The Red Winter

by Henry H. Neff

  Even if Connor could serve as a bridge or mediator, the mission would be difficult. They had failed to convince the Fomorian to join the war and he was Max’s own kindred. Rowan had fought and hunted vyes for centuries—there was a lot of history there, almost all of it bad. His own misgivings would have been far greater if he had not become friends with two Elder vyes during his stay at the farmhouse in Blys. Nix and Valya’s kindness had shattered most of Max’s assumptions about their kind. Rowan wanted to move beyond the past and reach an accord. Would the vyes?

  David had given them vast latitude to reach an agreement, but Max was no statesman. At Rowan, Alistair Wesley used to insist that negotiation was both art and a science. The art derived from the negotiator’s experience and intuition; the science stemmed from data—from knowing as much as possible about the other party’s needs, resources, and urgency. As a negotiator, Max had almost no experience and very little data. He hoped he was up to the challenge.

  Lady Nico’s lands lay thirty miles from Enlyll. Whether it was due to the magicked horseshoes or simply superb conditioning, their mounts maintained a tireless pace and they stopped only briefly to water at a stream and allow Max to check on his sleeping friends.

  The sun was hanging like a dull red ornament behind a veil of gray clouds when they reached the high, thorny hedge that bordered Lady Nico’s lands. Iron gates swung inward at their approach, admitting them into a scenic expanse of snowy fields and old stone buildings where workers were stacking hay and tending to livestock. In the distance stood Lady Nico’s castle—a Gothic masterpiece encircled by a broad moat that reflected the reddish sky. Max spied something gliding in lazy circles about the tallest tower.

  While its silhouette was batlike, its size was not. At a distance, the creature appeared to be no smaller than the tower’s entire roof. It circled once more before accelerating straight up like a glider catching a sudden draft. Rising high above the tower spire, it slowly crested and promptly disappeared in a dive beyond the castle.

  Was that a dragon?

  Max glanced at Scathach. She was standing tall in the stirrups, her eyes fixed on the tower. Clearly, she had seen it, too. The creature did not reappear, however, as they covered the final stretch and crossed the moat’s long causeway. Servants were waiting as they passed through the gatehouse and arrived at an inner courtyard. Swinging off her horse, Lady Nico walked over to Max and Scathach.

  “Welcome to Wyrmwood,” she said, removing her gloves. “You must excuse me for the time being. As I said, there is a revolution under way. Lord Lynch and Eloise will see that you and your friends are comfortable. I should not be long.”

  Ten minutes later, they were sitting in a comfortable library while servants brought roasted chicken, cheeses, and warm breads that crackled when Max tore off a piece. Using a dropper, the little maid placed amber liquid on Sarah’s and Lucia’s tongues. Instantly, the girls stirred. With a yawn, Lucia sat up and looked about.

  “Where are we?” she murmured, blinking at the portraits and bookcases that lined the unfamiliar room. Her eyes fell upon Connor by the fireplace. “You!”

  Connor winced but nevertheless braved Lucia’s glare to sit on the edge of the long sofa. “We’re at Wyrmwood, Lady Nico’s estate,” he said evenly. “I owe you many explanations and am praying you’ll hear me out.”

  “Do you know why we came to Enlyll?” said Max.

  “I thought it was to see me,” said Connor.

  “I’m not joking,” said Max. “You asked us to trust you and we did. Now I want answers. Do you know why we’re here?”

  “Yes,” said Connor plainly. “Rowan wants an alliance with the Elder vyes.”

  “Then why haven’t you introduced us to them?” asked an outraged Lucia. “Sarah and I have asked often enough!”

  “I’m sorry,” said Connor, “but Rowan’s Agents have killed an awful lot of vyes over the years. There are some trust issues there. But believe me when I say you’ve met a few Elder vyes already. Why do you think Eloise was assigned to you? They wanted to get a sense of who you really were—what better way than to see how you treat a servant? The fact that you and Sarah were so kind to Eloise is a big reason they decided to bring you here.”

  “How do you know all this?” asked Max. “How did you get so close with vyes?”

  “I think everything will make more sense if I start at the beginning,” said Connor.

  Lucia narrowed her eyes. “Talk.”

  Taking a sip of tea, Connor cleared his throat and looked at his friends. “When I left Rowan, I only wanted revenge against Alex Muñoz. I was willing to sacrifice anything to make that happen—even my soul. Since Rowan was conquered, I thought I’d have a better chance if I struck out on my own.”

  Lucia was listening intently. As Connor spoke, Max was struck by the contrast between this young man and the drunken fool from last night’s médim.

  “Honor’s a funny thing,” Connor continued. “When I settled in Blys, most of the people on my lands had nothing. Many lost their families when Astaroth came to power. They were confused—they couldn’t remember much of their past or even the world as it used to be. My own little crusade began to feel petty. I might only have been a minor baron, but my lands were good and I was able to get some things done.”

  “What have you done?” asked Max.

  “Protected my people,” Connor replied proudly. “Twelve thousand humans live in Enlyll. Not one’s been murdered or mistreated by demonkind since I got established. When demons come to Enlyll, they know to behave.”

  “And how do you force demons to behave?” asked Scathach.

  “Trade, natural charm, and powerful friends.”

  “Friends like Elder vyes?” asked Max.

  Connor nodded. “They call themselves the Raszna,” he said. “When I met Lady Nico, I had no idea what she was. Prusias had invited some Harinean nobles to attend his Arena games. We sat in the same box when Bragha Rùn fought his first match against a two-headed vye. Lady Nico seemed less than pleased.”

  “It upset her a vye was fighting in the games?” asked Lucia.

  “No. It upset her that Straavh fought like a brute. She called him an embarrassment—as though his performance reflected poorly on her. Funny thing for a human to say.”

  “When did you find out what Lady Nico was?” Max asked.

  “After the final match,” Connor answered. “Bragha Rùn had slain Myrmidon and left the Arena. They paraded Myrmidon’s body around and I thought it was Max. Others thought so, too, because a cheer went up that the Hound of Rowan was dead. Lady Nico’s servants clapped with everyone else, but she told them to stop when she saw I was upset. When she asked if I’d known you, I said you’d been my closest friend. She then asked if you were as bloodthirsty as your reputation.”

  “What did you say?” asked Max.

  Connor shrugged. “I said you were worse—that you dined with ogres, supped with hags, and chased lymrills all over Rowan’s Sanctuary.”

  Even Lucia gave a reluctant chuckle.

  “Nah,” said Connor, waving off the joke. “I said you were my best mate and not to believe all the stories. She said she didn’t—she’d heard a kind word or two about you from other quarters.”

  “Nix and Valya,” Max mused. The aged couple had lived near Max’s farmhouse in Blys and had become trusted friends.

  Connor nodded. “They talked about you like you were their son. And someone else vouched for you.”

  “Who?”

  “I’m not allowed to say,” said Connor curtly. “What I can say is that Lady Nico became my mentor. Once she trusted me enough to share she was Raszna, she’s helped me become a better ruler, continued my education in magic, and become the closest thing I have to family. When Prusias devoured King Aamon, Lady Nico knew he’d eventually turn on his own braymas and seize all power for himself. We started planning a revolution. That’s when I sent Lucia that love letter urging her to ‘seek the Elders.’ ”

 
; The Italian’s eyes flashed. She stabbed a finger at Connor. “If you were planning something, you should have told me!”

  Connor gave her a pleading look. “I couldn’t, Lucia. Some landless braymas arrived weeks ago and requested lodging leading up to the médim. My castle’s been crawling with them and their servants for weeks. Some were undoubtedly spies for Prusias or one of the dukes. I had a role to play and couldn’t afford to break character for anyone—not even you. It was my job to play the happy, helpless drunk. Your disgust actually helped sell it.”

  “I’m glad you could use me,” snapped Lucia. “I hope it’s paying off.”

  “It is as we speak,” said Connor.

  “How?” asked Sarah.

  Connor’s face took on a grim, set expression. “Not one brayma that’s loyal to Prusias will make it out of Enlyll. Even now, they’re being ambushed.”

  “And ‘Lord Grael’?” Max said.

  “His imposter will return to Prusias with false information about the Harinean revolt before resuming command of his legions.”

  Max gave a low whistle. “You trust a smee to do all that?”

  “Don’t forget about the mnemonculi,” said Connor. “The smee won’t have Grael’s abilities, of course, but he’ll know everything the duke did.”

  Max whistled again and glanced at Scathach.

  “We need to tell David,” she said pointedly. “He needs to know an imposter is commanding some of Prusias’s forces.”

  Lady Nico’s voice sounded from the doorway. “That will have to wait,” she said. “I apologize, but we’ve had to confiscate the spypaper in Agent McDaniels’s pack.”

  Max turned on her. “What is this?” he demanded. “You have no right to—”

  Lady Nico held up her hand. “Again, I do apologize. This is a delicate time for all concerned. Half my servants refuse to come near this library.”

  “Why?” asked Max.

  His hostess laughed. “Because Max McDaniels is here! Do you have any conception of your reputation among vyes? We are in uncharted waters. Even I’m anxious. We are taking a risk and you must be patient. I’ve just been communicating with our leadership and they would like to meet you. If you are willing, I will take you to them. They are a few hours away.”

  “We’re willing,” said Max at once.

  “There are conditions,” Lady Nico cautioned.

  “What are they?”

  “You must surrender your weapons and agree to be bound.”

  “Absolutely not,” said Max.

  “Please understand,” said Lady Nico diplomatically. “Rowan has traditionally been our enemy. My masters will not permit you and your companions to enter our realm armed.”

  Max considered a moment. “We’ll go unarmed, but none of us will be bound. We’re not prisoners.” Unbuckling the gae bolga from his baldric, Max placed the short, heavy blade on a side table. “A pledge of our good faith.”

  Lady Nico motioned to Eloise, who went to take the weapon. Max held up a hand.

  “Handle it by the scabbard. On your life, don’t unsheathe it. Understood?”

  The girl plucked up the awful weapon as instructed, using a handkerchief as a buffer. The blade moaned hungrily. Blanching, Eloise carried it swiftly to where an armored vye was waiting with a wooden case. The gae bolga went into it, followed shortly by Max’s dagger, Scathach’s poignard, Lucia’s boot knife, and Sarah’s longsword. Scathach’s spear and Sarah’s naginata, a polearm with a curving blade, were taken by another vye.

  “Thank you,” said Lady Nico. “No one will touch your weapons, I assure you. Now, if you would come with me.”

  Hefting a groggy Nox into his arms, Max followed the others as they filed after Lady Nico. Lucia shooed Connor away when he offered to carry Kettlemouth, who was dozing in his cushioned cage. As Sarah and Lucia joined Scathach toward the front, Connor fell in step with Max.

  “She’s pretty upset,” Connor observed.

  Max shot Connor a sideways glance. “Why would she be upset? You’ve only ignored her for weeks, flirted with other girls, drugged Kettlemouth, and kidnapped her.”

  “Nonsense,” said Connor. “I hosted her in a glorious castle, exposed her to some amusing anecdotes, provided her charge with some much-needed rest, and whisked her out of a dangerous situation.”

  Max gave an admiring grunt. “Nice spin.”

  Baron Lynch shrugged. “Facts are facts. A smart ruler polishes them up a bit.”

  “Well, Mr. Ruler, what’s going to happen to Enlyll now that it’s rebelled?” asked Max, shifting Nox as they descended some stairs.

  Connor gave a wry grin. “Oh, Enlyll hasn’t rebelled,” he said innocently. “Landless braymas attacked my poor barony following the médim. Unfortunately, many of the attending braymas were killed in the fighting, my castle has been damaged, and I was badly wounded. Lord Grael himself will confirm these rumors while pointing the finger at several supposed loyalists. The ruse isn’t perfect, of course, but it doesn’t need to be. With Rowan’s army closing on Blys and half of Harine in revolt, Prusias will be far too busy to bother with little Enlyll …”

  “And if Prusias ultimately wins this war?”

  Connor shrugged. “Then we’re all up a creek.”

  He lowered his voice as they reached a small chapel. Oil was burning upon an altar before a bronze statue of Romulus and Remus suckling from a wolf. A pair of towering black vyes clutching halberds stood guard on either side of a door that presumably led down to the castle’s crypts. Their eyes were bright yellow and had a feral, defiant glint as they settled upon Max.

  “Don’t stare,” whispered Connor, leading Max up the nave. “They’ll perceive it as a challenge.”

  Passing between the fearsome guards, Lady Nico, Eloise, Sarah, Lucia, Connor, Max, Scathach, and several other vyes descended a steep flight of stairs that continued for a surprising distance. Initially the walls were dressed stone, but they soon became rough, bare rock. Torches guttered in their brackets as warmer air blew up from below. The descent reminded Max of the seemingly endless stairs down into Rowan’s Archives.

  “How far down does this go?” asked Sarah.

  “Pretty far,” said Connor. “If it didn’t, visitors might hear the—”

  A raptor’s screech, hoarse and raw, sounded from far below them. Lucia stopped dead. “What was that?” she hissed.

  Lady Nico turned on the stair. “Wyverns,” she said. “Wonderful creatures if properly handled. I don’t believe you have any in Rowan’s Sanctuary.”

  “No,” said Sarah. “Not that I’ve ever seen.”

  “Was that a wyvern I saw circling the tower when we approached?” inquired Scathach.

  “It was,” said Lady Nico, continuing down the steps. “We’ve been breeding wyverns since the Middle Ages. The one you saw this morning was Phineas—he’s the grand old man around here and has a few special privileges. He was born the same year as Louis the Fourteenth.”

  “Are they dangerous?” asked Lucia, glancing at the plump and juicy bullfrog in her arms.

  “Not the ones at Wyrmwood,” said Lady Nico. “And I have yet to see a wyvern eat a Nile Croaker. Sheep are more to their taste.”

  The steps ended at a twelve-foot door bound with iron and marked with a sigil of a spiny serpent on a blue field. Placing her hand upon the seal, Lady Nico spoke a word of command and turned the heavy, vaultlike handle. As the door opened, a strong animal smell permeated the air. Nox whined and fidgeted impatiently in Max’s arms. He set her down on the stone floor where she proceeded to nose at the doorway, her quills bristling.

  As Max walked through the door, he understood Nox’s caution. The space they entered was an enormous cave where stalactites protruded from a ceiling some hundred feet above them. While lanterns were burning along a long wooden platform, clusters of luminescent fungi on the walls provided most of the ambient light, which revealed several large tunnels branching off the cavern. A screech echoed around them. Along the cavern
’s ceiling, Max saw a pair of dark wings twitch and unfold, as though their owner was stretching.

  The wyvern was one of several that were hanging upside down among the stalactites. The drawings Max had seen in Rowan’s compendiums often depicted wyverns as two-legged dragons, but these creatures resembled sleek bats far more than scaly reptiles. Upon the platform were several vyes wearing thick leather gloves and aprons. One blew several notes on a reedy whistle. Instantly, one of the wyverns dropped from the ceiling and plunged in a controlled, swooping glide to land on the platform and snatch a proffered sheep leg in its jaws.

  Aside from its wings, the wyvern did not really resemble a dragon or a bat. Its dark gray coat was as smooth as a Weimaraner’s and the head bore an unmistakable canine aspect despite its curving black beak. Its slit yellow eyes were far smaller than Max might have expected, but its large, hyena-like ears suggested that hearing was its primary sense in these dark, almost nocturnal environs. While its wingspan must have been thirty feet, the wyvern’s body was no larger than that of a powerful horse that walked upright on two taloned feet and possessed a long, whiplike tail. The creature looked like it was born to fly, and fly very swiftly. A long leather saddle was attached to its back via a system of straps. From the number of stirrups, it appeared the creature could carry three riders.

  “Max and Scathach will ride with me,” said Lady Nico. “Sarah and Lucia can go with Eloise.”

  “I can take them,” offered Connor.

  Lady Nico raised an eyebrow. “You’re still learning. Eloise is the better rider. You can go with Xerxes.”

  “I’m driving,” insisted the vye, one of Lady Nico’s guards.

  “But I’m a baron!” Connor exclaimed.

  Xerxes gave a gruff laugh. “In Enlyll you’re a baron. Down here you’re just a pup. A pup that needs to slow down on the turns if he wants to keep his royal head.”

  Connor scoffed. “I’m great at turns,” he insisted, hurrying over to another wyvern as a handler called it down from the ceiling. The two jostled over who would claim the front seat and control the reins that connected to the creature’s bridle. The vye triumphed and Connor was forced to climb, grumbling, into the seat behind him.