by Wendy Koenig
One of the two hand-picked men lifted Marie while the other collected the still-smoldering candles. Gwen led them toward the house, even as the animals were herded into the wide-open barn. Most of the animals went directly to individual stalls. However, one horse decided to join a fellow in a stall not his own. While a couple of Gwen’s followers sorted them out, others scattered the swept-up straw, once again covering the star in the middle of the floor.
Meanwhile, the rest of the people changed into regular clothes and hid their robes in places in the barn from which they removed musical instruments. They set up the impromptu band in the center of the barn, right over the straw-covered star, and began playing a dancing melody.
Laurence led Fiera across the loft to the corner furthest from the house. He raised a board from the loft floor, revealing a small box about twelve inches deep, two feet wide, and six feet long. “No one knows about this space except Gwen and I. You’ll be safe here.”
Frowning and hesitant, Fiera lowered herself into the hole that more closely resembled a coffin than a hiding place. As soon as she was settled, Laurence replaced the board, stamping hard on it where the nails held it in place. “One of us will be back for you soon.”
With that, he left amidst a shower of straw dust that made Fiera want to sneeze. She pinched her nose and breathed through her mouth, silently praying there were no spiders occupying the close quarters with her.
Light filtered through narrow cracks below her. Peering through, however, all she could make out was a horse shifting in its stall. She’d have to settle for just listening to the action. Slowly, Fiera shifted so her ear was pressed against one of the cracks.
Within moments, the music stopped to be replaced with the noise of many men. One voice carried in the barn better than the others. “You are the parish wife?”
“I am.” It was Gwen’s voice that answered, matching the man’s strength with her own. “And who might you be?”
“Who I am makes no difference. It’s the two girls you have as guests here that matter. Where are they?”
“One is injured, near death. She sleeps in my house guestroom. The other has left.”
“Left? Where did she go?”
“I don’t know. It’s none of my concern.”
“I feel you’re hiding something. Perhaps even this girl. Look around.”
With a start, Fiera realized he’d said this last to his men. Immediately, she heard scuffs below her as well as footsteps on the loft ladder.
The man continued, “Tell your musicians to move.”
Gwen’s voice came sharply, “Do as he requests.”
An awful feeling built in the pit of Fiera’s stomach. If the star was found, Gwen and her followers would be shown as witches and would be arrested. Perhaps she could help. The wood she hid within was buried deep into the dirt the star was also buried into. She closed her eyes and pushed her magic through the loft floor, down the wooden posts, and along the ground toward the star, imagining a flat expanse of dirt instead of the stones. She felt the drawing of her power, but, without seeing the result, had no idea if it worked or had distorted somehow.
She sent a message to the horse below. Hello horse. Can you tell me what is happening in the center of your barn?
Lots of people. They sweep the barn floor. I wish they’d leave so I could sleep.
What do they find beneath the straw?
Nothing. Just dirt.
Who are the people there?
My owner and the one called Laurence. A few of their friends. I don’t know the others, but one smells really bad.
Is there a fat man?
Yes, but he doesn’t smell. It’s the tall, thin one.
A smelly man? Did her new four-legged friend mean a shapeshifter? No doubt he was, since he was in the company of what Efar had been sure was an agent for dragons. Was the tall thin man a dragon? Will you tell me if something happens? If they take away your owner?
Too noisy to sleep, anyway. The conversation reminded Fiera of Captain, and then quite suddenly of Efar. Her heart squeezed tight at the memory of his kiss. She missed him...them...them. She missed them.
Footsteps crossed the loft above Fiera and she slowed her breath.
****
Efar undressed the fallen thief’s body. The boots wouldn’t fit, no matter what he might try. Neither would the tunic, but he’d learned how to make do with small clothes before. The pants, however, were quite usable. As peasant’s clothes, they were roomy in the hip so as to allow a great range of motion while working. It was the waist that was a problem. That, and the length. But, there was nothing to be done about that.
Removing the rope that belted the pants, he cut the seams a couple inches down from the waistline. He pulled the pants on, tied them, and flexed his knees. He nodded with satisfaction. They were snug, but so were those of the fashion of high-court leggings.
He scooped up the tunic and turned toward his retreating ride. “Captain, I see you sneaking away. I’m ready. Let’s go find our girls.”
At the word “our,” the horse’s ears momentarily flattened against his skull, then lunged upright again. He stopped walking.
As Efar swung onto the animal’s wide back, Captain swished his tail and stepped into him, causing him to land ungracefully, scrambling to stay aboard. Once righted, Efar wryly said, “Nice try. Chester is northeast of us now, and a lot closer than our camp was. We should be there by nightfall. Assuming you don’t dawdle.”
Captain stepped off smartly, his tail swinging with each stride.
Efar cut the arms off the tunic and opened the seams down the sides. He pulled it over his head and then began working on the sleeves. The first one, he divided in half lengthwise. Tying the ends together, he created a sash and wrapped it around his waist.
The other sleeve, he cut into strips and braided them together into a cloth rope. This, he fashioned into a type of war bridle with one rein. Leaning forward, he dropped it over Captain’s head. After tucking the knife into his new belt, he said to his mount, “If you’re up to it, let’s increase the speed.”
The horse’s ears flicked back briefly and then pointed forward with a purpose. Immediately, Captain picked up a trot, bouncing harshly across the ground.
Efar, caught unprepared for the extreme roughness of the gait, grappled to stay on the animal’s back. He fisted huge chunks of mane and squeezed his legs tight. “Hey! Either take a faster gait, like a gallop, or back it down to a walk. I can’t ride this.”
Captain picked up his pace, but didn’t break into another gait. The roughness increased.
“Fine. If you want me to treat you like any other horse, I will.” Efar pushed his heels against the horse’s ribs and made kissing noises with his mouth.
Captain’s stride stretched out and he fell into a ground-eating lope toward Chester.
****
Bartheleme stared at the dirt floor of the barn. He was sure, from what the witch acolyte had said, that he would find a large star and circle imbedded in the ground. From the sharp intake of breath of the tall parish wife beside him, he could assume she expected to see it as well.
He pivoted on his heel to look at her. It wasn’t often a woman was tall enough he could look her directly in the eye. Her face was pale and she stared at the bare dirt. Slowly, she turned her gaze onto him.
“Where’s the second witch?” he asked.
The woman shook her head. “I told you, she’s not here.” She held his gaze with confidence.
He nodded. Movement in the loft caught his attention. Above the nosy horses, one of the agent’s men appeared at the edge and shook his head. Two more men came in from the back pasture, the brilliant pink of sunrise streaking westward across the sky behind them. They also shook their heads. Nothing.
Turning back to the parish wife, he said, “Show me the other.” Obediently, she led the way. As they passed the fat agent, Bartheleme said to him, “Keep them searching. Broaden the area.”
The fat
man bowed his understanding and Bartheleme continued behind the tall woman. She led him into the house and upstairs to a bedroom dimly lit.
He recognized the witch’s circle of candles, though it had been made to look random, and the blue candle of healing near the prone child’s head. The girl was small with tousled brown curls and a white bandage across the breadth of her body. A sheen of sweat glistened on her skin and her breathing was shallow and rough, at times catching in silence. She was very near death.
He glanced at the parish wife, then back at the girl, saying, “You know where the other girl is hiding. It would be better for you if you told me.”
The woman raised her chin fractionally. “I don’t know.”
Bartheleme closed his eyes and faced her. Why was she making this so difficult? Opening his eyes again, he moved to within inches of her face. She held her ground. Impressed, he nonetheless said, “You think you’re safe because you keep what you are as a secret. I suggest you are not safe; you have no idea who I am.” He paused to let that sink in, then again asked, “Where is the second girl?”
Her face paled, but she held her tongue, meeting his gaze with large, wary eyes in the tight space between them. In that moment of silence, the girl’s faint breaths filling the background, he understood the witch standing in front of him would never tell him what he needed so desperately to know.
He pointed at the unconscious child. “Make sure she lives, Witch.” With that, he stepped around her and left the room. Downstairs, instead of returning to the barn, he went out the front of the house in the dawning light. He ground his teeth and paced up and down the street. His men would find nothing, no matter how long or thoroughly they searched. They were wasting their time. Yet, he felt sure the girl he wanted was hidden on the premises, somewhere.
The fat agent joined him. “My sincerest apologies, Sire. We’ve been unable to find her.”
Bartheleme stopped and stared thoughtfully at the house. “Did your informant sneak back into the group safely?”
“Yes, My Lord. She’ll keep us apprised if the girl reappears.”
Nodding, Bartheleme said, “Take your men home. I wish to walk alone.”
As the agent’s men gathered out front in preparation of their march back, Bartheleme turned toward the center of town. He often walked when he needed time to think and plot his next step. This time, he also needed time to lose the anger that had slowly been building within him since he’d started this undertaking.
****
The footsteps above Fiera had stayed a long time, walking back and forth, kicking, tromping, and sweeping straw dust down on her. She still had to keep her nose pinched the whole time, breathing through her mouth, just to keep from sneezing. Eventually, the feet left and all was quiet.
Horse, what’s happening now?
Everyone has gone. My owner went off with the smelly man.
If she doesn’t return, I’ll feed you, don’t worry.
You’re a nice person. You must have horses of your own.
She did. Or, rather, she had a horse friend. And a shapeshifter friend. All her life, she’d believed shifters were myths or hallucinations. Now, in the space of a day, she’d come into contact with three. What did they want?
Blushing furiously, she amended her question. She was pretty sure what Efar wanted, and the werewolf had wanted Captain, but what about this last one, this tall thin man? What did he want?
It had all started when she’d stolen Marie. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Had they taken her as well? She’d tear Chester apa—
The board above her suddenly lifted off, sending more straw dust into her hiding place. She’d lapsed in her nose pinch and she sneezed loud enough it echoed off the barn walls.
“Bless you.”
Fiera twisted around to her back to be greeted by Laurence silhouetted in the dim morning light. He said, “They’re gone.”
“Marie?” She took his outstretched hand, letting him help her to her feet and out of the box.
“She’s in the house.”
Dropping his hand, she hurried to the ladder. Halfway down, she slipped in her haste and skinned her shin scrambling for the nearest rung. By the time she reached the bottom, shaking had settled under her skin as much from the fright of the near fall as from her anxiety over her young friend.
She ran into the house and up the steps. Three doors faced her. Taking a gamble, she opened the first to her right. There, looking smaller than normal under a giant bed quilt was the pale form of Marie.
Fiera breathed a sigh of relief at finding her friend. A split second before she stepped into the room, a hand gripped her arm. Whirling around, she met Gwen’s stern gaze.
“Don’t go in there until I show you how. You’ll break the circle and lose the energy,” the tall woman said. “First though, tell me the identity of those men.”
Fiera shook her head. “I don’t know any names and I’ve only seen the fat man before. He followed me and Marie for a while yesterday morning. We didn’t see him anymore after that.”
Gwen pressed her lips together and stared at the wall with a far-off look in her eyes.
Fiera hesitated, then said, “Efar thinks the one we saw may be an agent for a dragon lord.”
The parish wife’s gaze snapped to her. “Dragons. Loathsome beasts. Why would they want you?”
“It’s Marie they want. The agent was already at the inn where I found her.”
Smiling sadly, Gwen rubbed Fiera’s arm. “You’re the one they kept asking about.”
Despite her best efforts, Fiera felt her courage leach away. “M...me? Why would they want me?”
The tall woman opened her mouth as if to say something and hesitated. Then her frown smoothed and she said, “We’ll figure that out later. Right now, you need rest. Come, you can sleep beside your friend. I’ll rebuild the circle after you’re in.”
****
Efar and Captain traveled through the day. The sky was overcast, blocking the heat of the sun. Humidity was slowly building, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. They changed pace often, Efar occasionally dismounting to walk beside his four-legged companion, but they never stopped. They mostly stayed at an evenly paced trot, Efar bouncing like a raisin in a basket. The trot was a ground-eating pace that Captain was able to sustain much longer than a gallop. There seemed to be a burning need within the horse to reach Fiera. Efar felt it, too.
At the beginning of dusk, they reached the south bridge that crossed the river Dee and led into Chester. The line to enter the city gate stretched all the way across the bridge. Thankful for an excuse to stop, Efar dismounted. He felt completely raw from exhaustion and, glancing at Captain’s hanging head, knew the horse felt the same. He patted the animal on the shoulder. For the first time, Captain didn’t pin back his ears. Efar smiled. It may be the horse didn’t react because of weariness, but it was promising for their friendship.
No, thought Efar. He’d already forgotten his earlier vow to return the horse to its owner, then continue on his way, alone. There would be no friendship, no dalliance, no invitations. He was disappointed with his failure to remember something so important to his future. He meant to stick to it, now.
By the time they reached the gate and its guards, dusk was long gone and they were once again locked in the dark of night. The dancing lamplights from the city held the blackest of the shadows at bay, but most crept in at odd angles and held Chester in their grip.
Before Efar could say anything to the guards, one who had been looking him up and down asked, “You’re not a Dane. But, where are your shoes, Sir?”
Efar glanced at the thick tall man, and answered the question with a question. “What does it matter?”
“Well, a man of your obvious standing, dressed in courtly fashion, appears without shoes and it makes me wonder what the story is.”
The second guard, built much like the first, chimed in. “Or, if he’s really just a thief who’s stolen a nobleman’s finery and horse.”
/> The people in line behind Efar backed away. He said, “If I were a thief, I wouldn’t have come to this gate, the busiest in the city. I would have entered through one of the various other methods thieves use.”
The guards grudgingly looked at each other. The first said to the second, “He’s got a point, but it still doesn’t explain the shoes.”
The second answered, “They probably didn’t fit when he stole them.” They both turned expectantly to Efar.
He dropped his gaze to his feet and chuckled at himself. Stopped because of a pair of shoes. He shook his head at his bad luck. It had all been bad since he’d met those kids and the horse beside him. Didn’t matter, though. He had to get inside the city and return the horse. If he let himself be taken, Captain would be confiscated. Fiera would never know he was safe and Efar’s promise to her would be broken.
He looked up at the two guards and smiled as sheepishly as he could. Leaning close, he winked and spoke in a low voice, as if he were trying to keep anyone else from hearing. Not that he really cared if anyone overheard his tale. “The truth is, fellows, that I fancy a game of chance now and then. Traveling gets tedious, especially when alone. I stopped at a little burg called Midden and sported in a game with a few of the occupants at the inn. Sadly, I lost every bit of coin I owned. I had to trade my boots for this horse. They were fine boots, too. From Spain. Made from the finest kidskin, tanned under a dry Tuscan sun. They had golden buckles—”
“Go on.” The second guard irritably waved him into the city, shaking his head, disgust written on his face.
The first one added, “If you fancy a game, again, I like to relax at the Troubadours’ inn outside the east gate.”
Efar nodded, trying to look excited at the prospect of meeting up with the guard, and led Captain through the stone gate into Chester proper. Now, how to find Fiera? If he’d asked at the gate, it would have given him away.
A man pulling a cart approached with a woman by his side. Two small children rode in the cart atop a full load of drought-dwarfed potatoes. They were headed toward the gate, no doubt to trade with the boat merchants.
