A saddled brown mare pawed at the snow beneath its black hooves, huffing steam through its large nostrils as its tail snapped. Clicking her tongue at the horse, Kat called it. Humming a matter-of-fact, “Dunno.” to the redhead near her as he rolled his shoulders and moved his head farther towards the right.
He heaved, vomiting up burgundy chunks as the brown mare approached Kat's outstretched fingers. Dipping its head, it sniffed at her palm, snorting at the absence of a treat.
“He should've been out hours ago.” Puffed a brawny man towards her left. Stomping his boots in the snow, he tightened a thick amber scarf round the lower half of his face and brought his hands to his hips. “They all should've been. We'll hit Baate Noir at night—,”
“Stop yer bitchin', Bertrand.” hiccuped the redhead as he dropped his forehead into his hands. “Press your lips together, kay? And quit it.”
Bertrand snapped a burning glare towards the redhead, opened his mouth and clamped it closed before shaking his head and crossing his arms. “You're green, Alan.” He spat, hocking a ball of phlegm into the snow. “All the way up to your damned neck.”
Alan's back rose and fell as he heaved a hissing sigh, “At least I'm not—,”
“Shush up.” Kat snapped, her gaze falling to two feminine figures as they approached the well. “My girls are coming, all right? Get on elsewhere, or shush up.”
Bertrand's face lit up, his anger melting away. “The Maeva twins?”
From her right, Alan let out a crippled moan as he dipped his head further towards the ground. “There will be no peace.” he whimpered. “None at all.”
Maddy stamped up, releasing Eva's hold on her forearm as the heart-faced girl presented an apple to Kat's brown mare. The horse turned, whinnied suddenly and snatched the red treat with its pink tongue. Maddy squealed, ripped her hand away as horse saliva dribbled from it and anxiously wiped it upon her threadbare cloak. Behind her, Eva shrugged thin shoulders beneath a stiff indigo capote. The girls took turns nodding at Bertrand before sitting on either side of Kat as Alan scooted away.
“Now, when are you set to leave?” Maddy whined, clasping her hands upon her lap as Eva nodded from Kat's left.
“Gran's still napping, you know. It's not right for a grandmother to see a granddaughter off. It bodes ill for the Chaperon...”
“Yet, perhaps...” Maddy brought a finger to her chin and tapped it. “...perhaps this is what they want, Coz? Bad juju?”
Kat stood from her place in the snow, tightened the leather belt attached to her round shield and slew the thing over her shoulder before she sat between her cousins on the lip of the well. “I believe it's—,”
“And, Sonant Kaiden—,” Maddy giggled, her voice lowering to a soft whisper. “—we saw him follow you out last night—,” the girl giggled once more as Kat's lips pressed into a grim line. “—will you tell us what happened, Coz? What did that brutal witch hunter do to you?”
Reaching across Kat, Eva cracked Maddy hard across the face. The sound ricocheted through the morning, quickly silencing the older girl's fretful giggles. “You are in public!” Eva snapped, pulling her arm away as Maddy brought a hand to her reddened cheek. “Watch yourself, lean-wit!”
“How dare you!” Maddy shrieked, holding her face as she brought puppy dog eyes to Kat. “Katell—you saw what she did, right?”
Kat smirked, snorting as she stifled a laugh. “Eva,” she warned, turning to the younger woman who stuck out her bottom lip. “no name calling.”
Bertrand threw back his head and let out a single burst of laughter before turning towards the girls with his hands on his hips. “Twins indeed!” he grinned as Alan moaned farther off, still holding his head. “You two wish to understand why the Chaperon hasn't left yet?”
“Don't feed them lies, Bertrand.” Kat growled, narrowing her eyes.
“No, no, no...he's long winded. The conversation will never stop.” Alan moaned. “Please spare me.”
Maddy rolled her eyes at that, clasped her hands together and grinned—the slap totally forgotten. “Is this a true story?”
“Or, a tall tale?” Eva quipped, rubbing her hands on her thighs.
Bertrand glowed beneath Maddy's admiration. Puffing out his chest, he brought his gaze to the crowded sky. “These are facts, girls. The very true horrors that lurk in Baate Noir.” Bertrand sucked in a long breath as Alan and Kat groaned in unison, the two exchanging pained glances before Alan dropped his head back into his hands.
“You two probably know it as the Black Forest, that spiked sea of black woods that cuts Montbereau and the whole of the south off from the capital and the northern colonies.”
“Witches are out there...” Maddy murmured, her clasped hands tightening.
“Not just witches, Maddy...” Eva gave Kat a sidelong glance, “...right, Kat?”
Kat nodded, her sharp eyes suddenly sleepy.
“Blood sucking hetaera, the blighted undead crawling from ill-packed graves—monstrous direwolves slavering for human blood—,” Bertrand caught himself as the girls paled and held tight to Kat's arms. He let out a single rumble of laughter as Maddy trembled on Kat's right. “—but you're safe here! Rest assured—the Sonant of Liberation patrols the south. Hell, even the outskirts are somewhat secured thanks to the Sonant of Liberation.”
“And the Rose's men? The Monarchy? Where are t-t-t-they?” Maddy shivered, still holding tight to Kat's right arm. “Are they not h-h-h-helping as well?”
“Well—of course!” Bertrand scratched his head of auburn hair with a hand on his hip. “Just in...well—with frugality in mind, I suppose.”
“You mean—the Rose doesn't give a damn.” Alan spat into the snow, planting his hands to his knees before he pushed his torso up. “'Out of sight, out of mind.' goes the saying. And we're too damn far for the Monarchy to give a shit about us—or any of the south.”
Blood stained snow gave Kat a start—blinking the color away she snapped her gaze towards Alan. “You're wrong.” she said, her voice abnormally low.
“Am I?” the redhead cackled, cocking his head to the side as he widened almond shaped eyes. “Tell me, Sis. You seen a Rose badge round here in the past—what? Six or seven years? Last month, when that sabertooth wandered into Montbereau—remind me, who killed it, Sis? Whose blood was spilt in protection of Montbereau?”
He had her there. And she shook her head. “Sonants lost five men against that beast.”
“Ah, so you remember?”
Kat narrowed her gaze upon Alan's freckled face. “Get on, Alan—moaning and groaning cause you can't hold your drink. I've seen the badge around.”
“What? When you were a babe?” Alan chuckled, slapping his knee before hunching over. “Right. Bertrand, you ever seen the badge round here?”
With his hands to his hips, Bertrand slowly shook his head from side to side. “Like I said, frugality. The Rose...with it's specially trained men...is quite—picky with where they place them. Doesn't mean the Monarchy doesn't care, girls. So shake that terribly bad thought from your minds. Pretty things like you should worry for naught! You'll crease your foreheads. Wrinkles everywhere.” Bertrand chirped, raising his hands before spreading his fingers. “Worry not, dear ladies. The Path is no longer as dangerous as it once was. The Baate Noir is dark—that is all.”
“I told you,” Kat hissed, crossing her legs as the girls hands went limp upon her forearms. “don't feed my girls lies.”
“Then why the escort of eighteen for the scholars' Chaperon? Why so many?” Maddy raised her hands, palms up. “If Baate Noir is simply dark, why not bring more flint instead? Why not let my cousin stay?” she whined, wrapping her hands around Kat's right arm.
“Oh, we look up to you for it. We truly do.” Eva added, clasping her hands upon her lap. “But we still wish you wouldn't go.”
“Gran passed the shield to me and I must fulfill the duties it brings. Just as one of you shall, once I pass it on.” Kat told them, eyeing both of the girls.
“Understand, pretties?”
The girls murmured a monotone, “Yes.” before Alan spat upon the snow.
Rolling his shoulders, he stood up. “They're letting the tent down, men. Maeva, murmur a quick adieu.”
The several others lazing about the well shot to standing, as Kat offered a single hug to both Eva and Maddy, who whimpered. Who darkened Kat's fur-lined surcoat with her tears. Kat sent them off towards the murmuring crowd ahead. She watched them leave, the girls jogging off while throwing Kat quick furtive glances packed with worry. Eva's gaze gave her confidence, her eyes heavy with questions yet brimming with condolences. Those eyes gave Kat a chilly solace that melted away once she brought her eyes to Maddy's upturned face as the girl blew her a flighty kiss.
Past the convoy and the gathering crowd of well-wishers, Kat watched the briefing tent's flaps fall open as five men exited. The crowd's murmurs broke into cheerful roars as the duke presented himself, his cape of flowing ermine heavy with gold trimmed cloth. From so far away, the duke was the only man Kat could truly make out as the men piled through the snow towards the convoy.
“Hey, Bertrand?” Alan muttered, standing near Kat as she shifted beneath the weight of the shield at her back.
Bertrand turned, his scarf down. Bringing a hand to the ax sticking out of his thick leather belt, Bertrand nodded.
“About the blood suckers—the hetaera? They ain't...real, is they?”
Kat met Bertrand's eyes, the two exchanging a smirk before she nudged Alan in his ribs with her elbow. “Course they are, dolt-head. Everything and anything lives in Baate Noir—hell—,”
“Heard we'd be going through Remicourt.” Alan hissed out a breath beside her, stinking of ale and vomit. “That true too, Sis? Bertrand? Tell me it ain't.”
That froze her. Stopped her cold as her heart echoed hard in her ears.
“Afraid so.” Bertrand shrugged, his smirk gone. “Strange thing, yeah? The Path ain't as clean as it should be, heard Sonant Kaiden say. King's men have left us stranded out here, you see. Frugality, friend. Frugality. Remicourt's been cleared by a witch before—it's probably still clear now...”
“That ground is cursed.” Kat whimpered, staring at him wide eyed. “We can't...”
“It's clear and right safe. Safe as we're gonna get on the Path. Unfortunate thing, that.” Bertrand mused, bringing an inquisitive hand to his chin. “That the grounds are cursed.”
THREE
Horace threaded calloused fingers through his mangled mop of dull black hair as he lowered his head. Keeping a hand to his hip, he paced before the duchy's seven, as they stood at attention before the town's wide well.
“How can I say this?” he murmured, stopping at the end of the line before turning on his heel in the snow. “How can I, how can I? Bertrand,” Horace clipped, stopping before the larger man. “Roux shoulda put you in charge, not I.
“Hey—all of you!” Horace suddenly snapped. Katell tensed at Bertrand's side, bringing her eyes to the sky. “Quit it, right? We're brothers here—,” Katell smirked as she let the clasped hands behind her back go. “—and sisters.” Horace added, gaze sliding to Katell. “Ye, gods—you've picked a right time to show your mettle, eh Coz?”
“Time's always right to get a little blood on yer tongue, right lads?” a young man bearing a shield exposing the sigil of a curving dragon at his back clapped, the noise erupting from the front of the line.
Katell inched away as Bertrand crossed his thick arms. “Would you like him to shush?” he asked her.
“I'd like him to never speak again.” Katell quipped.
“Now, now—look,” Horace threw his hands before him, waving before he hooked his thumbs into his broad waist belt. “they've decided the Chaperon will go wide round the Methusa peaks. We trek through the ruins, move past the Brandies and Port Niva to get right to the Poudurac—,”
“—sir, that's a week of travel if the weather holds good! You realize it's winter?” dragon shield blurted, breaking the line to approach Horace. “Going through Baate Noir...it'll take fourteen days in this snow—worse if the clouds don't clear. Don't you realize—,”
Horace came nose to nose with dragon shield, the two men level as dragon shield crossed his arms before his chest. Rolling his shoulders back, Horace tilted up his chin. “Think I'm choosy, Jod? Think I—nah, we—think any of us get a choice of where we go? We're meat shields, Jod—arse shields more like.” Planting his hands to Jod's chest, Horace shoved him—threw him towards the snow frosted cobblestones of the ground. “You wanna cut cross me again, kid?”
Horace wasn't angry—no, Katell shook her head as she peered from Bertrand's left. No, his actions were almost automatic as he hovered over the kid, his pale face clear of all emotion as he struck out a hand in offering.
“No, sir. Sorry, sir. It's just—,” Jod took the hand, hefted himself up and straightened. Clasped his hands behind his back and brought his gaze to the ground. “—ah, food—rations. Fourteen days on the Path? Do they have any idea...”
“Course they do.” Horace spat, crossing his arms as he shook his head. “But the Chaperon is tasked with getting ten cityfolk back to the capital. We're trading them off at the Poudurac, then restocking at Labassette Chateau. Sad to say, but that's gonna have to be good enough.”
Behind Horace, Katell's brown mare whinnied. Smacking a black hoof to the ground, it tossed its head of midnight hair and turned its gaze towards the growing convoy.
“Last bit of word before we join the Chaperon, lads.” Horace straightened, turned towards the line as every one of them tensed. “We're lucky, alright? Winter's bad and all, but it means less monsters. At least—think about it, yeah? Ground's too harsh for the undead to rise, sun's never out so those wights won't be spooking the horses—only thing we really need to worry after are the wolves. That's it.” Rocking on his heels, Horace nodded with a wide grin. “As Montbereau's own, we're taking up the Chaperon's flank—that's it. Easy job, right? The Sonants have the laterals and front—so if anything happens to the Chaperon it's on their heads, not us. We good on this? Tracking?”
The seven nodded, murmuring their agreement before breaking off towards the growing line of horses and wooden wagons. Catching hold of her mare's reigns, Katell began to guide the nosy animal towards the din of gathered people as she fell in step with Horace who moved rather sluggishly towards the crowd.
“Got a case of cold feet, Coz?” Katell teased, tugging at the mare's reigns as they approached the crowd.
“You got the ruins part, right? You heard me—understood me?”
Katell pressed her lips together.
“Katty?”
She shot him a furtive glare. “Course I did—fuck, man. Remicourt? We absolutely must go through fucking Remicourt?”
The horde of bodies began to part as the three worked their way through the crowd surrounding the convoy. Murmuring voices, swept up by powerful songs and cries bubbling with joy threatened to drown their conversation out as Katell fought to keep her mare from barreling over unsuspecting carolers.
“Cyclops spoke—nah, more like railed me about bringing you along.” Horace hissed, combing a hand through his hair. “'No place for a greengill—specially not a woman...blah, blah...' sure you've heard it straight from the horse's arse time and time again.”
Kat took her time sighing, feeling veins pulse through her neck as the three meandered their way down the convoy line, finally breaking free of the crowd—free of the whispers and send-off songs. “Kaiden came to me,” she murmured. “last night.”
“At the send-off?” Horace spat, eyes bulging. “What a...”
Katell snorted. “Oh, you'll call him a cyclops—but naming him for what he truly is...oh, that's too much for you?” she cackled. “An ass, Horace. That's what he is—an ass—,”
“He fought against it, you know. Don't be so hasty.” Horace cut across her as a black ox snorted from his right, the beast pelted down by the wooden arms of a large square wagon.<
br />
“Fought against what?” she smirked.
“Against going through the ruins, Coz. Against going through Remicourt.”
“Good for him, should I congratulate the ass?”
“You should.” Horace snapped, his voice cold. “He got a railing for it—from the duke himself. Threatened to have the man burned.”
“Well...” she brought her gaze above the crowd at her left, looking for those telltale wooden pyres set up before mead hall's high hill. She found them, the pyres. Her gaze hooked onto spiraling wooden structures as they cast dark shadows against the snow. Spiked shadows crept towards the gathering, looming heavy over the crowd and the convoy like turbulent clouds promising hail. Her eyes searched for smoke, “the threat's obviously empty.”
“Then why'd they set up the pyres?”
Kat narrowed her eyes. “True...but,” she shook her head as they neared the end of the convoy. “you can't burn a Sonant—you just can't...”
“Yes,” Horace murmured, passing Alan's salt and pepper stallion before halting in the snow. “but you can burn their friends.”
Cutting through the line, Horace left her there to mount his own horse as her shoulders slouched and her eyes widened.
Would the duke truly do such a thing? Burn a man's friend because he spoke against him? Was going through Remicourt truly so important?
She wanted to tell herself no—that Horace's speculations were just the ravings of a lean-witted guardsman—but as she brought her gaze back to the lonesome wooden pyres calling for a crack of flint and a human head; she couldn't ignore the truth.
This wouldn't be the first time the duke's done such a thing.
Winterskin: A Dark Fantasy (Kindred Souls Book 1) Page 2