Blick dropped his all-seeing sorcery. “They appear to be Russian cavalry. Ten of them. None of them radiate magic, though. I doubt they’re sorcerers. And they seem in a rush.”
Everyone remained silent and tense as the horses drew closer and closer. Geist straightened her posture.
“Let me do all the talking, princess,” Varnish said with a chuckle.
Heinrich snorted. “Will you torment me with your infantile nickname the entire time we travel together?”
“Just until it sticks as a codename.”
Geist elbowed Varnish in the ribs. “We’re on urgent business. We cannot be stopped for any reason. Do you understand?”
“Of course, commander,” Varnish replied. “Just let me do all the talking.”
Nine
General Volkov
Ten men rode toward the truck. Nine of the horses were a shade of wet mud, but the last one—an Arabian—had a coat of clean snow. The soldier atop, more decorated than the rest, urged his mount to slow as the distance between him and the truck became smaller.
Varnish applied the brakes. The Russian soldiers circled around the vehicle while the command trotted up to the driver-side door.
He said something in Russian. Varnish replied with a chuckle.
Geist waited patiently, her mind on the beautiful horse rather than the situation. The white Arabian stood fifteen hands tall, its dark eyes a harsh contrast with its lustrous coat. Geist enjoyed riding horses, and she liked seeing them from time to time among the soldiers, but she hated how many of them died pointless deaths. Perhaps cavalry had been effective during the times of Napoleon, but that wasn’t the case with the Great War. The trenches and heavy artillery made short work of cavalry.
“Beautiful,” she heard Dreamer whisper from behind her. He, too, stared at the white Arabian, his eyes wide.
Sometimes she forgot Dreamer was originally from the Middle Eastern Theater. Although he had a slight Arab accent to his words, he never really spoke about his past life in Saudi Arabia.
Varnish slapped the side of the truck and said something heated. The cavalry officer pointed down the road and barked a few words before jerking the reins of his horse and motioning his soldiers to continue.
The ten cavalrymen took off toward Riga. Geist watched them go for a long moment before turning her attention to Varnish. “What happened?”
“He vants us to speak with Sorcerer General Alexei Volkov.” Varnish leaned back and exhaled. “Apparently he sensed us coming this vay.”
“Those mortal men know General Volkov is a sorcerer?” Geist asked.
“Yes and no,” Varnish replied.
Everyone in the truck glanced over at Varnish. Battery even jumped up and moved closer to the front, his eyebrows knit together.
“Didn’t the general take an oath of secrecy?” he asked.
It was a long-standing tradition that went all the way back to the first crusade. Before then, sorcerers used their magic for a great many things—history often confusing the use of magic for “miracles” or “mysteries”—but during the holy wars, mortal knights targeted sorcerers to turn the tides of combat. There were more non-magic users than sorcerers, after all. An army could do away with a talented sorcerer house, if they had enough knights. And even a servant could slit the throat of a sleeping individual, no matter how many sorceries they had mastered.
Back then, it was a time of great confusion and death, but the remaining sorcerer houses, from Europe to Eastern Asia, agreed that the mortal population had grown too vast and too bloodthirsty for sorcerers to remain out in the open. Sorcerer houses swore oaths to remain hidden, as magicless men would surely target them as “witches” should they figure out the truth.
And to enforce this rule, sorcerers vowed to kill any who broke it.
She had even reaffirmed that oath when she joined the Ethereal Squadron. If General Volkov had told his soldiers of magic, Geist and her team would have to put an end to him. But if the reveal was an accident, counter measures could be employed.
“The Russian Empire is different than Europe,” Varnish said as he applied his foot to the pedal. “Ve’ve alvays had rogue sorcerers, ever since Baba-Yaga. They vere too difficult to kill. Hell, even the tsar’s vife, Alexandra, consorted with Grigori Rasputin, the famous swindler sorcerer.”
Dreamer immediately opened his book and took notes. “Such actions would have been met with a swift death in my homeland. I almost cannot believe this.”
“There was a rogue sorcerer working with the royalty of the Russian Empire?” Vergess balked. “And this is known throughout the land?”
Varnish shrugged. “I told you. He vas hard man to kill. Proper sorcerers hated his influence over Alexandra and the tsar, but vhat can you do vith a man of ancient sorcery? He’s so long-lived, people thought he vas immortal.”
Geist couldn’t help but chuckle. The longer she heard the story, the more it sounded like a fairy tale. Immortality? Such sorcery was fantasy. But…
“Wait,” she said. “Did Baba-Yaga claim to have ancient sorceries in her blood?”
“That’s vhat they say.” Varnish laughed aloud, his belly shaking until he calmed himself down. “I remember reading the papers a few veeks back! The bastard Rasputin took a gunshot straight to the forehead and two to the chest. That vas after he ate cyanide-laced cakes. And then he was tossed into the river. I have fifteen rubles that says he’s still alive.”
The story hit Geist hard. There were sorcerers open about their magic in the Russian Empire. But that wasn’t as significant as the thought that followed afterward. She turned her gaze to her teammates, afraid to voice her hypothesis.
But the others returned her stare with looks of realization and fear. They had all come to the same conclusion.
The enemy squadron—and the Eyes of the Kaiser—weren’t just after obscure sorcerer houses. They were looking for sorcerers with long-thought-fantasy sorcery. They wanted ancient magics. Descendants of Baba-Yaga. Immortality. Maybe something more powerful, Geist couldn’t even imagine.
“How have we not heard about this?” Victory demanded. “The other allied powers would not stand for a blatant disregard to tradition.”
Varnish sped down the road, the smoke of his cigarette trailing out the window. “The enemy nations are betveen us. Communications are limited. Besides, no one tells the tsar vhat he and his family can do. Do you honestly think Britain and France vant Nicolas Romanov dead? Then they vould lose the Russian Empire. The enemy could then focus all their efforts on one front.”
As they drove toward General Volkov’s camp, Geist’s thoughts circled the newest bits of information over and over again. Could she get word to Major Reese? She didn’t have a reliable route or courier, and Blick’s telepathy couldn’t span continents.
We’ll have to handle this ourselves, she reasoned. Under no circumstance can the enemy be allowed to steal the blood of any more sorcerers.
The Eastern Front wasn’t far from Riga.
Tattered tents, ragged horses, and wary men crowded the side of the road. Trench warfare took its toll on morale. The front lines never moved, and when they did, it had been the Russian Empire who had lost ground. Geist had heard that much through the newspapers. While the Russians had numbers, their wartime strategies were dated. Austria-Hungary and Germany innovated.
Soldiers shuffled toward the truck with bowls and cups. Through their cracked lips they muttered things in Russian, but Geist didn’t need a translator to understand they were starving. When the soldiers realized there was no food, they spat and cursed, their eyes hard with resentment.
Varnish didn’t speak much. He didn’t laugh or joke. He kept his grip tight on the wheel, glaring at the road as he slowly made his way through the squads of soldiers.
“Are we going to run into trouble?” Vergess asked as he turned to Victory. “The air smells of mutiny.”
Geist couldn’t smell mutiny, but she did detect rotting flesh and human waste.
Sure enough, right on cue, the mood of the encampment shifted. Soldiers got to their feet, each whispering and pointing to a hill not far down the road. Geist followed their motioning and caught a glimpse of a man on horseback. It was easy to see why everyone recognized him.
“Volkov!” the men cheered. “Volkov! Volkov!”
General Volkov wore his hair like he was part lion. It puffed out in all directions, including his thick sideburns and well-kept beard. The red hue shone in the light of the setting sun as he rode for the officer’s tent. Each man he passed greeted him with a salute and a smile, completely changed in attitude from moments before.
“Is this sorcery?” Geist asked. “Does he have some sort of power over them?”
Varnish cracked a small smile. “No. General Volkov is just loved among his men. He fights vith them in a battle. Ten men in one, they say.”
“So, he’s a fierce warrior?”
“And a cunning strategist. If not for him, all of the Russian Empire vould’ve fallen.”
The cheering made sense. Geist always appreciated the leadership of Major Reese. Before she had worked under him, she had a field commander who only cared about his own comfort. The depression of being seen as a tool and nothing more had eaten at her resolve. If Geist hadn’t been reassigned, she might’ve regretted her decision to join the war.
Varnish pulled his truck up to the officer’s tent and parked a fair distance behind the horses. He, Geist, and Heinrich exited the vehicle.
“Wait here,” she said to the others.
Battery held out his hand. Without a word between them, Geist reached out and took it. His empowerment surged through her palm and straight up her arm until it permeated her whole being.
“Thank you, Battery,” she said.
He replied with a smile.
Geist, Varnish, and Heinrich walked together to the front of the tent. Heinrich’s tailored coat, button-up shirt, and clean slacks clashed with the dirty uniforms of the Russian soldiers—so much so that the few they walked past stopped their Volkov chant to give them dirty glances.
Heinrich straightened his glasses and ignored their glowers.
“General Volkov is one of the men you need to speak to?” Geist whispered.
“A sorcerer general should know where the western research lab is located,” he replied. “Or would you rather me wait in the truck?”
“I would prefer you with me, actually. Your nullis sorcery will be useful. If the general and I have a falling out, you’re to return to the truck.”
Geist wished she had Heinrich’s ability to ignore magic. Then she wouldn’t have been possessed by the Eyes of the Kaiser—or even affected by the terrible GH Gas.
Then again, becoming incorporeal isn’t so bad. Geist smirked. Perhaps I should take a suit of magi-tech armor from the enemy squad. It might be just enough to save me from hostile magics.
Varnish approached first. Two Russian soldiers stood at attention in front of the massive tent, each with rifles held at the ready. Varnish said a few things, tapped at his rank insignia, and then motioned to Heinrich. He laughed, said something else, and then the tent guards were laughing as well, both giving Heinrich quick glances.
“Have I mentioned I dislike Varnish?” Heinrich said in casual German. “I didn’t decide we wouldn’t get along. He did.”
Geist gave him a sideways glare and replied in her own hushed German, “You’re taking it too seriously. This is the first time he’s acted like his normal self since we’ve arrived. If anything, I think he likes you.”
“Heh. I’ve never been a fan of push me down, pull my hair flirting.”
Geist snorted and held back a laugh. Her sudden grunt and stifled chuckles silenced Varnish and the guards. Then the Russians motioned them forward. Geist didn’t delay—she walked straight in and found herself stumbling through a haze.
The entire tent, from the floor to the roof, had a stagnant cloud of cigarette smoke. The three Russian officers inside, including General Volkov, stood around a wooden table, a map of the Eastern Front laid out before them. They stopped their discussion, folded up their paperwork, and then turned their attention to the newcomers.
Geist and Varnish saluted. Heinrich pushed up his glasses and took a step back, hiding himself somewhat in the shadow of the corner.
Varnish said a couple words in Russian. General Volkov held up a hand.
“Americans?” Volkov asked in perfect English. “I didn’t think many American sorcerers had joined the war yet. Especially since your country has yet to join.”
“Sorcerers sometimes act outside of their nation,” Geist replied, relieved she could speak directly to the general. “But that’s not important. I have serious business within the Russian Empire. I must make it to Petrograd as soon as possible.”
Volkov lifted an eyebrow—one as red and bushy as his beard and hair. “Petrograd?” He waited a long moment as he looked Geist up and down.
His expression wasn’t like a soldier looking over another soldier. It was… something else. Geist grew hot in the face, uncertain of how to bridge the conversation.
“Sir?” she asked. “We were summoned by your cavalrymen. If you can spare us, I need to leave.”
“I sensed you coming,” General Volkov said. “So I sent my men ahead to fetch you. All I want is to ask a few questions, then you can be on your way.”
His voice had a low rumble to it, like the roar of a lion made into human words. Geist found herself getting tenser by the second, if only because she wasn’t certain what would happen next. She couldn’t reveal her operation to the general—it was top secret. What else did he want to know?
“What’s your name, soldier?” he asked.
“Geist,” she replied without thinking.
“Have you come to assassinate the tsar?”
She caught her breath, taken aback by the sudden escalation of seriousness. “N-never, sir. The Russian Empire is a trusted ally. I’m here to protect—”
“I know why you’re here,” General Volkov said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You just told me.” He tapped at his temple. “My sorcery does more than sense people. I can hear your inner thoughts, clear as the birds in spring.”
The exact opposite of communis sorcery.
“That’s an assault against a fellow sorcerer,” Geist said. “We’re allies.”
Wartime rules between sorcerers dictated that friendly magic wouldn’t be used against another without permission. By reading her mind without telling her, General Volkov had essentially stripped her privacy away.
“Times are desperate,” Volkov replied.
Geist held her breath. Could the general hear everything? Two questions and he already knew? For a moment, no one said anything, not Varnish, not the other officers, not Heinrich. What would the general do if he understood the nature of their mission? Or if he knew her true identity? Even thinking about it added anxiety—what if he were listening now?
“I just needed to know if you were a threat to the tsar,” General Volkov continued. He tensed and took a step back, a deep frown on his face. “You and your squad are free to continue to the capital.” He stroked his mane of a beard and then motioned to a box set at the edge of the table. One of his officers handed it over. “Here. Take this. A sign of good will.”
Hesitant, and still a bit shaken, Geist took a step forward and took the box. It had a brand burned into the top and weighed more than she expected.
“You’re American,” he said. “So you might enjoy the contents. Cigars and fine whiskey.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“The roads from here to Petrograd are rough and do damage to vehicles. You can take horses, but the fastest route is by train. East of her
e is a supply station. If you hurry, you can make the next departure. The train usually leaves after sundown.”
Geist exhaled and allowed her stress to leave with her breath. Although Volkov had a gruffness to his voice and mannerisms, she couldn’t help but feel his charisma.
No wonder all the soldiers love him.
“Thank you so much, sir,” Geist said. “I appreciate the gift and the insight.” She motioned to Heinrich. “But before we go, there is someone I’d—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Heinrich interjected. “You heard the general. We should leave right away.”
Varnish nodded. “I agree. I know of the supply station of which General Volkov speaks. Ve’ll need to hurry.”
The other two Russian officers added their nods to the conversation.
Convinced it would be okay, Geist nodded. “Very well. God speed, General Volkov.”
He smiled. “Good luck with your mission, Geist.”
Ten
Train Ride to Petrograd
It took longer than expected to board the train. It was scheduled to leave at sundown, but it took several hours longer for it to even arrive. Once aboard, Geist and her crew took up seats in a cargo boxcar.
Supply trains didn’t make for comfortable passenger vehicles. And the twenty-four-hour trek would surely take its toll.
Geist sat atop a crate as the train clacked along the tracks, the occasional rumble a problem for her stomach. She gripped on the edge of the container, her gaze on the grime-coated floor. What if their enemies were heading to Petrograd as well? Would they have a few hours’ head start? She couldn’t stop thinking of the possibility.
A Company of Monsters (The Sorcerers of Verdun Book 2) Page 8