Mist-Torn Witches 03:Witches With the Enemy Read online

He was so focused on his thoughts that his horse almost collided with the back of hers before he realized the entire contingent had stopped.

  “What is it?” he called.

  Before anyone answered, he looked ahead, up past Corporal Rurik, to see a large but shabby wagon blocking the road. A wheel had come off on the rear left side, and that corner had fallen into the thin top layer of mud on the ground. A half-starved mule was harnessed out front. Perhaps twelve peasants—men, women, and children, all bone-thin—were gathered around the back of the wagon, as if assessing the damage.

  Several of them turned to see the contingent about the same time Anton saw them, and terror flooded their faces.

  “Run!” one of them shouted.

  Instantly, the small crowd began to flee for the trees.

  To Anton’s surprise, Céline urged her horse around the side of the guards in front of her.

  “Please stop!” she called. “We won’t hurt you. Please!”

  Before he could move, she was cantering her gray mare down the edge of the road, still calling to the peasants. Some of them began to slow down and look back at her.

  With a jolt of realization that she might be in danger, he kicked Whisper in the sides, urging him forward. He heard Amelie coming after him.

  By the time he reached the front of the contingent, Céline’s horse was beside Rurik’s, and she was leaning down from the saddle, speaking to one of the peasant women.

  “I promise no one will hurt you. These are Prince Anton’s men,” she said.

  The woman was filthy, in tattered clothing, and her eyes were frightened as they turned up to him. He had no idea what to do and was indeed rather embarrassed by Céline’s display. He would simply have had his men ride around the broken wagon and leave these people to return from hiding once all the soldiers had passed.

  “What has happened?” Céline asked the woman . . . and then she climbed off her horse!

  “Céline!” he called, more harshly than intended.

  She looked back at him. “My lord, these people require our assistance. The wheel to their wagon has come off.”

  Biting the inside of his cheek, he jumped down and walked to her swiftly. In some alarm, Rurik jumped off his mount as well. Without thinking, Anton grasped Céline’s wrist and pulled her a few steps away.

  Suddenly, Amelie was on the ground beside them, looking at his hand. He let go.

  “These are Damek’s people,” he explained quietly, “and there is nothing we can do for them. The kindest thing we can do is to be on our way.”

  Céline’s eyes clouded in confusion. “No, they need help, and . . . what do you mean by ‘Damek’s people’? If you are elected grand prince, all the people will be your people.”

  He stared at her. Her hood had fallen, and the drizzling rain was darkening her hair.

  “Can you not show them what sort of grand prince you would be?” she asked.

  Anton glanced at the fallen wheel and lopsided wagon. Then he turned to Sergeant Bazin, who was still up on their own wagon’s bench. “Can that be repaired?”

  “Yes, my lord, with a few strong men to lift it.”

  Although stopping to help Damek’s suffering peasants had not occurred to Anton, the prospect no longer seemed so strange. “See to it,” he told Rurik.

  Céline turned back to the frightened woman. “Gather your women and children at the back of our wagon. We have apples and biscuits to spare, and I can hear some of the children coughing. I have a syrup that will help.”

  And with that, Anton stood on a muddy road of his brother’s province, in the rain, and watched the activity around him. Tattered peasants began melting from the trees, coming back to join them. Rurik and Bazin called some of their men down to help with the fallen wheel. Amelie and Helga were at the back of the wagon, giving away the remainder of their supplies, while Céline attempted to dig out something among the luggage. She looked over to him.

  “My lord, I need my box of medicines, and I cannot pull it from beneath this luggage. Can you help?”

  To his astonishment, he wanted to help. He could have ordered a guard, but he didn’t.

  He climbed up into the back of the wagon, pulled out a large wooden box, and handed it down to her. He watched as she opened it and began to administer cough syrup to the children, giving a large bottle to one of the women to take home.

  As she was dabbing some sort of astringent on the arm of a boy with a festered insect bite, she lifted her head and looked back toward the guards repairing the wagon. “My lord, do you see that old man limping? I think he suffers from sore knee joints. Can you bring him over? I have a liniment.”

  This was indeed one of the most unusual experiences in Anton’s memory, but he went over and helped the old man to Céline. A moment later, she had the old man pull up his pant legs and she began to rub a dark liniment into his knees.

  “I’ll send some of this with you,” she said to him, “but you must be careful to wash every drop from your hands after using it. It’s very good for sore joints, but dangerous if swallowed.”

  Anton continued to watch her work.

  Before long, the wagon was repaired, the sick had been tended, and food had been passed out.

  “Give them some grain for that mule,” Anton ordered Sergeant Bazin.

  “How much, my lord?”

  “At least half a bag. We’re almost to Kimovesk, and we can resupply.”

  Putting her hands to her back, Céline straightened. “Is their wagon ready,” she asked.

  “I think so,” Anton answered, and then he was at a loss again. He was glad they had stopped. He was glad they’d done what they could to help some of Damek’s people. But he couldn’t say that.

  Céline smiled at him and raised her hood to cover her head. “Then shall we get back on the road?”

  This all seemed so cut-and-dried to her, as if their actions here had been commonplace. They weren’t commonplace to him.

  “Yes,” he said.

  Everyone mounted up, and once again, Anton took his position behind the sisters, riding alone. In his mind, the image of Céline telling her story last night was now replaced by one of her urging her horse around his soldiers to stop a band of fleeing peasants.

  Several hours passed, and he was still lost in thought when Rurik called out, “Kimovesk Village ahead.”

  They would need to ride through the village and travel a league beyond it before reaching the castle. Anton had been through here only a few times, but as his remembrance of the place was suddenly jogged, he rode up beside Céline.

  “Prepare yourself,” he said. “The people here might be . . . worse than what we saw earlier.”

  She turned her head toward him. “I know exactly what we’ll find. You forget I grew up in Shetâna.”

  Yes, she had grown up in Shetâna, and sometimes he did forget it.

  Chapter Four

  In spite of Céline’s calm response to Anton, as he let his horse drop back behind hers again, she dreaded the prospect of riding directly through one of Damek’s villages. For much of the day’s journey, they had passed roads that led to villages, but they had not been exposed to many tragic sights regarding the overtaxed and oppressed people who lived in this part of the country. Unlike the soldiers in Anton’s province—who were hired and trained to protect the people—Damek’s soldiers had free rein to abuse almost anyone they wished.

  Céline feared being forced to remember too much that she’d managed to successfully push to the back of her mind. Although she and Amelie had lived in Sèone less than a year, their previous life sometimes seemed distant.

  She was now Prince Anton’s seer and his people’s apothecary.

  She liked this new life, this new self, and although she felt no shame regarding her former self, neither did she care to be reminded of the years when she had barely scraped by while living in fear of Damek’s soldiers.

  “You all right?” Amelie asked, riding beside her.

  The
edge of the village was only a few horses’ length away.

  “Yes, I’m just . . . too many memories.”

  “I know. Me, too.”

  Céline wanted to reach over and grasp Amelie’s hand. She wanted to glance back at Anton, but she did neither of these things. Instead, she gripped her reins and followed the guards ahead of her into Kimovesk Village.

  It was as shabby, dirty, and depressing as she’d anticipated, consisting mainly of wattle and daub huts with thatched roofs. As soon as Rurik passed the first dwelling, people began running out of sight. Céline saw no one’s face clearly. She only saw thin villagers in tattered clothing fleeing for doorways.

  The contingent rode on, and the passing proved to be not as difficult as she’d expected. Within moments, the main street was empty, and she saw nothing but decaying dwellings and a few shops—with closed doors. Before she knew it, they were out the other side. She wished she could feel some relief, but their next stop was the castle.

  They pressed onward until she realized the road had begun to both narrow and incline upward. Soon, they were forced to ride single file, and Céline found herself following Amelie.

  The road continued to narrow until the branches of trees were close enough to touch, and Sergeant Bazin began having difficulty getting the wagon through without getting himself or Helga hit by a branch. Helga was not polite about this.

  Trees overhead blocked out nearly all light from the sky, and the world around them grew dim.

  “We’re almost to the gate,” Anton said from behind. “You and Amelie keep your hoods well over your heads and around your faces. You cannot be seen just yet. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” But she did not understand the urgency for this, as they were both going to be seen soon enough. “Did you hear him, Amelie?” she asked, leaning forward.

  “I heard him.”

  Céline expected a break in the trees, but this didn’t happen. Instead, she looked ahead, through the branches, over the top of Rurik and the front guards, and she saw a dark tower stretching into the sky.

  “Halt,” Anton called out.

  Rurik halted.

  Anton ducked low, steered his horse around the side of Céline’s, and trotted toward the front of the contingent. Even passing beneath low branches on the side of the narrow road, he managed to do this gracefully, and he took the lead as they headed onward.

  Almost immediately, Céline saw the gatehouse and part of a high stone wall.

  Moments later they reached a portcullis with thick crisscrossed bars. Several hard-looking men in black tabards peered out. Céline looked left and right to see the stone wall stretching in both directions as far as she could see. Soldiers in black tabards walked the top of the wall. The break between the thick forest and the wall was only about twenty paces—far enough that the wall could not be breached by anyone climbing a tree and yet close enough that a gathering of any sort of forces out here would be nearly impossible.

  Anton rode directly to the portcullis, making certain the guards inside could see him clearly.

  “Raise the gate,” he ordered.

  Without argument, one of the men behind the bars looked upward and called, “Raise it!”

  A creaking and grinding sounded, followed by the portcullis opening. Anton led the way, and as Céline passed through, she found herself traveling down an enclosed gatehouse tunnel. There was a second portcullis at the far end, but that one was already up. Although the defenses here were not as sophisticated as they were at Sèone, they were certainly sufficient. The castle would be difficult to breach.

  However . . . the double walls around Sèone protected all the people of the main village. Here, Damek left his castle’s namesake villagers to fend for themselves.

  Once out of the gatehouse tunnel, the contingent rode into the courtyard, to the sight of dozens more men in black tabards, and Céline got her first full look at the castle. It was constructed of dark stone, and it was both older and smaller than Anton’s home.

  It was also of an unusual design. On the east end, a single tall tower stretched at least five stories into the air. The center section of the castle was a long, two-story, rectangular block. On the west end stood a shorter, four-story tower, connected to what appeared to be a half-width tower that connected to another four-story tower. The half-width tower also contained the main doors to the castle.

  The layout produced a rather lopsided effect. Still . . . lopsided or not, it was forbidding—which probably pleased Damek.

  Anton rode directly toward the main doors, and someone stood there, waiting.

  When Céline saw who it was, her stomached tightened: Captain Kochè. He looked exactly as she remembered him. Kochè was tall but with a protruding belly and a stringy mustache that stretched down past his chin.

  Anton rode right up to him and looked down. “Have someone see to stabling our horses and arranging proper bunks for my men.” His tone was arrogant, as if he resented even having to speak to one of Damek’s underlings. “I want a private audience with my brother now.”

  Kochè stared back at him in undisguised contempt.

  As of yet, no one had even looked at the heavily cloaked Céline and Amelie, but Céline pulled her hood closer to her face.

  Kochè barked out a few grudging orders to his own men, and Anton’s men began to dismount. Rurik was on the ground by now, and he hurried over to lift Céline down first and then Amelie. Thankfully, Amelie didn’t cause a fuss, and she let him.

  Anton turned toward them. “The three of you, with me.”

  Captain Kochè opened the doors, and with that, Céline followed behind Anton, leaving the activity in the courtyard behind. She hoped their guards and horses would be well looked after, but that was out of her hands.

  The pace Kochè set was quick. Upon entering the castle, he turned right and headed into a stairwell that curved up through one of the west-end towers. Why had Anton insisted on an immediate private audience with Damek? Their small group was wet and mud-spattered from the road. Would he not prefer to face his brother after bathing and dressing? She felt as if she was being swept along into something she didn’t understand and had no power to stop.

  In being so focused on keeping up, she wasn’t even certain how far up they’d traveled when Kochè stepped out into a passage, walked all the way to the end, and knocked on a door.

  “My lord, your brother is demanding to see you.”

  Silence followed at first, and then the door opened.

  A very small man, shorter than Amelie, stood on the other side, peering past Kochè to Anton. The man was dressed in fine black pants and a quilted tunic. A red birthmark covered nearly half his face. He looked back into the room and nodded.

  “All right. Get out,” said a voice from inside.

  Lowering his head, the small man scurried past everyone waiting in the passage. Céline thought he must be one of Damek’s attendants. Anton didn’t care much to have personal attendants fussing over him, but most princes did.

  Kochè entered first, followed by Anton, Céline, Amelie, and then Rurik.

  The room they entered was warm, with a fire burning in the hearth. The walls were covered in tapestries that depicted designs of color rather than pictures or clear images. Stuffed chairs and low couches with velvet upholstery were carefully arranged. An open door led into a bedroom, and a man stood in that doorway.

  Although Céline had lived under his rule, this was the first time she’d ever seen him in person. She had, however, seen him while conducting readings of people involved with him—and seeing images of their future.

  He appeared to be in his late twenties, with narrow, even features. His hair was long and dark. His skin was pale, and he wore a sleeveless silk dressing gown loosely tied at his waist. Like Anton’s, his build was slender, with tight, defined muscles in his arms. For the most part, he looked like Anton, except for his eyes. Anton’s eyes were haunted. Damek’s were cruel.

  “Dear brother,” he said
sarcastically. “You look positively muddy. Did you just climb off your horse?”

  He yawned and stretched like a lazy cat, and Céline realized that even though it was early afternoon, they had woken him.

  Anton didn’t respond to the question. He turned and nodded to Céline, who understood what he wanted, and she pulled her hood down. So did Amelie.

  “May I present my seers?” Anton said. “As requested.” He motioned with his hand. “This is Amelie and this is . . . Céline.”

  Before speaking her name, he’d hesitated, and as he said it, his voice altered ever so slightly. Damek’s eyes lit up, and he no longer appeared sleepy or lazy. He focused intently first on Anton, then Céline, and then back to Anton.

  Anton’s already pale face went white.

  Céline had no idea what this was about, but she didn’t have time to wonder. For in the same moment, Captain Kochè sucked in a loud breath and pointed at her.

  “My lord! That is the charlatan who crushed your betrothal plans to the Lady Rhiannon.”

  Céline tensed. She and Amelie had warned Anton about this. Last spring, Damek had sent someone to Shetâna to pay Céline in advance to do a private reading for a wealthy young woman . . . on the understanding that Céline would counsel the skittish would-be bride to marry Damek. Yet, when Céline had done the reading, she saw a future image of Damek falsely accusing his new wife of adultery and having her strangled. He’d wanted her dowry . . . but not her. In good conscience, Céline couldn’t fulfill the bargain she’d made, and she’d tried to send the money back. As a result, Damek had ordered their shop burned and the sisters killed. While escaping the flames of the shop, Céline and Amelie had encountered the unexpected intervention of Jaromir, who had put down several of Damek’s guards and then secretly taken the sisters to Anton.

  However, in response to Kochè’s outburst, Prince Damek’s expression grew mildly puzzled and dangerously annoyed. Céline guessed that his guards did not normally interrupt such discussions.

  Kochè seemed to realize this and rushed on. “Do you not remember, my lord? The seer from Shetâna who was paid to counsel Lady Rhiannon to accept your offer?” He pointed at Céline. “That is her! She is one of your own peasants.”