by Barb Hendee
Saunders stuck his head inside the open front flap of the tent. “Captain, visitors here to see you . . . from Castle Sèone.”
Without waiting for an invitation, Jaromir walked past him, inside, motioning to his companions to follow. After the shabby visage of the camp outside, he was somewhat taken aback by the luxury now surrounding him. The floor was covered in thick furs. Tapestries hanging from the ceiling had been tastefully arranged to create partitions. There was a long polished table with six wooden chairs in the center of the main area, decorated with silver candlesticks. Looking through the partitions toward the rear, he could see a round, stone-bordered fire pit with a ventilation hole up above, so this tent could be kept warm when necessary.
At present, the tent held only two occupants, both men in chain armor and dark brown tabards. Jaromir pegged Captain Keegan right away, but only by virtue of his age. Keegan was of medium height, with a stocky, muscular build that was just now going to fat. His hair had gone gray, and he wore a close-trimmed beard that completely covered the lower half of his face.
The other man was in his late twenties, tall, well built, and clean-shaven, with sandy-colored hair and light blue eyes.
Keegan immediately bristled at the visitors walking into his tent. “What is this?” he barked.
Again, Jaromir hesitated. Had all semblance of military professionalism broken down here?
“Lieutenant Jaromir,” he answered stiffly, “of Castle Sèone.” He held one hand toward the women. “May I present the ladies Céline and Amelie Fawe of Prince Anton’s court?”
As with Saunders, his manner had an immediate effect, and both men came to attention but seemed at a loss for words.
Céline smiled. “Forgive our appearance, Captain. We have been traveling for days.”
This had an even more rapid effect than Jaromir’s words, and both Keegan and his companion hurried to the table, pulling out chairs. “Ladies, please,” Keegan said, “come and sit.”
Saunders was gone now, and Rurik stood in the doorway. “You’re dismissed,” Jaromir told him quietly. “Make sure the horses are cared for.”
“Yes, sir.”
Keegan was pouring wine for Amelie and Céline, who were seated at the table, and he motioned to the tall, sandy-haired man. “This is Corporal Quinn. He is my current second-in-command.” Glancing back at Jaromir, he asked, “You were sent by Prince Anton?”
“Via his father, to offer our assistance,” Jaromir answered, stepping forward and pulling two letters from inside the quilted shirt beneath his armor. “The first is a letter from Prince Lieven to my lord, and the second is a letter from my lord to you.”
He and Anton had decided to hold nothing back and allow Keegan full access to all pertinent information.
With a confused frown, Keegan took the letters from him and took his time reading them both. The first one was the same letter Leonides had carried from Prince Lieven, explaining the situation and clearly asking Anton to handle the matter. The second letter was from Anton, written directly to Keegan, explaining that Céline and Amelie were seers and healers from the court of Sèone, who were to be given full cooperation. Anton blatantly stated that if Keegan wished to have the heart of this problem rooted out and solved, he must grant Céline and Amelie’s every request.
Finally, Keegan looked up and handed both letters to Corporal Quinn. But the captain seemed on the edge of strained disbelief.
“Let me understand this . . . ,” he began. “So, instead of sending a replacement for me or even reinforcements from Pählen, my prince appealed to his youngest son . . . who in turn has sent two women who claim to be ‘seers.’” His voice was rising toward the end of this short speech.
“Your prince already sent reinforcements once,” Jaromir answered. “They were no help.”
“Please, Captain,” Céline said. “I know how this must seem, but Prince Anton had a similar, seemingly unsolvable . . . problem in the spring, and my sister and I were able to stop a series of unnatural deaths. We would not have been sent here unless your prince and mine believed we could help you.”
Corporal Quinn was listening to her with interest. He had the same haunted, exhausted look of everyone else Jaromir had encountered here so far, but the man’s light blue eyes were more alert. “Did you ride all this way with no escort?” he asked.
“No, of course not,” Jaromir answered. “We had a small contingent, but I sent them back.”
“Sent them back?” Keegan repeated. “Why?”
Again, Jaromir decided on honesty. “Because my lord thought you might feel challenged or that your authority was being threatened if I rode in with a contingent of men from Sèone under my command.”
When Keegan glanced away, it suggested that Anton’s instincts had been correct.
“My lord wishes you to understand that we are here to help,” Jaromir went on. “That is all we wish to do. And he wanted to show his confidence that he trusts you to keep these ladies safe.” The last part was a mere compliment. He would protect Amelie and Céline himself.
Keegan let out a long exhale. “If he wanted to keep them safe, he shouldn’t have sent them here at all.”
* * *
Céline listened as the men talked, but on the inside, she was trying not to panic over everything she’d seen and felt since riding in.
This was a place deserted by hope. She could see it in the faces of the men, in their shabby living conditions, in the fact that they’d long since ceased to wash or have a care for the proper manner of soldiers on duty.
Worse, the inside of this tent only increased her concerns, as it suggested their leader had cut himself off and lived apart with his thick furs and his red wine and tapestries. And still . . . the entire encampment felt so temporary, as if for years, none of the rotating groups of men stationed here had ever harbored any intention of staying long enough to put up wooden barracks.
So far, Amelie had remained silent, but Céline knew she must be just as troubled by what they’d walked into.
It was difficult to help men who appeared to view themselves as beyond help—and that’s what she was sensing.
“Forgive me,” Corporal Quinn said cautiously, looking at Céline. “But I don’t quite understand the word ‘seer.’ What is it exactly that you claim to be able to do?”
She studied him. While Captain Keegan appeared to be a man letting himself go to seed, Quinn was in his prime. He, too, had been under great strain, but unlike those of the men outside, his tabard and face were clean. He had a coiled energy about him, as if he was capable of quick action when necessary. Céline thought he might be useful if she could win his trust.
“We each have a different ability,” she answered. “I can read a person’s future, and Amelie can read their past.”
Gulping half a goblet of wine, Captain Keegan made a loud, derisive snort, and Céline realized it was too soon to ask him to allow her to start reading his men. He would first need to understand they were not charlatans. Besides, she needed a better idea of the situation, and it seemed she was going to have to fall back on the authority that Anton had provided by sending his letter.
“Your prince mentioned that some of the workers here have been killed, but . . . where do the workers live?” she asked. “Riding in, we saw only your own encampment.”
Quinn glanced at his captain, and Keegan pulled out a chair, sitting down himself. He pointed north. “There’s a path through the trees, toward the mines. The workers live in a cleared area over there. I’ve been posting guards for them at night.”
She nodded and then steeled herself. It was time for more difficult questions.
“Captain, can you tell us . . . what exactly did you mean by reporting that your men are ‘turning into beasts’? What sort of beasts?”
A short silence followed, and this time Quinn answered.
“Like
wolves, only larger, with wide chests and red eyes. It seems to happen quickly, with no warning.”
“But this is only happening to your own men,” Jaromir broke in, “not to any of the miners or their families.”
“So far, yes,” Quinn responded. “But you can’t imagine . . . these things, these wolves are savage, mad, and they start killing anything in sight within moments of the change. Not long after this started, our workers began trying to escape, and we’ve had to actually ride some of them down and bring them back.”
“Ride them down?” Amelie spoke up for the first time. “They’re not allowed to leave?”
The question appeared to baffle both Keegan and Quinn.
“Well . . . of course they’ve signed contracts,” Keegan answered. “My only duty here is to ensure the silver continues to flow. I cannot do that without enough workers.”
Céline digested this quickly. What he was describing sounded a good deal like slavery, via these “contracts.”
“How many soldiers have you lost?” she asked.
“Ten have been infected,” Quinn answered, “including one officer, Lieutenant Sullian, and we lost the tenth man only three days ago. But we’ve also lost several more of our own men who were killed by the wolves, so the captain hasn’t been able to spare anyone to carry a report to our prince about this last case.”
“Infected?” she repeated.
“Well, what else could it be?” Keegan snapped, taking another swallow of wine. “And it’s intentional. At first, I thought that one of the men had somehow . . . contracted this and it was spreading at random. But only my men have been affected. There is someone behind this.”
Céline had been coming to this conclusion as well, but the captain seemed so certain. Did he know something he wasn’t sharing?
“Have you noticed any warning signs before the men begin to change? Or made any connections between them?”
Quinn shook his head. “I’ve only seen it happen twice, and it was sudden both times. One moment the man was fine, and then he began to retch, and then . . . we have to kill them as soon as possible.”
“Do the bodies revert back to human form once they are dead?” she asked.
Both men were taken aback by the question, and she was aware that she probably didn’t sound anything like a lady of court, but these things had to be asked.
“No,” Quinn said. “And we burn them soon after.”
“You burn the bodies of the wolves?” This was not good news. Céline wanted to examine one. “What about the miners and other soldiers who’ve been killed? Are they burned too?”
“I’ve seen no reason to enforce that,” Keegan answered. “Some of our workers are Móndyalítko, and they have their own way of doing things, and I’m certain the infection is not being spread through the bodies of dead miners.”
“Móndyalítko?”
That hardly seemed likely. From what she understood, her mother’s people were nomadic.
But neither Quinn nor Keegan responded, and she glanced at Jaromir, who so far was allowing her to run most of the questions.
“Captain,” she began, wondering how to word her next request, “it is a pity that you do not have the body of someone who has undergone this . . . change for me to examine. When it happens again, it would be best if you could incapacitate the victim for me to study.”
She’d already begun to think of the men being turned as victims.
Keegan’s mouth fell open for a moment, and then he closed it again. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but you have no idea with what we are dealing. Trust me, you will not want one of these things merely incapacitated.”
“Oh, but I will,” she countered. “I cannot even guess what is happening to your men until I examine someone who has been afflicted. My prince wants this situation solved, and therefore I will do whatever I deem necessary.” Standing up, she said, “Until I have one of these . . . soldiers turned wolves to study, perhaps I might see the body of someone who has been killed by one of these creatures? The wounds might tell me something.”
If Keegan found her first request disturbing, he found this one distasteful and curled one side of his upper lip. “It’s been three days since the last attack. There were several injuries. One miner was killed, but he’s been buried.”
Céline pondered this and knew any useful evidence would probably be too compromised at this point for her to insist on a body being dug up.
“You mentioned injuries. Does anyone have wounds in need of attention?”
Keegan frowned thoughtfully, as if this had never occurred to him. “Possibly . . . yes, I think so.”
As if on cue, Amelie stood.
“We brought a large box of medicinal supplies,” Céline said. “If you would be so good as to assign us private quarters, my sister and I will change our clothes and then go see what help we might offer the miners.”
At first, she thought Keegan might refuse, but he nodded. “Of course.”
* * *
Céline and Amelie were provided with a medium-sized tent to themselves—about the size of their workroom back home, with an entrance tall enough that neither one had to duck to enter.
“Not bad,” Amelie said, looking around. “Considering.”
Céline agreed. Most of the floor was covered with furs and there were no holes in the roof. There was a bed with a wooden frame and a down-filled mattress, along with a small table and three chairs. A plain washbasin and pitcher had been provided. She wondered who had previously been assigned here.
“Here,” Jaromir said, handing their travel bags through the entrance. “Change your clothes, and I’ll walk you north.”
Céline took the bags, and he closed the flap over the entrance from the outside, giving them some privacy.
“What do you make of that captain?” Amelie whispered. “I don’t think he’s going to be much help.”
“Me either,” Céline whispered back, taking off her cloak and opening one of the bags. “But I was surprised Jaromir was so quiet. I thought he might press a few points.”
“He can’t. Keegan outranks him.”
“What?”
“Keegan is a captain. Jaromir’s a lieutenant. He has to follow the chain of command.”
“Yes . . . but Anton put Jaromir in charge of the investigation.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Amelie said as she began to get undressed.
Troubled, Céline began unlacing the front of her own wool gown. Jaromir was in charge of the security of a great castle and everyone who lived around it, and Keegan was in charge of a pack of motley soldiers in the middle of nowhere, and yet Keegan had more power due to what she considered a slight difference in official rank. That somehow seemed wrong to her. Jaromir was the most capable man she’d ever met.
After struggling out of the lavender dress, she shivered slightly in only her long white shift and stockings. The poor dress looked far worse for wear after the journey. Its hem was filthy, and the sleeves and bodice were dotted with some of Pavel’s blood.
“I’d give anything to put on my blue shirt and breeches,” Amelie sighed, looking down at the shift she wore.
“Well, let’s see what else Helga packed.”
They found two evening gowns and a set of silver hairbrushes in the first bag, so they moved on to the second. Inside, they found clean stockings, extra shifts, and a pair of serviceable wool dresses, one of tan, about the color of Céline’s hair, and another of pale blue. Amelie took the pale blue, as it was slightly shorter, and Céline wore the tan. Then they tied on their red cloaks and Céline picked up her large box of supplies.
“We’re ready,” she called.
Jaromir drew the flap back and entered, seeing the box in her arms. “Let me carry that.”
He took it, and they followed him out.
“Where’s Rurik?” Am
elie asked.
“Seeing the horses are properly fed,” Jaromir answered. “I don’t trust this lot with Badger, and Anton is fond of that gray mare.”
Out among the small sea of tents, Céline kept close to Jaromir as he led the way north, and a number of dirty soldiers in dark brown tabards turned to watch them walk past. There must have been women among the families of the miners, but Céline wondered how long it had been since these men had seen a pretty girl like Amelie in a pale blue gown and scarlet cloak.
However, with Jaromir as their escort, none of the soldiers tried to speak to them, and soon they left the collection of tents behind.
“There,” he said, pointing.
Following the direction of his finger, Céline spotted a path leading through the thick trees. Some of the gray clouds above were parting, and though the air was cool, patches of open sky peeked though.
The three of them took the path into the trees and had walked only about a hundred paces when it emptied into an open area with small hills in the background . . . and Céline found herself looking upon the Ryazan miners’ encampment.
To her right stood a collection of about thirty-five shacks or huts so haphazardly placed that they could have sprouted up only over time with no sense of planning. Some were made from old boards, but most were circular wattle-and-daub dwellings with thatched roofs.
To her left stood six more of the wattle-and-daub dwellings, surrounded by four decaying wagons with what looked to be small homes built on top of the beds. From what she could see, some of the wagon-homes had once been painted in bright colors, but now much of the paint had faded or been chipped away. Empty harness poles stretched out from the fronts of these wagons, with no sign that they had been used in some time.
There were no horses in sight. In fact, there were no animals at all, no goats or milk cows, not even a few chickens scratching at the dirt.
But there were people milling about.
“Which side?” Jaromir asked.
“Left,” Céline said. She didn’t know why, but she was drawn to the scattered collection of wagon-homes.