Mist-Torn Witches 02:Witches in Red (25 page)

“A few of Damek’s guards suggested a game of dice after dinner,” Keegan said. “Under the front torches of the courtyard.”

Sullian frowned. “Sir . . . you’re in debt up to your ears to Master Terlone already. Maybe you should stay here and dance with a few girls instead. Keep whatever coins you have. The day after tomorrow is payday, and you told me you owe every penny to Terlone.”

Keegan’s expression tightened. “I can choose my own entertainments, Lieutenant.”

Sullian fell silent, but Quinn was looking at the main archway of the hall. A boy of about ten or eleven stood there, peering in.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Quinn said, standing up. “Nature calls.”

He headed toward the archway. The boy saw him coming and quietly put something in his hand before vanishing down the passage. Amelie came up behind Quinn as he opened a note that read only:

The gazebo by the river. At dawn.

The great hall vanished, and the mists rushed in for only a second or two, barely enough time for Amelie to feel much movement. When they cleared, she found
herself at the edge of a small river, with a wooden gazebo to her right.

Quinn was already there, and Prince Damek was walking up. The sun was just breaking over the horizon.

“I’ve chosen the place,” Damek said without offering a greeting. “There is an isolated mining camp up north, above Enêmûsk. The captain my father assigned has died, and my father is having a difficult time replacing him, which is no wonder as the place sounds like banishment.”

“He won’t order one of his officers?”

“With such difficult assignments, my father prefers . . . volunteers. He’s a tyrant who hates to appear as a tyrant.” Damek paused and crossed his arms. “This mining camp is ideal for our purposes. Can you manage to place your captain in a position where he has no choice but to volunteer?”

Quinn remained quiet for a few moments, as if thinking. “Yes, I can manage.”

The gazebo vanished, and Amelie was caught up in the mists, moving forward.

When they cleared, she found herself seeing a memory she’d already experienced. She was back inside the stable, directly following the dice game where Keegan had lost his money on payday.

Just as before, Keegan was leaning forward with his hands on his knees, as if he was about to be ill.

“What can I do?” he said. “Master Terlone is coming tomorrow. He said if I don’t settle my account, he’ll go to Prince Lieven.”

Both Sullian and Quinn looked on. But this time, Amelie noticed how Quinn’s eyes glowed. There was no way he could have orchestrated the happenstance dice game in the courtyard, but beneath his false concern, she could see he was pleased.

“Could you not give some of your purchases back to him?” Sullian was saying. “The pewter goblets?”

“He won’t take them!” Keegan snapped. “And I cannot give a season’s worth of wine back. It’s already been drunk.” He stood and ran his hands over his face. “The prince cannot find out how much I owe. I’ll be ruined.”

The rest of the conversation continued as before, only this time, Amelie focused entirely on Quinn.

She did turn to Keegan when he closed his eyes and said, “I have to do something. The prince cannot hear of this.”

“Wait . . . ,” Sullian began. He hesitated and then said, “Quinn, what about that game of Hard Tens you promised to deal tonight? Could you get the captain in? He’s better with cards, and he could win his wages back.”

Keegan stood straight, his eyes filling with hope. “Hard Tens?”

Sullian nodded. “With Prince Damek here on a visit, a few of his officers asked Lieutenant Tanner to put a game together, and Tanner asked Quinn to deal.”

“Can you get me in?” Keegan asked Quinn.

Again, Amelie stopped listening to the words as Keegan begged. Quinn glanced away. “All right. I’ll speak to Lieutenant Tanner.”

But as she moved to see his face, she could also see his hidden relief. He must have been the one who’d arranged for the card game with Damek’s officers, and he’d probably offered to be the dealer.

The scene in the stable vanished, and Amelie saw only a blink of the mists before they disappeared and she found herself in another small, windowless room.

Again, she was back in a moment she had already seen—the card game with six men sitting at a round table. The same goblets and pitchers of wine were scattered about on the table. Candle lanterns burned from small tables in the corners of the room.

Quinn sat there dealing, and she realized how easy this must have been for him. No one would suspect the dealer in a game of Hard Tens, as the dealer had nothing to win or lose. He didn’t need to win here. He needed only to make certain that Keegan lost.

Walking up behind Keegan, she realized at what point in the game she’d come in. He had a two of clubs showing, and when he peeked at his hole card she saw the ten of diamonds. Amelie moved over to stand next to Quinn. No one else even glanced his way, but she noticed he had a card palmed in his hand. The men began placing bets, and by the time they were finished, Keegan had put in almost every coin he had left. One of Damek’s officers raised an eyebrow.

“Looks like a do-or-die hand for you, Captain,” he said.

Keegan didn’t answer and nodded to Quinn that he wanted another card.

Quinn dealt him the ten of hearts, and Keegan closed
his eyes, knowing he’d gone over. Amelie watched the rest of the scene play out, knowing Keegan would jump up, leave the room, and come back with the bag containing his men’s payroll.

He did.

Quinn was staring at him as he sat down, and just as before, Keegan glared across the table. “Deal the cards,
Corporal
.”

Only this time, Amelie saw the gleam of triumph in the very back of Quinn’s blue eyes. No one else saw it. No one else even noticed him.

The room vanished, and the mists closed in, rushing her forward in time.

When they cleared, she was in the Ryazan encampment, and it looked to be in the same state of setup it had been in when she’d seen Keegan’s memories. Only now, she was watching Quinn. The early evening was breezy, and he wore a cloak over his shoulders.

He was outside, among the tents, and he glanced through the flap of a deteriorating small one, barely large enough to stand in. But he entered, and Amelie followed to watch.

First, he put on his leather gloves, and then he took the metal flask from the pocket of his cloak. Removing the stopper, he covered the tip of his pointer finger with the black elixir. Closing the flask, he put it back into his pocket.

Emerging, he seemed to choose a man at random, but Amelie could not be sure about that. His gaze paused on a soldier with a crooked tabard. Amelie noted the men were all clean and shaved at this point in time.

“Guardsman,” Quinn called. “The state of your tabard is a disgrace.”

The soldier turned at the sound of his voice. Quinn walked up quickly and straightened the tabard, and as he did so, Amelie saw his pointer finger brush one side of the man’s neck. The black spot left behind vanished into his skin.

“Better,” Quinn said, completing his adjustment of the tabard. “Just never let Lieutenant Sullian see you like that.”

The guardsman nodded and walked away.

Quinn watched him leave. “Less than an hour,” he said to himself. “It begins.”

The camp vanished, and the mists closed in.

A
s Amelie came out of the memories, she found herself looking up at Quinn’s face, but his expression was faraway. At some point, he’d taken his hand from her jaw and now had both palms pressed against the ground.

She didn’t hesitate.

Scrambling out from beneath him, she rolled and pulled the dagger from her boot, holding it in front of herself as she crouched just outside his reach.

His eyes cleared too late. Grabbing for her, he missed, and when he started to rush, he saw the dagger and froze. But she could almost see his mind working, and she feared that in battle he thought too much like she did—always leaning on the element of surprise. He would not do anything that might be expected.

Then . . . balancing herself with her free hand, she felt her fingers touch upon a jagged, good-sized rock.

How long until Jaromir noticed she should be back by now? Probably too long, and he didn’t even know where she was. But he’d go to the weapons cache first.
Without looking down, she closed her hand around the rock.

She needed to distract Quinn for a few seconds.

“You did that to Sullian!” she accused. “How could you? He was your friend.”

To her surprise, he blinked and answered, “I had to. I’d reached a point where I needed more control. With him gone, even as a corporal, I’d be second-in-command.”

Perhaps he’d been playing a part for so long he was hungry to be himself and speak of these things.

“Did you turn a guard right outside our quarters tonight? So the wolf would kill Céline and me?”

“I had to,” he repeated. “I’d chosen Graham as the next target. I should have chosen him sooner. He’s no soldier. But . . . your sister knew, and if she could see the future, then you might be able to see the past.”

“So then you decided not to turn Graham, and you turned whatever poor soul was closest to our tent?”

He didn’t answer. She saw a flicker in his eyes . . . and realized he was done talking and about to charge—or do something. He was a trained soldier. A lieutenant. More, he was strong enough that he’d broken the neck of a Móndyalítko shape-shifter. She was good with her dagger but no match for him physically.

Moving as fast as she could, she threw the rock, aiming for his head. It connected with a cracking sound, and his neck snapped back. Darting through the brush, she ran back the way they’d come—toward the provisions tent.

* * *

Jaromir immediately set up a circle of perimeter guards around the mining encampment, with men to spare. Once Captain Keegan had been settled inside one of the shacks, Jaromir turned to a more detailed assessment of the weapons on hand. All the soldiers had at least one. About half the men had spears, seven of them carried loaded crossbows, and the rest had swords.

Even in their current situation, the camp was certainly defensible.

But how could Quinn have ordered everyone over here without gathering more spears and crossbows first? The man must have been badly shaken to overlook such essentials. That thought got him thinking that Quinn and Amelie should have returned by now.

They would probably come trotting back at any moment.

It would be best to have the first hunting party set up. Looking around, he noted that too many of the miners and Móndyalítko were still outside their homes, trying to learn what was happening. Several of the men carried pickaxes, and Jaromir welcomed their help, but he thought the elderly, the women, and the children should be moved inside behind locked or barred doors.

Seeing Céline and Rurik only a few paces away, he closed the distance. He could have Céline see to the civilians, and Rurik could help him with a hunting party. Jaromir knew the detailed backgrounds of all his men.

“Rurik,” he said, “isn’t your father Prince Lieven’s gamekeeper?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’ve hunted with him?”

Rurik had sheathed his sword, but his left hand now gripped his right, as if the question unsettled him. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. I want you to walk the perimeter and pick out five other men with experience as well. Replace them with our surplus guards. I don’t want the line weakened. As soon as Amelie and Corporal Quinn get back with more weapons, you can lead the first hunting party.”

Even in her red cloak, Céline shivered slightly in the night air, and Jaromir turned to her. “Can you get the women and children to go back inside? Have them lock or bar their doors.”

“Of course,” she answered.

But Rurik hadn’t moved, and a light sheen broke out on his forehead. “Sir . . . perhaps I should stay here. I’m the only man from Sèone you have, and you’ll need me to ride for our escort when this is over.”

Jaromir stiffened. Rurik had been acting strangely since the morning he’d been ordered to replace Pavel, but now he sounded desperate. Céline was watching him in confusion as well. Rurik was no coward. Jaromir knew him to be a solid fighter who had once saved Anton from a rushing wild boar. Rurik didn’t fear hunting . . . so what made him so desperate now?

He’s hiding something.

The thought sickened Jaromir that one of his trusted men was keeping a secret . . . but it couldn’t be denied. It was all over Rurik’s face.

“All right.” Jaromir nodded. “Just pick out a party, and I’ll have someone else lead it.”

Relief passed across Rurik’s face, and Jaromir moved like lightning, stepping behind him, pinning his arms, and lifting his feet off the ground.

“Céline!” Jaromir called.

He didn’t have to tell her what he wanted.

She came toward them with her hand out.

Rurik went wild, kicking and struggling to break free. “No! Céline! Don’t do it. It’s not what you think. Don’t do it!”

* * *

Céline stepped to the side, but she didn’t slow down. She knew Rurik would never be able to break away from Jaromir . . . and Jaromir was right about this. She’d suspected something was off about Rurik for days now, but he’d never appeared even close to this desperate before. He was hiding something.

This was hardly the time or the place for a reading, but they were in danger from something unknown here, and no possible clue could be put off.

Reaching out, she gripped his right hand—which was held tightly against his side—and closed her eyes, feeling for the spark of his spirit.

A sensation of panic hit her like a wall. The first jolt hit within seconds, followed immediately by another jolt, and the mists rushed in. She was jerked forward in time so fast that she grew dizzy speeding along the corridor of white and gray.

The mists cleared.

She stood in a great hall. Rurik was kneeling on the stone floor beside her.

Looking up, Céline saw a muscular man with
graying hair and a proud bearing sitting in a chair on a dais up above. He wore a loose red jerkin accented by gold thread. Three jeweled rings on each hand adorned his fingers.

“My lord,” Rurik said with his head bowed.

“My son’s report was vague, as always. That is his way. Tell me, who inside the camp was responsible?”

Inside the vision, Céline’s mind raced. The man on the dais was Prince Lieven. She’d never seen him before, as no vision of the future had ever taken her to Castle Pählen. But what was Rurik doing? He appeared to be giving the prince a report outside of what Anton had authorized.

“The criminal was Corporal Quinn,” Rurik said. “A spy and infiltrator of Prince Damek.”

“And these two . . . seers that my son employs, they uncovered this for Anton?”

“Yes, my lord. Prince Anton is ever resourceful in those he chooses to serve him.”

Just as Lieven was about to speak again, the mists closed in, and Céline was jerked away, rushing backward in time. It was the briefest future vision she’d ever experienced.

But when she opened her eyes and she saw Jaromir holding Rurik, she was so shaken and disoriented that she stumbled and fell to her knees and could not stop herself from crying out.

“He’s a spy for Anton’s father! He’s going to tell Prince Lieven all the details of this mission that Anton would not!”

Jaromir roared and shoved Rurik forward.

In one swift motion, Jaromir drew a dagger from the sheath on his belt.

“Sir, no!” Rurik shouted, spinning around. “I’m no spy!”

Céline tried to recover from the rapid, dizzying vision, and she somehow scrambled in between Jaromir and Rurik, blaming herself for this. Jaromir would kill anyone he suspected of betraying Anton, and she knew it. She’d seen a body lying at her feet once.

“Lieutenant!” she cried, holding one hand up.

“I’m no spy!” Rurik insisted. “My father asked me to share anything that would make Anton look better to Prince Lieven. Prince Anton won’t report any dark deeds done by his brother, nor ever say a word about his own strengths. My father . . . he thought I should use my position as a messenger to tell Prince Lieven the truth, that Anton is a better leader. I’d never do or say anything to injure him, Lieutenant. You have to believe me.”

Jaromir still had murder written all over his face, but he hadn’t struck yet . . . and he was listening.

“So, that’s why you were so desperate to survive this mission?” Céline asked. “Because Prince Lieven is expecting a report from you?”

Wordlessly, Rurik nodded, but he hadn’t taken his eyes off Jaromir.

Then, as her head cleared further, Céline began remembering the more detailed content of her vision.

“Jaromir . . . when Prince Lieven asked for the name of the one responsible for all the deaths here, Rurik told him it was Quinn.”

* * *

Jaromir turned his gaze from Rurik to Céline.

“What did you say?”

“It’s Quinn! Or that is what Rurik was telling Lieven. Amelie is alone with him!”

Rurik was looking back and forth between them in confusion, but Jaromir didn’t care.

He had to think.

His instincts told him that Rurik was no traitor. Something would have to be done about him, but he wasn’t a traitor . . . and Amelie was alone with a killer.

“Rurik, you stay here and make sure the perimeter holds,” he ordered. “Céline, get those people inside. I’m going for Amelie.”

Without waiting for a response from either of them, he turned and bolted for the path.

* * *

Amelie almost couldn’t believe it when she reached the tree line without being caught from behind. She hadn’t even heard Quinn coming after her, and she wondered if the rock might have dazed him.

However, now, peering out from the brush into the open camp, she thought that making a run for the path to the miners’ encampment would be foolish. It was possible that Quinn had lost her trail and was watching from somewhere along the tree line as well, waiting for her to emerge. Although he claimed to be a good tracker, she wasn’t bleeding and it was dark. If she’d gotten a decent head start, there might have been little for him to track.

But he could still be watching for her, and if so, she’d never outrun him all the way to the path.

Looking straight ahead, she saw the front entrance to the huge provisions tent. It was a short run, and there were crossbows and quarrels in there—somewhere along the east wall. She crouched, took a deep breath, and sprinted, running as fast as she could for the open front flap and dashing inside.

Only then did she turn to peek back around the side and see if she was pursued. Again, she was caught in near disbelief. Where was he? He’d struck her as . . . determined.

A crashing sound echoed from within a few paces of where she’d emerged, and Quinn stumbled from the forest, carrying his spear and bleeding from his head. He looked both ways and then fixed on the provisions tent, breaking into a jog straight for the entrance.

Except for a general direction—the east wall—Amelie didn’t know precisely where the weapons were stored in here, and Quinn was coming.

Surrounded by barrels and stacks of crates, she came to a fast decision, the only one she could think of. Moving deeper into the tent and down a row of crates, she dropped low and hid herself.

Hopefully, Quinn would run in, go straight for the weapons, believe she was not here, and then run out again, looking for her.

After that . . . she’d have a few options.

Footsteps pounded through the entrance, and she could hear him breathing hard.

* * *

After Jaromir ran off, Céline stood facing Rurik, but he wouldn’t look at her. His hands were shaking, and it
was possible that he blamed her for what had just happened. In a way, she understood.

But she was a good deal more worried about Amelie and hoped that Jaromir would reach her quickly. How could the killer be Quinn? He’d been the only one here in whom Jaromir had placed any confidence.

“Rurik?” Céline asked, hoping he would still be willing to work with her.

Just then, Guardsman Graham came jogging up, carrying a spear, and he appeared distraught.

“What is it?” Céline asked. She didn’t hear a disturbance anywhere.

“I . . . I’ve been searching,” Graham answered, “and all the men are accounted for except Saunders. He’s the only one missing.”

Something occurred to Céline. “Was he on guard near our tent tonight?”

Graham nodded miserably, and Céline felt for him. If the new soldier-wolf was Saunders, that meant poor Graham had lost both his friends.

Rurik glanced at her first and then Graham in sympathy. He seemed to understand the implications as well.

“I’m sorry, Graham,” he said. “But the lieutenant left us with orders, and he was right about those civilians. I’m going to check the perimeter. Céline, you try to get those people back inside their homes and tell them to bar the doors.”

“Yes,” she answered, stepping away. “Graham, why don’t you come and help me? I think some of the miners must know you.”

She was trying to give him an occupation, but the tactic worked, and he fell into step beside her. They went to the Móndyalítko wagons first, as she thought she might gain help from Mercedes in getting their people indoors.

Marcus was nowhere in sight, but nearly all the other Móndyalítko were outside, looking around. Several of them were armed and surrounding their few children. Perhaps they had not had good luck in the past by shutting themselves away and leaving the fighting to the soldiers.