saunders.”

Before Céline could move or react. Mariah picked up the spear and ran after Graham. With no idea what else to do, Céline turned back and found Marcus gone.

“Marcus!”

No one answered.

Céline ran after Mariah and soon rounded the back of the outer Móndyalítko wagon, reaching the west-side perimeter. The first thing she saw were two dead soldiers on the ground, bleeding from their throats. A spear and a loaded crossbow lay beside them. Any other soldiers who’d been here appeared to have run. She didn’t see Mariah.

Only two living creatures now occupied her line of sight in the darkness.

The farthest away was the same massive wolf that had attacked her and Amelie in their tent. Its red eyes glowed, and its jowls were pulled back, exposing its fangs.

A few paces closer to her, Graham was kneeling, facing the beast and holding one hand out in the air.

“Saunders. It’s me.”

The wolf snarled and charged. Céline wanted to shout, to wave her arms, to do something, anything, to distract it, but the sound caught in her throat, and she couldn’t seem to move.

In a blur, Mariah came running from the shadows behind the wagon, past Céline, and she swung with the butt of her spear, catching the wolf directly across the face. The blow barely seemed to stun it, but it faltered somewhat in its charge at Graham, and it only clipped him, knocking him off his feet.

As the beast struggled to halt and turn, a slender black wolf dashed in, smashing against its side and rolling it onto the ground. Two breaths later, Rurik came running up, carrying his drawn sword.

Mariah ran to Graham, kneeling beside him, weeping openly. “It’s not him anymore,” she cried. “He’s not in there.”

Then the roar of both wolves drowned out anything else she might have said, and Rurik stood watching the battle of teeth and claws in confusion.

“Help the black one,” Céline called to him. “It’s Marcus!”

Amelie had watched Jaromir run in, and she’d crawled along behind him without being seen, hoping to use her best and main strength—the element of surprise—against Quinn.

She could hear both men speaking, and then she heard a sword sliding from a scabbard.

“What did you do with her?” Jaromir asked, his voice full of anguish.

Amelie moved from behind a tall stack of crates and peered over the top of a barrel to see.

Before the sound of the words had died, Quinn swung with the butt of his spear and caught Jaromir across the face. Amelie wanted to scream. Jaromir would have expected a straight-on attack, for Quinn to come at him with the point of the spear.

With a cracking sound, Jaromir went down. His eyes were closed.

Quinn flipped the spear upward, gripping its haft up nearer the point, and then he raised it to drive it downward through Jaromir’s chest.

Amelie had no weapon but a dagger, and she was well aware that she was no match for Quinn. So she did the only thing possible. She shoved the tall stack of crates beside her, and they fell forward on top of both Jaromir and Quinn with a cascade of crashing sounds.

Darting forward, she ran over the tops of the fallen crates, hoping to reach Quinn and drive her dagger through his throat while he was still dazed. Reaching him in seconds as he lay on the ground, she struck downward with her blade.

But his hand snaked up and caught her wrist. The next thing she knew, he’d jerked her down and was up on top of her, pinning her arms with his knees. This time, he didn’t grab her jaw. Instead, his hand closed around her throat. Looking up, she could see anger in the back of his cold blue eyes. He wasn’t going to snap her neck. He wanted this to hurt.

His hand closed slowly, and she fought to take in air. The pain wasn’t terrible at first, but then it grew unbearable. He went on closing his hand, and the world began growing black.

Céline heard Marcus yelp as the larger wolf snapped its teeth on his shoulder.

Rurik dropped his sword and grabbed a fallen spear, moving closer to the fight and looking for an opening where he wouldn’t hit Marcus.

But his action of grabbing the weapon caused Céline to cast about as well, and her eyes fell upon the loaded crossbow lying just outside a dead soldier’s hand. The beast must have killed him before he had a chance to fire. Scrambling forward, Céline snatched it up and aimed it at the mass of claws and teeth and fur rolling on the ground. She didn’t take her eyes off them, and when the larger wolf suddenly rolled on top, she fired, catching it behind one ear. The creature roared and veered away from Marcus, shaking its head savagely.

As soon as it was off Marcus, Rurik darted in and used both hands to drive the spear downward through its throat, pinning it to the ground in a rush of blood. Rurik stomped down on its front shoulder with his boot and fought to hold the spear in place as the creature bled out and out . . . and finally stopped moving.

Marcus—the black wolf—tried struggling to his feet and then fell. By the time Céline reached him, he was in human form again, naked, panting, and bleeding. He didn’t speak as she pulled her cloak off and covered him, trying to check his wounds at the same time. The front of his left shoulder had a deep gouge.

Rurik took his boot off the massive dead wolf, walked over, and looked down at Marcus as if uncertain of what he was seeing. Céline turned her head up and met Rurik’s eyes. He was a teller of secrets. That much was known, but perhaps only where Anton’s success was concerned.

“He saved us,” she said flatly. “You’ll keep his secret?”

After a moment, Rurik nodded. Then, as if unsure what to say, he went over to check on Graham and Mariah.

Céline turned back to Marcus. “I need to make sure Amelie is safe. Then I’ll get my box and tend to these wounds. This shoulder might need stitching.”

He hadn’t seemed to hear her, and he was studying her face.

“What you said before . . . about knowing who was responsible, about being able to stop all this, that means you’re leaving soon, doesn’t it?”

The question threw her, and she wasn’t sure what he was trying to ask. “Yes. I have a shop, a life back home.”

If anything, his gaze grew more intense. “You mean you have someone back home?”

She flinched. Could he see how she was haunted by the trailing wisps of her unexplainable connection to Anton? Looking away, she couldn’t answer his question. There was no answer.

Amelie was in agony, and her world was going black.

Then, suddenly, the pressure on her throat was gone and she was sucking in air. Nothing made sense for a moment, but she could hear grunting and crashing sounds, and she tried to struggle up, squinting to see what was happening.

Jaromir and Quinn, both barehanded, were swinging at each other. Where was Jaromir’s sword?

Had he seen her being strangled and just rushed in without thinking in order to pull Quinn off?

Quinn struck Jaromir full force in the jaw, snapping his head back, but Jaromir came around and smashed his own fist into the side of Quinn’s face. Then, somehow, as Quinn stumbled, he managed to duck up behind Jaromir and make a grab for his head.

In panic, Amelie pushed herself up. She knew what Quinn was doing: trying to get a firm enough hold to break Jaromir’s neck. But Jaromir’s hand flashed downward toward something on top of a crate, and the next thing Amelie knew, he had slipped around behind Quinn, and Amelie saw what he’d grabbed: a thick piece of twine torn loose from a fallen crate.

In an instant, he had the twine over Quinn’s head, and he jerked it taut, using both hands now to cross-pull it closed around Quinn’s throat. Quinn bucked wildly, trying to throw him off, but Jaromir held on, pulling tighter, shutting off Quinn’s breath.

From where she was half-crouched, Amelie saw fear dawning on Quinn’s face. His mouth opened, and part of his tongue protruded, but she didn’t look away. She watched as both the fear and the life faded from his eyes.

Jaromir kept twisting and pulling the twine for several moments after Amelie thought Quinn was already dead.

Then he dropped the body and looked over at her.

“Amelie,” he breathed.

Jaromir stared at Amelie, who was half-crouched among the fallen crates. He could see angry welts on her throat . . . but she was alive and looking back at him.

He ran her to her, pulling her up against his chest. “Let me see your neck. Can you breathe?”

She didn’t struggle in his arms; she just let him hold her.

“It was him,” she blurted out. “He’s the one who’s been turning all the soldiers.”

“I know. Do you know how?”

“An elixir . . . a black substance he puts on their skin. He keeps it in a metal flask.”

He held her a moment longer to make sure her breathing was normal, and then he leaned her back against a crate.

“A metal flask? I’m going to check his body.”

Moving back through the fallen crates, Jaromir didn’t see where Quinn might be hiding a flask. He wasn’t wearing his cloak, and the pockets of his breeches seemed too snug. But Jaromir searched the body anyway.

“Anything?”

“No.”

“Do you know which tent is his?”

Jaromir did. He retrieved his sword and slid it back into its sheath. When he turned to help Amelie up, he found she was already standing.

“Your face is a mess,” she said.

He touched his jaw, which had taken several blows—one of which had come from the butt of a spear. “It’ll heal.”

They left the provisions tent and walked through the empty camp.

“Is Céline all right?” Amelie asked.

“She was when I came after you. Rurik is with her, and all the soldiers. We’ll get back to her as soon as we can.”

Upon entering the tent he knew to be Quinn’s private quarters, he looked around at the sparse furniture, but Amelie walked right to the bed and picked up the cloak lying there.

“He kept it in his pocket.” She carefully pulled out a pair of leather gloves, but her expression turned anxious as she continued feeling the fabric of the cloak. “It’s not in here. We have to find it, Jaromir. Just a few drops on the skin will turn a man.”

A small travel chest sat near the end of the bed. Jaromir walked over and saw a padlock. Drawing his sword, he used the hilt to break the lock and opened the chest.

Amelie stood behind him.

“Oh . . . there.” She pointed down.

Seeing the edge of a stopper, he moved an extra shirt and saw a small metal flask.

“Don’t touch it,” Amelie warned. “There could be some of the liquid on the outside.” Leaning over, she used the shirt to wrap the flask without touching it.

“What do we do with it?” he asked, knowing they couldn’t just pour it out if there was a danger of anyone or anything touching it.

“We’ll take it to Céline. She’ll know how to dispose of it properly.”

A realization hit him. “This is over. Once we hunt down the last beast, this is finished. You’ve done it.”

They had succeeded, and Anton would be able to report to his father that the issue was resolved and the silver would soon be flowing again. Jaromir felt an emotion he couldn’t explain, something beyond gratitude.

“Amelie, you were right back at the castle. You deserve . . . something for what you’ve done here. If there is there is anything I can do, anything I can give you, tell me.”

At first she was quiet, and then she said, “There is.”

Within a few sentences, she explained to him what she wanted. As he listened, he didn’t completely understand why she would ask for such a thing, but it made him love her more.

“Will you arrange it?” she asked.

“Yes.”