Winterskin: A Dark Fantasy (Kindred Souls Book 1)

by C. M. Estopare

  Contents

  Copyright

  Map

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  FORTY-FOUR

  FORTY-FIVE

  FORTY-SIX

  FORTY-SEVEN

  FORTY-EIGHT

  FORTY-NINE

  FIFTY

  FIFTY-ONE

  FIFTY-TWO

  FIFTY-THREE

  FIFTY-FOUR

  FIFTY-FIVE

  FIFTY-SIX

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  FIFTY-NINE

  SIXTY

  SIXTY-ONE

  SIXTY-TWO

  SIXTY-THREE

  SIXTY-FOUR

  SIXTY-FIVE

  SIXTY-SIX

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  SIXTY-NINE

  SNEAK PEAK

  Copyright

  © 2017 by Christine Estopare

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ONE

  Muttering voices echoed round the mead hall like booming drumfire. The colliding multitude of yips and yells and squeals mixing with the sweat inducing fire blazing from the thrumming hearth at the center of the packed room. Of the three long tables that occupied the hall, all were brimming with villagers in full winter dress. Capes of white ermine, tossed velveteen gambesons, fur lined gauntlets and a host of other displaced winter wear littered the rough pine floor as men and women to the left and right of the hall clinked iron tankards and anxiously clawed into lamb meat juicy with grease.

  The hall shivered with excitement as its people spoke of a coming voyage. Of this continent's pearly capital that lays mighty far from their little mountain town of Montbereau. Unable to stay in their seats, they speak of the Path and the dark forest that surrounds it on all sides. They speak of beasts that prowl the forests—that endanger anyone who dare treads the Path. But, most of all, they speak of witches and their all-consuming power. Of their ability to swallow an entire village whole. Miles from Montbereau lays a village in ruin, ripped asunder by the voice of a derelict witch. The ghosts of those who've passed rests on the tongues of all tonight, as Montbereau prepares to give it's strongest warriors to the Path.

  “Even in celebration,” a young woman slouched. Shaking her head of tightly pulled back chestnut hair and slapping her hands to her woolen breeches. “they must speak of Remicourt.”

  “Katty, Katty—plug your ears and drink your ale!” a mare eyed girl in a low cut dress nudged her with her shoulder. Arching her back, she puffed her chest out. “Oh, Eva! Take her tankard—put it to her lips!”

  Sitting taller, Kat brought her forearms to the table and held her head in her hand. “I'll bring you both home early. Try me.”

  Sighing, Eva pursed her sour lips as she brought her hands to Kat's right shoulder. “You're really no fun, Katty. You could go home. Horace will watch us, won't he Maddy?”

  The mare faced girl blushed. Bringing her hands into her lap, she fluttered her eye lashes at a drunken young man across the room.

  “Are you on the rag?” Eva hissed into Kat's ear, hiding her lips with her hand. “That's not good then, yeah? You'll cramp up on the Path—,”

  Rolling her eyes, Kat swatted the younger girl's lips away with the sharp flick of her wrist. “Get on, all right? Get on, little girls. Go have fun and the like.”

  From her right and left, Eva and Maddy stood. Both girls smoothed their dresses out, one of lavender and another one of yellow silk. Like twin puppets in a dance, they brought their hands to their hips as they hovered over Kat.

  “Katell, will you listen?” Maddy whined, pressing her fingertips onto the waist of her lavender bodice. “We mean no harm, none of them do.”

  “We respect you.” Eva said, grabbing a piece of yellow thread from her dress and snapping it.

  “Really.” the girls intoned in unison. “We truly do.”

  A warm grin graced Kat's sullen face as her eyes lit up. Turning in her seat, Kat's grin quickly melted into a half crescent smirk as she brought her eyes from Eva to Maddy. They were almost interchangeable, she mused. Twins, but different in one respect; where one chased after boys, the other chased after books. From time to time Kat would catch Eva with the Montbereau's favorite flower girl, the waif-like little Jocelyn, slithering her hand up the other woman's skirts when she believed the entire household was out. She enjoyed flower picking, that one. It was a secret Kat would gladly take to her grave, she didn't want Eva getting burned. Or worse.

  Kat stood, freed her legs of the wide wooden bench and wrapped both girls into a tight hug. Eva nuzzled her neck fondly as Maddy wrapped her warm arms round Kat's thin waist. She felt Eva's fingertips prowl into the chest pocket of her gambeson and immediately pushed both girls away as they broke out into a fit of cheerful giggles.

  “I'll miss both of you brats.” Kat laughed, mocking outrage as she brought her hands to her hips and sharpened her gaze upon the girls. A high pitched squeal carried itself across the room as a gaggle of whooping men broke out into deep voiced song. Kat shook her head and listened, brought her gaze to the floor and eyed the body strewn pathway to the sealskin tarp flapping upon the makeshift door. Laughter bubbled in her gut at that—the fact that people were already passing out.

  “Yet, the night is still young!” Maddy squealed, bringing her hands up. Palms out. “Won't you stay awhile?”

  “No, I think she should go.” Eva snapped, her brow twisting. “If Katty's ready, Katty should do as she pleases.”

  Maddy's heart shaped face fell, her smile faltering as she clasped her hands before her lavender bodice. “Will you leave, Cousin?”

  Kat's tankard moved suddenly, ale sloshing loudly in its wide mouth before spilling onto the table. A large hand wrapped round the dented mug's handle, pulling the mug back and forth across the rough wood of the table.

  “Leavin' yet, Coz?” Slurred a cracked voice. “Ain't had a sip o' ale—nothin'. Lookie this—,”

  Maddy slapped her hand to her mouth, the older girl giggling as Eva twisted her lips and rolled her eyes. “Horace, drunk already?” Eva spat.

  “Keep yer eyes in yer head, little miss.” Horace snapped, pulling Kat's tankard across the table before bringing it to his chapped lips.

  Kat crossed her arms and cocked her head as she watched the large man down the whole tankard in one savage gulp. “Would you look at that, Cousin? Ale's gone.” she teased.

  Wandering brown eyes snapp
ed to Kat. Tipping over the mug, Horace watched a single drop roll out. “Aye, right. Air's the way, then. I'll, uh—,”

  Bringing her hand to Kat's shoulder, Eva sighed. “I'll watch these two, Coz. You, go. Clear your head.”

  Kat nodded, knowing no words needed to be said. The two shared a connection, though Eva was the youngest of Kat's cousins she was the most levelheaded. The girl couldn't angle an ax over a log of wood to save her life, but she knew how to take care of people. Knew how to treat everything from red rash to heartbreak, so if Kat was going to put the drunken escapades of her cousins into anyone's hands—Eva's would definitely be her first choice. Clasping her own hand over Eva's, Kat thanked her with a nod and a squeeze of the younger girl's thin fingers.

  The hall's sweltering heat seemed to swallow her. Kat clenched her sweat drenched fists as the surrounding storm of noise deafened her with a piercing ring to her ears. The sour notes of drunken bards brought her hearing back as eyes glared down on her from the head table. A voice in her head cut through the noise. Turn! Turn and pay your respects!, it shrieked. Bending her arm, she brought it behind her back before she gave her betters upon the raised dais a quick nod and swift bow. I should curtsy—should go back again. But she wore no skirt to curtsy with. Kat shook her head as she turned, made her way to the sealskin tarp acting as a door and began to shove her way out into the winter. It won't matter—they'll let it go. I leave on the morrow, she reminded herself.

  But a booming voice stopped her. Cut through the raucous storm of songs and squeals “Shieldmaiden Maeva.”

  Kat turned on her heel, brought her hand behind her back again and gazed at the head table as the diners continued to carouse. Of all the patrons littering the hall, Eva was the only one to lift her eyes and stare. With her tiny hands planted to Maddy's slender shoulders, Eva's eyes widened with shock.

  Two patrons occupied the head table, where there should have been four. Only one gave his attention to Kat as she raised her chin, eyes staring into the elaborately woven banners hanging from the thick wooden rafters above their heads. She took all emotion from her face, willing herself to look calm.

  “Leaving the celebration so early.” the man before her spoke, blinking his single eye as he swiftly stood upon the raised dais at the head of the room. From the raised back of his tall chair, he whipped off a coat of bearskin stamped with two brass chains at its center and swung it around his shoulders.

  Kat closed her eyes. Stifled a sigh as she heard the boards creak beneath the weight of the man's ermine lined boots. Opening her eyes, she met Eva's worried gaze as a surly coat of sable bearskin swept past Kat and into the winter cold behind her. Kat shrugged, as he lifted the sealskin tarp at her back, letting in the cold.

  Eva cocked her head, forced a crooked grin and pressed her hands to Maddy's shoulders as the other girl sat before a hollering melange of card playing gamblers.

  Go, she mouthed, her lips barely parting. Go, see what he has to say.

  Kat nodded, weaving her way beneath the flap as the man at her right held the tarp of shiny sealskin above her head.

  Plunging into the winter, the cold hit hard as the heat of the mead hall tumbled and died in an oncoming drift of white snow.

  Winter was so peaceful, so quiet. A light tint of hoarfrost crept up the rounded wooden dome of the mead hall, the sparkling white swallowed a long line of decorative round shields that proudly displayed the snow skimmed crests of Montbereau's warrior families. The two trudged past the long line of shields as they walked along the wide edge of the longhouse. Warmth seeped through cracks in the stacked wall of logs, along with voices and the chilly clashing of tankards. The celebration tolled on, even as its host disappeared.

  Stopping at the far edge of the longhouse, the man before her turned around and faced her with a thoughtful hand to his chin.

  Kat brought her right arm behind her, angled her fist towards her spine as she stood tall. Scanning his face, Kat let the silence pass between them as a clawing wind ripped at the skin of her ears. She could hear the party inside. Make out Horace's bawling laughter as coins clinked upon a table near the wall.

  “Are you always this sullen?” he murmured, breaking the silence as he teased at a single hair in his burgundy mustache. “Is this a rule among the entirety of the duchy's guard, or is this just a rule for shieldmaidens?”

  Kat hardened her face, pressing her lips together, as she cut her gaze away. “Never been far from Montbereau.” she lied. “I am—,”

  “—having afterthoughts?” he finished for her, bringing his eye to the black sky. “Thought I should be upfront, Katell,” crossing large arms beneath his cloak, Kat watched as she bit her tongue—hard.

  “Kaiden—sir,” she quipped, correcting herself as her bent arm tensed and the knuckles of the fist behind her pressed into her spine. “I've a mind to be polite, but...”

  “I did not want you attached to this Chaperon.” he told her matter-of-factly, staring her down with that single brooding eye. “Baate Noir is no place for a greenling.”

  Kat clamped down harder on her tongue, forcing herself to be silent as the fist at her back tightened. Nails broke skin as she brought her eyes to the dull leather jerkin covering Kaiden's wide chest. She couldn't speak—not now—not with this fire in her head. She knew what to say to naysayers—to people who assumed she was green, but she decided against arguing with her better. Even as words raced through her head—she knew her lips wouldn't be able to form them as quickly as she thought them. She'd stumble over them and resort to cursing. Resort to throwing fists.

  That worked with the other men—but with him? He'd beat her to a bloody pulp.

  “But Roux's high opinion of you weighs heavy with the duchy's guard. Seems my worries often fall upon deaf ears. Even approached your Gran—,”

  “—you did what?” Kat bucked—widened her eyes and took a sharp breath to calm herself.

  Sonant Kaiden's single eye narrowed. He was taller than her, broader too. Built like a golem—like a man of stone—missing an eye and half a head of hair. “She who taught you? Who trained you?”

  Kat bit back a hiss as a platter crashed to the floor inside the longhouse. “She taught me everything—who else could've?”

  “Shieldmaidens are a dying breed, Katell Maeva.” his voice dipped low, ebbing into a mottled growl of warning. “The Path will consume you if you're too green. The Black Forest will take you...”

  “...if winter doesn't swallow us first.” Kat clipped, the fist at her back tightening as she forced herself to check her tone. “I have been warned, sir.”

  Kat could almost feel the snow through her boots as she wiggled her toes. They barely had room to breathe in her fur stuffed shoes.

  Sonant Kaiden nodded, his gaze moving towards the rolling snow drifts that tumbled down the expansive hilltop. He tapped his boot in the snow. “Baate Noir frightens you? Is this why you've trudged around the hall souring such a beautiful face?”

  Kat closed her eyes—opened them and could almost see blood staining the snow. Shriveled intestines darkened to a dead purple as the they slithered through the snow, leaving behind an oily trail that speared through the white drift. The distressed torso of a woman ripped asunder attempting to pull itself through the swirling snow drift, her intestines following like mindless snakes as she slithered. As she pulls herself. The woman's face is blanched ashen—pale—as she reaches forward. The woman reaching for nothing but the air, as her ragged lips murmur a name that is sun softly softly and tears freeze upon ashen cheeks.

  Blood—Katell took her gaze right, left—blood. She could almost see it now, surely see it.

  Does he see it too? Does he not? Oh, gods—she blinked. Avoided rubbing her eyes and cast her gaze downwards.

  “It is not Baate Noir that frightens me, sir.” she finally murmured, pressing the knuckles of her fist into her spine as she pressed her opposite hand to her thigh. “It is this celebration.” she whispered, as Sonant Kaiden moved to lea
n upon the wall beside him. “And it's vagarious nature.”

  TWO

  Sunlight fought its way through the heavy cotton clouds above as Kat scrubbed at Gran's round shield with a rough horsehair brush. She scrubbed with her knees tight to the shield's wide wooden sides, rubbing off dust and black debris as a handful of others grunted and stretched around her.

  They all wore something similar, shadowy bags hanging low beneath their eyelids that proved they attended last night's send-off party. Some wore a mask of morning-after grime that made their eyes dreary, their movements shaky as others sat holding their heads, the festive hustle of Montbereau's townspeople making their heads spin. The send-off songs sung, the children weaving through the morning crowd, and the thick smell of horse dung curdling the air made a particular man to the right of Kat gurgle and moan.

  He sat upon the lip of the town's massive stone well, his hands squarely upon the patched up knees of his woolen breeches as he planted his boots in the snow and lowered his head.

  “When d'you...think Horace—,” he coughed. Spat, as Kat tensed with her back against the stone wall. “—will be back?” he sputtered, spitting his words out like fire.

  Kat let Gran's shield rest between her legs as she straightened her back against the stone wall of the well. Around her, six others wearing the demesne's sigil of a patchwork shield sewn upon a thatch of black snow, worked upon their weapons or rested near the well as the people of Montbereau moved around them.

  Kat's eyes peered through the gathering crowd of people to watch the growing line of horses and wagons combine to create the Chaperon's ragtag convoy. After last night's send-off celebration in the hall, the soldiers of the Montbereau Guard tasked with escorting the Chaperon woke at first light and gathered at Montbereau's well. Kat remembered waking Horace up as Gran and the girls slept in the warmth of their little log house. She remembered throwing on her gear and having to escort him to the Chaperon's makeshift preparation tent for some sort of briefing she couldn't be part of.

  Kat eyed that tent now. Cast off to the farther side of the convoy, sat a thing of royal purple etched with slick sable. It was massive, the rounded dome upon its crown sported the duke's own sigil of a bursting sun dipped in gleaming gold. Only a handful of men had been admitted beneath its flaps, Horace included. Kat had been turned away just this morning, when the sun was clearing the horizon. It was now noon and the convoy was growing, but the men had yet to exit. A spark of buzzing impatience unsettled the air, affecting even the horses.