The fat agent blushed, no doubt thinking that his judgment was being questioned. “It was a subtle case, Your Majesty. The inhabitants of Midden did not die from the famine. True, some moved away, but every one of them lived. I know of no other village in England unaffected thusly. Furthermore, they seemed to possess an uncanny strength. There was a mute child assisting in the kitchen at the time.”
Nodding in agreement at the man’s assessment, Bartheleme continued toward the waiting mounts. Often parents cut out the tongue of a suspected witch child, keeping it from casting spells. They hoped to keep the child safe that way. “And the second one?”
“She was near death, riding on a giant of a horse. She had this.” He held out a gold coin. “Where did a girl, starving as she was, get these things?”
“She could have stolen them.” Bartheleme shrugged and took the offered coin. He hefted it, feeling the unnatural weight of it. He bit into it, but it refused to dent. Surprised, he raised his eyebrows at the agent.
The fat man gave a knowing smile. “We tried cutting it with a cleaver, but it wouldn’t split. Sire,” he leaned in close, “her eyes were green.”
“What did she say? How did she explain these things?” They’d reached the horses, and Bartheleme stroked the neck of a handsome chestnut mare. She showed no skittishness at his dragon smell. Nor did the white-flecked black beside her. They’d both been raised in one of his family’s holdings.
“She said not a word. No one had seen her before, either. Yet, she seemed to know about the other witch in the kitchen.”
Bartheleme felt his pulse quicken. Could it be they’d finally found what his father had been searching for: a mind-speaker? “You said you lost them at the crossroads, is that right?”
“It is, Sire. My apologies. I followed one branch to here, being pressed for our meeting time, but I found no trace of them. I would have thought they’d avoid large cities, but my guess now is they went to Chester.”
Bartheleme mounted. “Then, we too shall go to Chester.”
* * * *
A fat raindrop fell from the sky onto Fiera’s arm. She looked up at the overcast night, still able to see stars through the clouds’ grip. She doubted it would even turn into a real shower. Probably just a few drops here and there. No help for anyone.
Efar had returned to his outstretched position by the fire, blood seeping from the wound. Even in pain, his eyes danced in merriment. Fiera squatted beside him, motioning to his injury. “Press your hand against it so it’ll form a scab.”
He pushed the heel of his left hand against his leg and looked up at her, contrite. “I’m really sorry about the horse.”
She pressed her lips together and gave a quick nod. The man had no common sense when it came to animals. Twice, he’d tried to touch a spooked horse. She’d have to teach him about the nature of real creatures, specifically Captain, if he was going to continue to travel with them. But first, she’d promised him an answer. “Marie can’t talk to you. Someone cut out her tongue.”
“Marie? A sister, not a brother.”
Fiera stood and shook her head. “We’re not family.”
Efar sucked in a breath and comprehension lit his eyes. “You stole her from the inn in Midden! That’s why the fat man is hunting for you. I thought it might be because of the horse, or even your hair. You two look like Danes. But it was her. Why is she so important?”
She dropped her gaze to her hands in her lap. She had to tell him now or she never would. Since a young age, she’d been taught to never tell anyone about her true nature. But, she was finished with that now. True, she may need to camouflage herself from time to time, like now, but she would no longer deny her true self.
Taking a deep breath to calm her rolling stomach, she reached into her pocket, pulled out one of her gathered stones, and showed it to him. Then she closed her hand and concentrated, willing her magic to change the rock. When she opened her hand again, a shiny gold coin sat there. “We’re witches.”
Efar kept his gaze on the coin, but his mouth slowly dropped open. He reached into her hand, took the gold coin, and held it near the fire, studying it. “Witches.”
She removed her cap and ran her hand over her hair, turning it to its normal fawn red. “This is my normal color.”
Staring at her, still holding the coin, he said, “You were brown-headed in Midden. Red hair means nothing where I come from. It’s common enough. Though, coupled with those green eyes…”
He frowned and glanced back at the coin. “So you didn’t need me to get water, after all.”
“We did.” She explained about her abilities and limitations, adding the part of speaking to animals last.
“Can you speak to my griffin?”
She shook her head slowly, pressing her lips into a thin line. “I don’t know. It’s not really an animal.”
“As soon as I’m comfortable enough, I’ll change all the way and we’ll try it.” He paused and then motioned toward Captain as the horse and Marie reappeared within the ring of the fire’s glow. “What does he say about me?”
Captain’s voice echoed in her head. I don’t like him. Not that anyone listens.
She ignored him and said to Efar, “I think that’s pretty obvious.”
“I suppose it is.” He continued to watch as Marie brushed the horse. “She’s a healer?”
“Potions.”
“That black horse the man from Midden was riding is from a dragon holding, I’m pretty sure.”
“Captain said he stunk.”
Efar barked a laugh. “I suppose all us shifters do to a real animal.”
Captain again butted into Fiera’s mind. Yes they do! They stink all the way to heaven! He’s ruining my nose!
Oblivious to the horse’s diatribe in Fiera’s head, Efar continued. “There have been rumors the dragons have been searching for something or someone. Now we know it’s witches. They’ve obviously joined with King Æthelred. We just don’t know why.”
“We?”
“Us shifters. More specifically, the griffins.”
“We had werewolves where I grew up. Or at least rumors of them. I never saw any.”
Captain interrupted. They stink, too.
He risked his life to get water for you.
Stinky water. He tainted it. I think—
I think Efar is lucky not to have to listen to you.
You’re taking his side?
Fiera said the only thing that would shut the horse up. I am, for now.
Efar apparently hadn’t noticed her distraction. “—werewolves are real. For any animal, there’s usually a shifter animal.”
She nodded as if she’d heard the whole explanation. She’d said she was taking his side. She’d even told him her secret because he’d told his and she wanted to remain on equal footing with him. A griffin would have an edge over a normal human, but not necessarily a witch. At least that’s the reason she told herself. But did she really trust him?
* * * *
Wide awake, Efar stared into the unfurling smoke of the fire, trying to calm his clamoring heart. Fiera and Marie were witches! And they hadn’t been scared of the griffin at all. They’d actually seemed more afraid of him finding out about them. In the time of church-sanctioned purgings, there were scarier things for a witch than shapeshifters.
After a dinner of cheese and rock-hard bread, soup for Fiera, Marie had bedded down for the night on the other side of the fire. But Fiera was brushing Captain. Occasionally, she paused and looked deep into the horse’s eyes. Once, she shook her head violently. The horse flicked his ears back at that, swinging his head to glare at Efar. If a horse could glare.
Efar studied Fiera during the silent conversation. She was going to make quite a woman when she grew up. The boy’s clothing curved gently around hips that flared a bit too wide for a boy. When she’d taken her cap off earlier to show him her hair, the gauntness of her face hadn’t hidden the beauty tha
t would bloom as she aged.
His skin still felt the way she’d run her finger along the top of his wing. And that voice! He figured her to be between thirteen and fifteen. Sixteen, at the outside. Too young for him. There was a time in his life, even recently, that he might have pursued her, but even though “old enough to wed is old enough to bed” was common practice in that day, it wasn’t good enough for him anymore. With a heavy sigh, he turned away.
Fiera left the horse, checked on Marie, and then came and settled near him. “Captain has offered to stand guard tonight. He says he’ll watch out for all manner of evil, including flying ones.” She didn’t smile, but her eyes did.
He called to the horse. “Captain! My thanks. Even evil flying creatures need a good night’s sleep.”
For answer, Captain laid his ears back and turned his hips to them.
Efar laughed out loud, mirth filling his belly.
Fiera smiled then and it lit up her whole face with an unexpected softness, rounding out the harsh starvation lines. The girl was stunning, even as thin as she was and in her youth. Efar caught his breath and it took a moment before he jerked his stare away.
“What?”
He heard the sudden frown in her voice, so he faced her again and gave his best grin. “That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile.”
“I’ve had very little to smile about in my life.”
“We’ll have to change that. You’re beautiful when you smile.”
A slow rose-colored bloom crept from her neck all the way to her temples. She ducked her head with a shy droop of her sweeping eyelashes. His lion’s sense of smell picked up a gentle blush of her pheromones as they filled the air around them in a soft cloud. With a start, Efar realized that she was no child. Before he realized what he was doing, he reached out his hand and brushed the back of his fingers against her heated cheek. “How old are you?”
She pulled back and stared at him, a heavy frown on her face and fear clear in her olive eyes. She didn’t leave, though.
Efar dropped his hand, silently cursing himself at his callousness. For a moment the only sound was the snap and hiss of the fire.
Then, in her low, smooth voice, she said, “I’m nineteen.”
Nineteen! Fiera was a full-grown woman! It was obvious by her reaction to his caress, however, that she didn’t have much experience with men. Or maybe she did, but subscribed to the church morality and wasn’t interested in a tryst. “Earlier today, when I asked where you’re from, you seemed sad. What happened to you?”
“Some witches hide easier than others. Because of my hair and eyes, my parents realized my identity when I was an early age. From that moment on, I wasn’t allowed outside the house. To most of the people of our village, I’d died.”
Efar sucked in his breath. He couldn’t imagine a life like that. No one to understand her and a prisoner in her own home. His heart ached for her pain. “You ran away.”
She managed a fleeting smile. “That would have been better. Actually, they died a few days ago from the famine.”
“I’m sorry.” The words felt so inadequate to him.
“Lots of people have died.” Shrugging, Fiera half turned away and wiped her eyes. She motioned to his leg. “How is it?”
Glad for the change of topic, his words came in a rush. “Good. I mean it hurts, but not as much. I should be ready to travel tomorrow.”
“You’ll ride and I’ll walk.”
“Do you really believe he’ll let me onboard?” Efar chuckled and motioned to the giant horse dozing on his feet, left hip cocked. “I’ll be fine walking. It’ll keep me from getting too stiff.”
They stared at the fire in mutual silence. Efar leaned back, soaking in the sweetness of their budding friendship. Fiera had a faraway look in her eyes and seemed lost in her thoughts. He wished those thoughts were about him, but he didn’t think they were. No doubt her mind was filled with memories of her parents. He wanted to hold her, to comfort her, but she’d turn him away, no doubt. Still, the fact that she stayed at the fire, close to him, meant his presence soothed her somehow.
On the other side of the fire, the shadow that was Captain lifted its head and stared off into the skeleton trees. The horse startled and shied toward them as a rope sailed neatly from behind a large dead spruce.
Efar sprang to his feet and bolted toward Captain, ignoring the slice of pain in his leg. He turned to yell for Fiera, but found her beside him. “Get Marie!” Even as she stopped and veered toward the sleeping girl, he was reaching deep inside for the griffin.
* * * *
“Wake up!” Fiera shook Marie. She’d never known someone to sleep so deeply. It was as if the child was dead. Two shadows appeared from behind a thick copse of dried-up pine shrubs.
She shook the girl with more violence, nearly jerking her off the ground. Finally, she was rewarded by the opening of one groggy eye. Fiera pointed at the approaching men. “Robbers!”
Marie followed her point and, when her gaze lit on the menacing figures, she let out an inarticulate cry and scrambled to her feet.
Fiera turned to run, tugging on the girl’s arm to follow, but Marie jerked free and pulled a packet out of her pouch. Opening it flat, she faced the two men and blew a fine white powder into their faces.
With shrieks and howls, the highwaymen pawed at boils that magically spread on their skin. The closer thief dropped to his knees immediately, his face blanketed with watery pustules. His friend, who had been a bit behind the first, managed to get his face nearly covered in time and only a few boils bubbled up on his brow and cheeks. The backs of his hands, however, were a mass of blisters. In a roar of anger, puffs of torn clothing flying in the air, his body instantly shifted to that of nightmares: the werewolf!
Open-mouthed, Fiera stared. Coarse black hair coated it from head to toe and it had a long thick snout peopled with sharp teeth that snicked into place. Arms extended to below its knees. Its paws were still covered in the awful blisters, but sharp claws curved from its fingers.
Marie gasped and stumbled backward into Fiera.
The beast growled and advanced.
Grabbing Marie’s hand again, Fiera turned and ran. Neither of them were a match for the monster at their heels. They ran toward where a griffin soared above three men who had surrounded Captain. A rope lay on the big horse’s shoulders, its one loose end dangling on the far side and its other end firmly wound around the hand of a robber. Captain reared, striking out with his front feet at the nearest highwayman and the rope slid to the ground.
Efar folded his wings and dove for one of the men. The thief saw him coming, but wasn’t quick enough to evade the talons that pierced his shoulder, lifted him into the air, and then tossed him against the trunk of a leafless stout oak.
The beast behind Fiera and Marie was closing ground. “Efar!”
At the sound of his name, the griffin lifted his head. In that split second, the werewolf swiped at Marie, spinning her around and raking its giant claws across her tiny body. The violence of the action pulled the child’s hand out of Fiera’s grasp and flung her across the road where she fell like a limp rag.
“Marie!” Fiera’s breath caught in her throat, nearly choking her and she ran toward the fallen girl, the werewolf right behind. As she crumpled to the cracked earth beside her young friend, she heard the sound of something big and heavy hitting a wall. Or, more correctly, a wall hitting something big and heavy. Turning, she saw that Efar had flown right into the werewolf, knocking it from its path of attack. The force of the impact threw them both end-for-end across the hard-packed earth into the bank of skeleton trees.
Fiera leaned over Marie, listening. After a beat, she heard a soft, slow inhale. The child was alive! Barely. She scooped up the injured girl and cradled her in her lap.
Marie’s shirt hung in ribbons across her body. Fiera pulled it off and used it to blot the cuts on the child’s chest. The injuries were deep, but her ribs had
stopped the claws from reaching her inner organs—though two of her ribs felt like they might have been broken.
Captain was gone, as were the two remaining men who’d been trying to catch him. The robber they’d fought by the fire was still there, but he wasn’t going anywhere, blinded by blisters as he was.
Efar and the werewolf fought among the tree trunks across the road. They dodged skull-breaking swings of heavy arms or club-like wings. The dark monster swiped at the griffin with the same claws that injured Marie, missing by breaths of an inch. Efar snaked his hooked beak at the beast, grabbing its thick arm before it could begin its backswing. Then the griffin raised its eagle talon, placed it on the side of the monster’s face, and pushed. They stood that way as if frozen in time. Then, with a loud snap, and the werewolf dropped to the ground with a broken neck.
The griffin turned and walked to Fiera, lowered his front end, and spread his closest wing into a ramp. The message was clear: they were going to fly.
Holding Marie tightly against her, Fiera walked up the wing, stepping as lightly as she could. The moment she settled, Efar took two long strides and pushed off into the air, nearly unseating her again. His mighty wings beat in rhythm, pulling air beneath them, lifting them higher, the muscles flexing beneath Fiera’s legs.
The ground shrank below them and the bare trees sped past. Cool night air blew against her and she changed the bloody rags into a blanket, wrapping it around Marie and crushing her close to keep her warm. There was nothing more she could do for her young friend. Now, it would be up to a doctor. She whispered in Marie’s ear. “Hang on!”
The forest beneath them began to darken and the smell of green growing things filled the dry air. The forest was alive! She peered out at the shapeless masses of trees, wishing for daylight so she could see the beauty of what lay below.
A glow appeared on the horizon and, for a brief moment, she thought her wish had been granted, but then she realized it was lights from the city. Leaning over Marie again, she said, “We’re almost there. I can see it.”
* * * *
Efar landed in a tiny forest glade near the brightly-lit Chester bridge. Merchant tents littered the sides of the road and, even at that late hour, travelers streamed into the city. Small boats, offloaded from large merchant ships at the mouth of the river, crowded the shore, riding low in the depleted water, filled with heaps of goods.
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