Mist-Torn 01 - The Mist-Torn Witches (5 page)

Céline flew out into the night first, running through her beloved herb garden, jumping over the tall lavender and the catnip, with Amelie right on her heels. But even amidst the panic, amidst fleeing for her life, Céline could not help the horror washing through her that their shop, their home, was burning, and it was her fault.

Worse, she couldn’t stop remembering the sight of the long sword crashing through their shutter, and she had a terrible feeling this wasn’t over yet.
She stopped for a second to make certain Amelie was right behind her.

“Out the back gate and into the trees,” Amelie said as quietly as she could and still be heard over the flames. Clearly, she was afraid the worst might yet be to come as well.

Céline ran for all she was worth, flying over more of her herbs and clutching at the handle of the back gate, pulling it open. With the roar of the fire behind her, she could think only of reaching the safety of the trees—and someplace to hide.

But she’d barely passed through when a strong hand grabbed her hair and she was jerked hard until her back was pressed up against someone’s chest; he held the point of a knife to her throat.

“Amelie!” she screamed.

She couldn’t see her captor, but she could feel his chain armor through her shoulder blades, and in the moonlight, she could clearly see two men in black tabards in front of her. One of them rushed through the gate, and then she heard Amelie’s angry cry, followed by the clank of steel.

The other soldier didn’t move for a few seconds. But when he turned to look at her, her heart nearly stopped. She could see the protruding belly and greasy hair of Captain Kochè. In the darkness, his eyes glowed as they moved slowly from her hips all the way up to her face.

“Don’t kill that one yet,” he told the guard holding her. “I want some time with her first.”

She went cold and sick to her stomach at the same time, and over the roar of the fire, she could still hear the clanking of steel coming from the garden. Amelie was better when she had the element of surprise, and Céline didn’t know how long she’d last in a stand-up fight against a trained soldier.

Céline cursed herself. What a fool she’d been.

But then, just for an instant, Kochè took his eyes off her and turned his head back toward the sound of the fight in the garden, perhaps wondering if he should go help his man end this quickly.

A loud thud sounded in Céline’s ears, and she was freed so fast she stumbled forward. A flash of tan blurred past her, and as Kochè whirled to look back, a soldier in a tan tabard swung a club and caught him across the jaw.

Kochè, caught completely unaware, hit the ground like a sack of grain.

Céline glanced backward to see that the man in the black tabard who’d been holding her was now unconscious on the ground, and another soldier in a tan tabard stood there gripping a club. Panting and anxious, he was tall, with cropped dark hair.

But the man who’d clubbed down Kochè looked into the garden and then back at Céline. His sword was still in its sheath. “Where’s the seer?” he demanded. “Is she still in that shop?” He had a muscular build and a goatee and wore his long hair tied at the nape of his neck.

Céline wondered if she could even speak, but she somehow got out, “I’m the seer.”

He stared at her with a flicker of surprise, and then he ordered. “Pavel, get her on a horse! I’ll get the other one.”

“Sir, don’t kill any of Damek’s men,” Pavel said back. “Or there’ll be hell to pay.”

“Go!”

Before Céline had time for a new wave of panic, her feet left the ground, and she found herself being heaved over Pavel’s shoulder.

*   *   *

In Jaromir’s mind, he’d pictured the seer as an old crone with a crystal ball, not a lovely young woman in a red velvet dress, and he was still trying to get his head around this as he ran through the back gate and almost raised a hand to his face to ward off the heat from the blazing apothecary shop.

But then the sight before him stopped him in his tracks.

The black-haired girl he’d seen coming out of the shop that afternoon was engaged in a desperate fight with one of Captain Kochè’s men. Both of them were swinging hard, but most of the time, the girl was managing to duck instead of block, and her speed was astonishing. She had a short sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. But as her opponent was much larger and using a long sword, she couldn’t seem to land a slash or a blow, and Jaromir was experienced enough to see she was getting tired.

As yet, they were both so absorbed, neither one had noticed him.

Quickly, he moved forward, and when the soldier finished a downswing—missing the girl—Jaromir swung hard with the club, striking the back of his head from behind. Unfortunately, he didn’t go down right away, and the girl rushed in, ramming her dagger into an unarmored spot at the base of his throat. Blood squirted into the air.

“No!” Jaromir cried, too late. “Don’t.”

She jerked her dagger out, and the soldier fell, probably dead before he hit the ground.

Lost in rage and panic, the girl looked around wildly. “Céline!”

Her eyes stopped on Jaromir, and she rushed, swinging her short sword, which he managed to block with his club. “Stop it! I’m trying to help you.”

She didn’t even seem to hear him, and everything was happening almost too fast for him to keep up. She started to swing again, but he dodged to the inside, dropped his club, grabbed her wrist, and swung with his fist, catching her across the jaw. As the crack sounded, she collapsed against his arm, and he cursed under his breath.

He hadn’t wanted to do that.

Worse, there was a dead soldier in a black tabard lying in the parsley patch.

But he could hear the voices of people from the village shouting out front now as they ran toward the burning shop. Crouching, he slid the girl’s
sword and dagger back into their sheaths. Then he threw her over his shoulder and rushed for the gate.

Once outside, behind him, all he could hear was the growing roar of the fire.

*   *   *

Céline was so numb she didn’t even feel the cold. She was on a horse, sitting in front of the soldier called Pavel, while he held her tightly with one arm and held the reins in his other hand, pushing hard through the wet forest.

She could hear another horse moving behind them in the darkness, but as yet she’d not seen Amelie and had no idea what was happening. She only knew she’d brought the threat of death raining down on them…and that their home was gone.

More from instinct than hope, she’d struggled in Pavel’s arm a few times, but he hadn’t seemed to notice and just kept pushing his horse.

“All right,” a deep voice called from behind. “That’s far enough.”

Pavel pulled up and turned his horse, looking back. “You sure, sir?”

“Yes, for a few minutes at least.”

Céline wanted to weep in relief at the sight behind them. The soldier with the goatee was holding Amelie in front of himself on his own horse. She was unconscious but breathing and did not appear to be bleeding from any wounds. Then Céline saw that her hands were bound together
by a small rope, and her eyes flew up to the soldier’s face.

“A precaution I thought best,” he said dryly. “For the rest of this night, you’re both going to have to behave and do exactly what I tell you.”

Still numb, Céline just stared at him. She had no idea who he was or what he wanted. She only knew that he’d tied Amelie’s hands and that she was being held against her will on top of a stranger’s horse…and that their home was gone.

The soldier’s expression softened, almost to pity. “My name is Lieutenant Jaromir,” he said, “and I swear I’m trying to help you.”

Finding her voice, Céline whispered, “Why would you help us?”

“Because my lord ordered me to.”

“And who is your lord?” she managed to ask, more confused than before.

“Sub-Prince Anton of the House of Pählen, Damek’s younger brother.”

S
ometime during the night, Céline’s numbness began to wear off, and the cold night air began cutting through her dress.

She realized she had nothing left but the dress on her back, not even her cloak.

But Pavel must have felt her shivering because he stopped his horse long enough to pull his own cloak around them both. “Hold it closed with your hand,” he said.

For some reason, this small act of kindness moved her, and feeling warmer, a few moments later, she let herself lean back against him and closed her eyes.

The horse moved on at a steady pace through the wet woods.

The next thing she remembered was the sound of Jaromir’s voice saying, “All right, it’s light enough. Wake her up.”

She opened her eyes again and realized it was past dawn the next morning. Her first thought was of Amelie, and she cast about quickly to see
her sister, wide-awake, sporting a dark bruise on her jaw, still sitting in front of Jaromir with her hands tied.

But Amelie’s eyes looked like thunder, and Céline feared what she might do to Jaromir once her hands were free. The sisters locked eyes, and Céline tried to offer a short shake of her head, hoping Amelie understood. Although nothing was certain, these two men had at least
behaved
like protectors throughout the night.

But then Céline looked up beyond Amelie and nearly gasped. “Where are we?”

Pavel answered in her ear. “Home. Castle Sèone.”

The sight was impressive. A moat the size of a river surrounded an enormous hill, almost a small mountain. Not far from where Céline was sitting, she could see a gatehouse with a closed portcullis at the end of a retractable bridge across the moat. A wall with numerous barbicans stretched from both sides of the gate all the way around the area at the bottom of the hill.

But she could see that on the other side of the gatehouse was a road leading about halfway up the hill to yet another gatehouse set against another stone wall that encircled the hill at that point. At the top of the hill stood a castle.

This place would be difficult to breach.

A creaking sound reached her ears, and then Jaromir said, “They’re opening the portcullis. We should head inside now.”

“In there?” Céline asked in alarm. The place had seemed impenetrable a second ago; once inside, how would she and Amelie ever get out again?

Without warning, Amelie rammed her head back and caught Jaromir hard on the chin, making him grunt with pain. She whipped one leg over the front of the saddle and tried leaping off, but he caught her and jerked her up against himself.

“Quit!” he ordered, sounding more annoyed than angry, and with her hands tied, she could do little more than struggle.

His chin was bleeding.

“My lord will just want to talk to you,” he said. “He only wants to know what his brother is up to. Then you’ll be free to go.” He paused. “If you have anyplace to go.”

Amelie stopped fighting him, but her face was still dark with rage.

“Good,” he said, and he jumped off the horse, looking up at her. “I’m going to free your hands so we don’t look like we’re walking in with prisoners, but you’d better keep still and do what I say.” Taking a knife from his belt, he looked at her and said, “You try to kick me or pull that dagger, and you’ll regret it.”

“She won’t,” Céline said quickly. “Amelie, tell him you won’t.”

It was possible Jaromir was telling the truth, that this Prince Anton simply wanted to know what was happening with his brother’s impending nuptials,
and he’d let them go once they’d told him everything they knew. Céline just hoped that Anton did not have much in common with his brother. His men were certainly nothing like Damek’s.

Amelie just glared at her and then held out both hands. Jaromir cut her bonds, but he seemed ready for anything, watching her carefully.

“Amelie!” Céline said again. “We’ll just go in and speak to their prince. Then we’ll go…” She trailed off and the rage in Amelie’s eyes faded. Where exactly would they go?

Pavel jumped off from behind her and landed on the ground.

Before Céline knew what was happening, he began leading his horse across the bridge to the first gatehouse, but Jaromir took the lead. Two soldiers in tan tabards standing inside the open portcullis came to attention at the sight of Jaromir.

“Sir,” they said politely, almost reverently.

Jaromir just nodded and led Amelie past them, through the gatehouse tunnel and out the other side. Céline began to suspect that Jaromir was more than just a lieutenant in the prince’s guard. But she had no time to wonder as they all headed up the road toward the second gatehouse.

As they reached it, the guards up there treated Jaromir with the same respectful deference, and Céline found herself being led through the second gatehouse to the inside of the high stone wall…

And there, even Amelie looked around in surprise.

They entered what appeared to be a thriving town built all around the castle above. People and animals and dwellings of all sorts stretched out as far as Céline could see. A smithy and a tannery stood just ahead. Cobblers, weavers, candle makers, bakers, and butchers hawked their wares. But more than that, Céline saw a vast number of what looked like homes to her left, and all the people looked well fed.

“They all live here inside the castle wall?” Amelie asked in shock, gripping the horse’s mane. This was the first thing she’d said since last night, and Jaromir glanced up at her. “Of course. It’s safest here inside the wall.”

This seemed like a given to him, but to Céline it was not. Sub-Prince Damek lived quite differently. From what she understood, only his soldiers, his mistresses, his servants, and a number of minor nobles all currying his favor populated his home.

This Castle Sèone was more like a bustling town.

Jaromir kept moving onward and upward though the people and the shops and dwellings until they reached another bridge, this one shorter and leading across a gap to a huge wooden doorway at the front of the castle. It was unguarded, but Céline noted a pulley system on the other side that would allow the bridge to be raised, thus cutting off access to the castle.