Beyond them, Doctor Renoire stood with Anton Dureau, his palms turned up as he asked questions.
“Sure, that should work,” Dureau said. “Anything you can kill someone with. All they have to do is coat it with silver. A scalpel will work fine.”
“But I don’t know if I can dare to take someone’s life,” Doctor Renoire argued.
Dureau stared at him. “… Then it might not.”
Opposite them, Celia pulled Madame Leóne aside to join her and a cluster of young girls. “Madame Leóne, I have an idea that I’m sure will work, but I want your opinion first. You’ll know better than anyone if it’s even possible for us to do, in only a few hours.”
Madame Leóne marched over to them, smiling. “We’re expected to become soldiers in a few hours, so who knows what we can actually do?”
Celia huddled together with Madame Leóne and the other girls, muffling their conversation. “If I’m right, this could do a lot of our fighting for us. Now what do you think of –?”
Celia’s father marched in front of her, waving his arms in protest. “I don’t want you fighting,” he said in a heated voice as his wife stepped quickly after him. “Out of the question!”
“I don’t want myself fighting, either,” Madame Verdante replied, skipping in front of him. “Or you.”
He struck his hands on his hips. “I fought during the invasion, if you remember.”
“Of course I remember. But you’re not a young man anymore.”
He turned in a huff. “I need to be young to protect my wife?”
She touched his shoulder. “We can’t protect ourselves, any of us. We can only fight and try to save our future. Even our daughter means to fight. How can I stand aside?”
He folded his arms, his chin jutting away from her. “You realize you may not survive.”
“Yes,” she said in a meek voice.
He turned suddenly and clutched her to his chest, holding her in silence for a long time.
“Anything,” Pierre told Monsieur Favreau from another part of the buzzing room. “All we have to do is coat it with a trace of silver and it turns deadly.”
“Can you coat a bullet?” Favreau asked.
Pierre stroked his chin. “The coating might come off when you fire it. Unless we mold the whole thing out of silver.” He turned apologetic eyes at Favreau. “I don’t think a silver bullet will work.”
Favreau shrugged. “Just a thought.”
Everywhere, all around the room, people were engaged in excited conversations. All discussing strategies for defeating the wolves. For saving their homes and their province. For securing freedom.
I turned to see Marceau standing before me. “Well done. Looks like you’ve started your own revolution, something the rest of us failed to do.”
I frowned. “At least they’re listening and helping. I don’t know how ready we’ll be when the wolves come.”
“Probably as ready as you or I were when we started,” he said. “Knowing about silver makes it a lot easier. Where can we get a good supply of weapons and silver to coat them with?”
“Monsieur Leóne and Pierre will melt down the silver we need from whatever people bring. As for weapons, they can supply several of those, too, but we can find the most at –.” I looked around, for the first taking notice of the LieutenantGeneral’s absence. “— the police station. Where I need to take care of LieutenantGeneral Vitton. He’s part of this.”
Marceau narrowed his eyes. “Doesn’t surprise me, but are you sure?”
“He told me to keep watch on the Strineaus, then denied it when I was being carted away to the asylum.”
“That sounds familiar. I’ll come with you.”
“No. I can handle him. I need you here to train the others.”
“So you’re going to raid the police station, fight your Lieutenant-General, and steal all their weapons for us by yourself?”
“And be back in an hour.”
“Of course,” he said with a sigh. “Just make sure you -.” He swallowed his last words.
“What?”
“… Just watch yourself, Helena,” he said before turning to join the others.
I stood a moment longer, watching Marceau introduce himself to Monsieur Leóne. Watched them all start to talk, discussing strategy as the villagers asked the inmates multiple questions about their experiences with the wolves.
Marceau was right. We had started a revolution.
I only hoped we would survive it.
The police station seemed deserted. I watched from a cluster of thick bushes outside, but heard nothing. Not a single sound from within the squat stone building.
I crept forward, seeing no one across the lawn or in the street. Of course, most of the town had gone to the meeting we called, but none of the local police had attended. Were they all part of the Lycanthru, or only Lieutenant-General Vitton?
I sniffed. Something smelled off, like a stench of decay. I drew my crossbow and approached the door, pushing it open gently.
A bloody hand lay across the desk.
I threw the door open, sweeping the room with my crossbow. Three policemen lay silent on the floor, in addition to the one lying in pieces at the desk. I stepped inside, scanning the corners of the room more closely before I studied the faces of the men on the floor. One of them still clutched his pistol. The face beneath his hat looked like that of –
The pistol and hat lifted suddenly, as Lieutenant-General Vitton stood to take aim at me. “Welcome home, Helena,” he said with a grin. “Drop that crossbow anywhere you like.”
I hesitated. He raised the pistol’s barrel toward my face.
I bent down to set the crossbow on the floor.
“Good girl. Now raise your hands high and turn toward the wall.”
I did as he instructed. Once he drew close enough, I could still use my blades. “So. You’ve been working with the Lycanthru all this time.”
He laughed. “I’m part of the Lycanthru order, Mademoiselle. But when I deliver you to them once more, back in DeSarte, they’ll reward me with a far greater position than spying on your pitiful province.”
“Don’t count on it,” I said as I heard him step close behind me.
Then something hard and wooden struck the back of my skull and my knees buckled as I fell into blackness.
51.
Lightning flashed across the night sky, making the light drizzle sparkle as it descended on us. I fidgeted in Crimson’s saddle as we passed through the black forest, tugging at the ropes that bound my wrists behind me. They seemed to have no give whatsoever. I continued to glance in all directions for any sign of the wolves, now that we had entered the outskirts of DeSarte.
We had ridden for over two hours in the gentle rain from the La Rue Sauvage police station. Lieutenant-General Vitton had bound and gagged me and locked me in an unoccupied cell to wait out the day. Until dusk, when he planned to deliver me back to DeSarte.
Back to Séverin DuChard and the nightmare of Asile de DeSarte.
Now the Lieutenant-General’s black horse trotted alongside me as Crimson was led forth, his reins held tightly in the LieutenantGeneral’s glove. We continued past giant black tree roots that gnarled and twisted as if they were clawing the ground.
Something growled, low and menacing. I turned to meet the stare of a brown wolf, studying us as we passed. Then it padded off ahead of us quickly, racing past the trees to a dark clearing. We followed after it, reaching the crest of a hill. A line of men on horseback lined the bowl-shaped valley below.
Waiting.
We descended into the muddy terrain to meet them, as Crimson’s reins were tugged forward. As we drew closer, I could make out the dark outline of Séverin DuChard, saddled in the center horse. Simonet and Garroche flanked him, sitting tall in their saddles.
Once we stopped, I was dragged off of Crimson and shoved forward, toward the waiting horsemen.
“Move,” the gruff voice ordered from behind me.
; I obeyed, nearly slipping in the damp ground as I stumbled forward toward DuChard.
We met in the middle of the clearing. DuChard and Simonet stood in front of the others, no longer smiling the way they did when they first captured me.
Primarily because DuChard’s face had been badly burnt on one side, from the Lycanum vial that exploded near his wagon last night. Flashes of lightning showed that it remained red and raw, blackened in places, from the side of his forehead all the way down his left cheek.
“So. We meet again, Helena,” DuChard said in a toneless voice. “We have missed you.”
“I can’t say the same,” I said, my arms struggling as I was held in place. “And you have something on the left side of your face.”
DuChard ignored my remark. “You made quite a mess at the asylum, Mademoiselle. Two dozen wolves dead, most of them burned. But you will pay for it as you learn your place, I promise you.” His teeth ground together in a snarl. “And since you so brutally took Liana from us, I’ll see to your training myself, beginning tonight.” His face turned stone cold. “What you suffered under her is nothing compared to what I have planned for you, Mademoiselle. I’ll see to it your screams fill every hall of the asylum, while our entire order gathers to watch.”
I twisted again, as DuChard delighted in my helplessness. “It won’t matter what you do to me,” I said. “You can’t make anyone disappear anymore. Everyone knows what you are and what you’ve done. They’ll come looking for me. And for you.”
“Then I suppose we should find a better place to hide you, where you can’t be found. The way we’ve done with your little friend, Claudette.”
I lurched forward, nearly forgetting myself and charging at DuChard’s throat. “Where is she? What have you done with her?”
Simonet squinted at me, surely trying to read my angry thoughts.
Garroche laughed, fingering his whip. “She still has plenty of fire, Lord DuChard. She’ll be fun to break.”
“She certainly will,” DuChard said, before returning his attention to me. “Claudette is quite safe, child, and none of your concern,” DuChard said with finality. “You only need to please us. With your suffering. Meanwhile, we can deal with your pursuers, one by one. As for you, perhaps we’ll cart you off to Paris or even Versailles. Trust me, Helena, we have plenty of ways to make certain no one will ever hear from you again.”
“But you’ll hear from someone else,” I challenged, still wriggling in the ropes as the rain continued to soak the earth. “I’m not the only one anymore. You might get rid of me but others will rise up in my place. They’ll keep fighting you, like I did, until they destroy you all.”
The Lycanthru all laughed.
All but Simonet, who continued to study me. “Lord DuChard, something is amiss –.”
DuChard waved him off. “Of course, we’re very concerned about that, Helena,” DuChard said, leaning down over his saddle. “Pray tell, where are these others hiding?”
“Closer than you think,” said the man holding me as he lifted his head, letting the Lycanthru see his face beneath the LieutenantGeneral’s hat.
DuChard paled. “Marceau!”
“It gets worse,” Marceau said as he released my arms, which were never tied.
Simonet glanced up at the hill behind us, then turned and fled as DuChard also stared upward. I didn’t turn back to see the villagers from La Rue Sauvage that I knew had lined up along the crest, preparing to descend the hill on horseback.
Villagers dressed in red-hooded cloaks that Celia Verdante and other women had sewn for them.
Lightning flashed as I heard them rumbling down the hill at the Lycanthru, to brandish their crossbows and daggers, axes and sickles, pitchforks and sharp trowels – each tool dipped in molten silver.
I drew my own crossbow from behind my back and took aim. DuChard drew back suddenly as his horse reared up in fright, forcing me to step back. Simonet had already retreated to the back of the crowd, darting off into the dark. I satisfied myself with sinking bolts into two other Lycanthru near the front as DuChard and Garroche twisted away out of sight. Other Lycanthru were quickly drinking vials of Lycanum and leaping off their horses, transforming into wolves.
The red-hooded villagers poured into the clearing, attacking the Lycanthru with savage force – hacking, cleaving and shooting them down as quickly as they could. Their cries, especially those of the women and girls, reminded me of the surge of violence and terror I felt when I first battled the wolves. That same fear now drove them to attack hard and fast, to make certain the wolves couldn’t rise for a second attack.
I whistled for Crimson, who galloped over to me. I grabbed hold of the saddle horn to jump onto his back and turn him toward the battle. I shot down a handful of wolves, but saw the villagers killing most of them. Even Celia had dropped to her knees, fiercely stabbing a wolf with her silver-tipped knife.
Marceau had followed me into town instead of training the others to fight, assuming I would need help. He rescued me from Lieutenant-General Vitton with his own silver dagger, while Dureau trained the others in his absence. Everyone had listened and learned well. We now had an army.
“Mama!” Pierre cried from behind.
I turned to see Madame Leóne, her hood fallen as she lay on the ground, where a wolf had toppled her from her horse. It padded toward her with grinning fangs as she searched the ground for her weapons.
“No!” Monsieur Leóne cried nearby.
I drew my crossbow, but one of the Lycanthru’s unmanned horses galloped past me, blocking my shot. When it passed, the wolf was on top of Madame Leóne.
But Monsieur Leóne had thrown himself onto it, plunging a silver awl into its furry back. The wolf arched and howled in pain. Then it spun on its back, slashing wildly at Monsieur Leóne’s face, before it collapsed beneath him.
Monsieur Leóne swiped at his forehead, pressing his arm against it to stop the bleeding as he grit his teeth.
Madame Leóne found her tools – a large pair of silveredged sewing needles – and stabbed at another wolf that approached her husband from behind. The wolf gasped and fell at their feet, allowing them a moment to stare at one another with relief before she handed him a handkerchief for his forehead and they both rushed back into their separate fights.
Beyond the rushing battle, DuChard stood watching me from a safe distance. He had abandoned his horse and now drank his own vial of Lycanum. I charged toward him as he changed into a wolf, ripping away his clothes and racing up the hill.
I glanced back, to confirm that the others were faring well enough without me. I couldn’t let DuChard escape.
“Red!” Pierre called.
I glanced back, seeing Pierre and the Leónes stare back at me as I urged Crimson up the muddy hill, finally gaining enough traction at the top to speed after DuChard.
Moonlight sparkled on the wet grass as we raced after DuChard, with Crimson snorting and pounding hard over the hills. The noise of battle faded behind us as we hurried into another valley and up the next hill. At the top, DuChard sprinted into the cover of thick gnarled trees. I pushed Crimson to charge after him, letting the darkness of the forest swallow us up. Ahead, I caught moonlit glimpses of DuChard in his shadowy wolf form, darting along a path between the trees.
The forest became familiar as I recognized unusual landmarks: a tree that split apart into three thick trunks that fanned wide of its base, and a twisted tree root that stuck up and pointed sideways like a pig’s tail. We were nearing the cave where I first found the Lycanthru and Claudette.
DuChard bounded toward it. But instead of rushing into the cave’s mouth, he scrambled up the outside slope to the top. I pushed Crimson up the hilly perch, where I had watched the Lycanthru right before meeting the Prime.
On the other side of the hill, DuChard stopped and looked about anxiously. Something had apparently blocked him. Muddy terrain? A small riverbed? Whatever it was, he turned back to face me, crouching in defense.
I
wasted no time and charged at him, careful to steer around the center hole.
Yet the earth gave way beneath Crimson’s feet as a straight fissure appeared along the ground beneath us. Crimson struggled to right himself as I fell sideways out of the saddle. I gasped, sailing straight through the hole to meet empty air. I tucked my legs to roll on the ground, though I was dropping into the cave’s pool, twenty-five feet below. My knees smacked the water and I took a quick breath before going under. The ground beneath the water was pure mud that softened my landing. I groaned and struggled to stand, my feet and thighs burning with bruises. Nothing seemed to be broken. I had fallen into some kind of squishy mud and had sunk to my knees.
I rose, flinging water off my hair, and struggled to step out of it.
My legs wouldn’t move.
Overhead, Crimson whinnied and snorted in a rage. DuChard growled back at him, louder and harsher. Seconds later, I heard Crimson’s hooves galloping back down the hill and off into the forest.
I looked up. DuChard appeared, a wolfish silhouette with glowing eyes. “Now we can finally speak in private, Helena,” he said. “Thank you so much for coming.”
My heart raced. DuChard had planned this, leading me onto the hill. That fissure that opened in the ground had been created by the Lycanthru, cut out in sections where I had noticed those strafing lines. I didn’t fall through when I laid flat on its edge, but Crimson’s weight caused the ceiling to collapse like a giant tiger pit.
Trapping me in this watery mudhole.
Overhead, Crimson whinnied and snorted in a rage. DuChard growled back at him, growing louder and harsher. Seconds later, I heard Crimson galloping away, his hooves facing away.
I looked up. DuChard’s black wolfish face appeared. “Now we can finally speak alone, my dear,” he said. “Thank you so much for coming.”
I held my arms above the water, which was up to my waist, and tried to twist one leg free. I couldn’t get any leverage. My cloak floated behind me as I twisted the other way and tugged straight up, working my leg a little looser.
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