“A woman?!” Coline hissed.
“A wench I made—friends with,” Bernt said.
“You fucked her,” Adele grinned.
Bernt coughed. “She’s a resourceful girl, and she’s helping the captain and Ulf hide, and reconnoiter.”
“And maybe she also keeps them entertained,” Liane said evilly, glancing at her sister.
Coline made a show of ignoring her. “We are still wasting time.”
“We must plan this thoroughly,” Gisla said. “Three hundred men entrenched in a town like Saonne can hold us off for weeks.”
“And the bulk of our force is made of beast-men,” Coline said, “that are not suited to a long siege. And the people of the town would also suffer the effects of the siege. This is why I say we should hit them hard and fast, wile they are still digging in, before they can know what came to them.”
Liane shook her head, a strand of blue hair brushing her cheek. “The drakes—”.
“What?” Coline asked.
“If I were the commander of the Five Stars,” Liane said, “I’d use the flying beasts to hit Bellegarde while our main force is engaged in the siege of the town. Such creatures can cover the distance in a few hours that a horse covers in three days. How large are these beasts?”
Bernt shrugged.
“They would be fast,” Coline said, “but we could be faster.”
“What do you mean?” Adele asked.
“I mean that the moment we hit Saonne, their commander’s throat might already have been slit.”
Adele’s eyes widened. “Cut the head of the snake,” she said.
“And keep away from the body as it thrashes,” Coline nodded.
“I will get back to Saonne,” Bernt said. “Bring the captain news of your plan, and stand at his side.”
“And I will come with you,” Coline said.
“Please,” Liane snorted.
“You can handle the attack on the town,” her sister replied. She was speaking slowly, like she was teaching to a young, rebellious girl. “And our mother can command the defense of Bellegarde should it be the case. And we need to get in touch with Gerard—”
“Bernt is more than sufficient,” Liane said.
“There’s another way,” Giso said suddenly. “A better one.”
Twenty-six - Tattoo
Berthe finished stitching the gash on the side of Cook. The big woman shuddered as Berthe pulled the cut taut, and then cut the thread with her teeth.
“You’ll get another fine scar,” Berthe said softly, caressing the dressed wound.
Cook cupped her face with her bandaged hand.
“There’s something I want to show you,” Berthe whispered, and she pulled off her shirt.
Cook laughed. “I know them well enough.”
“Silly!” Berthe said. With her hand she lifted her left boob, and arched her back. “Can you see it?”
Cook’s lips formed the words as she ran her big finger along the flowery letters tattooed under Berthe’s tit.
COOK’S BITCH.
Berthe shuddered. “I got it for you.”
The big woman shook her head. Then she ran her hand along Berthe’s ribs. “Was it painful?”
Berthe slid down from her lap and knelt in front of her. “It felt good,” she said.
She gently pushed Cook’s knee apart.
Cook laughed, and ran her fingers through Berthe’s hair. “I will get your name written on me, too,” she whispered.
Berthe smiled at her wickedly, and kissed the inside of her thigh.
Giso pushed her head in the tent’s door. “Move your ass, sweetheart, we march in two hours.”
Cook stood, a wild, ferocious grin on her square face. “We fight?”
Giso did not deign to reply. The tent flap fell.
Cook was opening and closing her hands. “A proper battle,” she beamed at Berthe. “Just like in Tavin.”
Berthe stood, and pouted.
“Don’t be sad, little thing,” Cook said, pulling her chin up. “I’ll bring back loot, and more scars.”
Berthe leaned closer to her. She ran her tongue along Cook’s jaw, and tickler her earlobe. “Two hours are more than enough,” she whispered in the other woman’s ear. She caressed the short pink fuzz over Cook’s head. “It will help you relax.”
Cook laughed, and pushed her hand between Berthe’s thighs. “Let’s get to work,” she said.
Twenty-seven - View from the Hill
Saonne had once been a hilltop hamlet, grown around a watch tower guarding the Lo Pass, and a small temple dedicated to the Venerable Claire of the Heart. With the passing years, the town had expanded down the side of the hill, and unburdened by a defensive wall, the Duchy being a peaceful land.
“Attacking uphill is suicide,” Liane said.
Saonne had other defenses than stone walls. The sides of the hills surrounding the town were vineyards, lines upon lines of wires drawn between poles, that would hinder the ascent of an invading army. A narrow winding road rose from the valley below up through the houses, and dirt pathways led from the vineyards and the fields to the town’s outskirts. Beyond, a dark forest loomed, where the forces of the Hierophant had originally hid, and where now the men and women of Bellegarde waited for the time to strike.
Liane’s beast-men had spread through the trees, under cover of the thick undergrowth, and now they waited for their chieftain’s order.
“There’s one of your drakes,” Liuva said, pointing.
Liane squinted.
Smoke rose from a few chimneys, and the roof tiles were frosted with the previous night’s snow. Most windows were shuttered.
A lizard-like creature was climbing the rock facade of the bell tower, the highest point in Saonne.
Coline brought up a spyglass. The creature was using the small claws at the tip of its leathery wings and its feet to grab the surface of the tower and pull itself up. It wore a harness around its waist and its lower quarters, and it had a long barbed tail that it used as support during its climb.
“A guivre,” she said.
“Much good it does to us knowing its name,” Liane snorted.
Coline snorted. “We know it does not spit fire, but poison. And it’s not smart enough to act without a rider.”
“How do we kill it?” Giso asked.
The guivre had pulled itself to the top of the tower, and once there it spread its wings and let out a long, screeching call, that echoed in the hills. Then it laid down, wings outstretched, enjoying the sunlight.
“I guess you hit it long enough and hard enough,” Liane grinned.
“I like that,” Giso chuckled.
“That’s Gisla’s business anyway,” Coline said. There was not much else to see, and she folded her spyglass. “Looks more like a dead town than a fortress.”
“What now?” Liuva asked. She had ditched her too-bright red jacket, and wore a simple leather halter like all the other beast-women.
Liane looked at the sun. “We settle down and wait,” she said. “Until sundown there’s nothing we can do, but rest.”
Twenty-eight - Rats
“What’s this sound?” Gerard asked, softly.
Ulf frowned, and shook his head.
Genò squinted at the darkest corner of the attic. She had been exploring, when she was sure the noises would not attract anyone’s attention, and had collected a selection of trinkets. Now she scanned the darkness, and spotted a pair of blinking red eyes. “It’s a rat,” she said, with a grimace.
More small eyes twinkled in the dark, and suddenly the rush of hundreds of little clawed feet sounded on the dusty floor. Genò wailed and rolled off the chest she was sitting on and quickly scampered away as a squeaking mass of black rats poured into the attic from holes and passages in the walls, and gathered in front of the three stowaways.
“What the hell—?” Ulf hissed, pulling his dirk.
The rats came forward, a living carpet of black fur. The small creatures cl
imbed on each other, pushed each pother aside and suddenly stopped, crowded in a single spot. The air seemed to tremble as for a great heat, and suddenly in the place where the vermin had been a tall woman in a long black dress stood, a thick braid of black hair falling over her pale bosom.
Genò made the sign against the evil eye and slipped behind Ulf, peeking out to stare at the newcomer.
“Good evening, Gerard,” the woman said.
Genò turned to the captain, that was smirking. Ulf was quick to put his blade back in its sheath.
“So we have taken the Crow’s Nest,” Gerard said. He bowed. “Good evening to you, lady Léa.”
The woman nodded. “Castle Nys has joined Bellegarde,” she said. “And now we will take back Saonne.”
Ulf slammed his right fist into his left hand. “Good to hear that, milady.”
Léa came forward, walking slowly. The usually creaky boards of the floor made no sound. She placed her hand on Gerard’s chest. “The Lady Coline was worried,” she said softly.
Gerard smiled. “Coline’s a warrior, she knows—”
Léa scoffed. “Men.”
She turned to Genò, that still cowered behind Ulf. “And you must be Genovefa,” she said.
The wench caught the glint of the woman’s sharp fangs, and took a step back.
“Bernt sends his regards,” the vampire said.
“She’s on our side,” Ulf whispered, placing a hand on the wench’s shoulder. She curtsied, warily. “My lady.”
“But enough pleasantries,” Léa said. “I am here to let you know of Liane’s and Coline’s plan, so that we will be able to strike—”
She stopped, and turned her head around, like she was listening something that only she could hear. She sniffed. “There’s something unclean moving through the streets,” she said. “I can perceive the tang of its foulness.”
She looked at Gerard.
“There is a Black Priest.”
“Only one?”
“That we know of.” He nodded at Genò. “He took the children, and he’s been branding the women.”
Léa’s eyes widened. She stretched a clawed hand and caressed Genò’s cheek. “Poor darling,” she said. The young woman stood perfectly still. Léa’s hand was cold as ice. “We’ll tell Bernt to buy you a tattoo to cover the scar.”
“What is the plan?” Gerard asked.
Gathering her long skirt, Léa sat on Genò’s chest. “But before we begin, one thing must be clear: the Black Priest is mine.” She glanced at Genò. “Unless she wants to share the kill.”
Twenty-nine - Guards
Five men huddled in black cloaks trudged along one of the dirt roads between the skeletal vineyards, curved against the wind, their hoods failing to protect their faces from the pelting of wet sleet that the dusk had brought. The lines drawn between the vineyard poles sang like harp strings, strummed by the incessant wind.
They carried spears, and moved at a good clip, trying to get as fast as possible out of the wind and under cover of the trees. They did not speak among themselves. They did not even like each other. They were united in their faith and in their vision, and that was as personal as a brotherly affection, but devoid of any feeling. They attended the daily sermons of their captain, and looked down on the people of Saonne, a city of debauched men and slutty women in their eyes.
Sometimes now they cast a glance at the town, its few lights faint beyond the curtain of the snowdrifts, not even the smell of the smoke of its chimneys reaching this far into the storm. The guivres had been retired to the stables, the great animals unable to fly in this weather.
It was the first round of watch through the night, and it was not the worst. The temperature was falling, but the guys that would relieve the five men at midnight would have to go through the coldest hours of the night, and those after them, face a chilly sunrise.
So the five men were not unhappy, only uncomfortable.
Five men.
The Five Stars army allowed women to fight in their crusade, but rarely gave them watch duties. Too unreliable, too flighty. Indeed, the discipline of the crusaders was offered to them as an opportunity to shed their feminine weaknesses, or die trying.
For the five men shivering as they walked through the vineyards, when death came it was swift.
One moment, they were alone, surrounded by row upon row of blackened wooden poles and white pristine snow. The next, the beast-men were upon them, silent like shadows, focused, swift.
They did not shout or roar or scream as most town-folks imagined. They just shot out of the dusk, running barefoot on the fresh, wet snow. They wielded axes, broadswords, spears.
The first of the men did not even see them coming. A spear-point burst through his chest, and his heart had already been skewered. Surprise did the rest. The remaining four were down before they could scream or raise an alarm.
Five bodies being rapidly buried by the snow.
Liuva nodded at her band, and they vanished into the darkness from which they had come. On the other side of town, Giso and hers were getting in position to take out the sentries. The taking of Saonne had begun, but neither the town-folks nor the Five Stars soldiers knew yet.
Thirty - Shadows
Three shadows walked along one of the side alleys of Saonne. Had there been someone there to see them, they would have looked somewhat comical as they advanced close to the wall, first a small one wrapped in a black cloak, his face hidden in the folds of a cowl pulled in against the wind. Three steps behind him, one a whole head taller, also in black, a blade glinting between the folds of a long mantle. And finally a colossus, over seven feet tall and wide in proportion, that looked and moved as a boulder rolling uphill in the tracks of the two before.
But the only one that could have seen them had already been taken care of, his throat slit silently, his body arranged as if he was sleeping. Sleeping during guard duty was punished with death, but that was no longer for him to worry about.
The three shadows paused by a junction, the light from a guard post throwing a faint glow on the wet flagstones. They waited and listened, but the guards was not coming out of his nook, and they crossed the junction swiftly, and unseen. They stopped on the corner of the market square, and huddled for a moment behind two rain barrels, the water surface frozen solid.
There was a big bonfire burning on the square, stakes like pointed fingers sticking through the fire and black smoke. There were things hanging on the stakes that caused the one at the head of the file to groan.
“Bitch of a place,” the middle one hissed.
The short one pointed. “We take that alley, we get at the back door of the inn.”
“They burned people,” the large one said.
“That’s the Five Stars fuckers for you,” the short one said.
The middle one patted him on the shoulder. “Lead the way.”
“What if they challenge us.”
A chuckle. “Walk tall and straight-backed and nobody will challenge you. Try and look like you know what you are doing.”
The short one nodded. He took a deep breath, and walked out of the shadows. The other two followed.
One of the soldiers in black and red turned to them, and squinted, but his eyes had been dazzled by the flames, and he only saw three black cloaked shapes going on their way. Officers, by the way they wore their cloaks.
He went back to warm his hands at the heat of the flame.
The three strangers stopped in front of a door. A big black cat looked at them, and then went on cleaning its paws.
The short one slipped a dagger between the door and the frame, pulled up the latch. He opened the door and went in, followed by the others.
The cat started cleaning its other paw.
Genò had been sitting by the side while Gerard and Léa discussed the night’s plans. She liked the way the vampiress intended to proceed, but still felt a shiver whenever the woman’s eyes lingered in her direction.
A rap on the trap-
door interrupted the umpteenth review of the plan, and Ulf undid the latch and groaned a welcome. Genò watched the three that climbed up, crowding the attic. It took her a moment to figure whether the lumbering mass of muscles that almost completely filled the space under the roof beams was a man or a woman. But the one that shouldered the pink-haired giant out of the way and advanced hungrily towards Gerard was undoubtedly female. Red hair in two braids falling on her ample chest, she grabbed the captain and pulled him close, her mouth on his, and they were locked in a long, wet kiss that seemed to last forever. He caressed her breast, and she ground her pelvis against his. It was almost indecent, but Genò could not look away.
Only when Bernt patted her ass did she glance at him.
“I missed you,” he said.
She felt heat rise to her cheeks. “You—?”
She slapped him viciously, and when he gasped and exclaimed and stepped back, she followed up with more blows, pushing him back and then following him as he retreated, until he was pressed against the big one, covering his face with his arms.
“You missed me, you cunt?” she hissed. “And all you can do to show it is squeeze my fucking ass?!”
“Babe, I—”
“Babe my foot, you little weasel!” She pointed a finger at the redhead. “That’s the proper way of doing it, you limp dick!”
She snorted, and turned.
The redhead was looking at her with a cat-like smile on her handsome face.
“I am Coline of Bellegarde,” she said. “You must be Genovefa.”
Genò punched Bernt in the shoulder. “How come everybody knows about me, uh?”
Bernt shied away. Genò turned to Coline and curtsied. “My lady, that I am, but what you heard about me is just the bragging of this runt.”
Coline laughed. “He praised you greatly,” she said. “But I can think myself of better ways to greet you.”
The big one laughed. “She’s got a nice ass,” she said. She had a woman’s voice.
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