The Red Rider (The Red Rider Saga Book 1)

by D. A. Randall

  I wanted to answer him. Threaten to kill him slowly if he dared harm Madame Leóne. But nothing I could say or do would stop him. He meant to devour her and I didn’t know if I could stop him.

  I turned and marched out of the shop, as he chuckled in my wake. I climbed onto Crimson’s saddle and galloped off.

  He would visit the Denues’ house tonight. And I would be waiting. I had no idea what I would do when we met again in the darkness, but I would be waiting.

  8.

  That night I watched the Denues’ house, a comfortable cottage nearly twice the size of my parents’ home, its spacious yard well-lit by the low-hanging moon. I couldn’t help feeling envious, that these people seemed to have so much more than my family ever did, and yet they raised a bully.

  I shook off my childish thoughts. No matter who they were or who their son was, they didn’t deserve to die at the hands of the Lycanthru. No one did.

  I sat perched in a tree beyond their yard, with a clear view of the front door. I had led Crimson to a quiet spot farther back, hidden behind a cluster of bushes. I could see his position as well, if the wolves found him and caused him any trouble.

  I waited for over an hour, watching Monsieur Denue step onto the front porch to relax with a pipe, the way Papa had always done in our front room. I heard Madame Denue cleaning up their supper inside with a clatter of dishes, complaining loudly about something. Perhaps Monsieur Denue smoked less to relax and more to retreat.

  Finally I saw Jacque Denue himself shuffle toward his door, his tunic rumpled and dirty, his blond hair unkempt, his marching stride arrogant as he cast long shadows on the yard. Seeing him approach, Monsieur Denue snuffed out his pipe quickly and went inside. Another apparent retreat.

  Madame Denue appeared on the porch to lay into Jacque. “Get in here, boy! What do you mean, coming home this time of night?”

  “Quit worrying. I was out,” Jacque replied with a dismissive air.

  “Out with who?”

  “Porthos and Gobin.”

  “Those lowlife good-for-nothings! We give you fine clothes and you go brawling in the mud! Look at yourself! And – heavens, where did you get that knife?”

  “Found it. Need some extra protection.”

  She snorted. “Stole it, you mean! What’ll you do when the owner comes looking for it? You can’t fight off everyone, you know. Jacque! Come back here and look at your mother when she’s speaking to you!”

  She followed him inside, then stomped back to shut the front door.

  Perhaps the Denues weren’t to blame for Jacque’s cruelty. Perhaps it was just him.

  Madame Denue continued to bawl him out inside, seeming to call Monsieur Denue for assistance. I never heard Monsieur Denue’s voice as the angry exchange continued.

  At least the Denues weren’t encouraging their son to be cruel. They just weren’t stopping it.

  No matter. I had not come for Jacque.

  I had come for Grenault.

  Two hours later, the last candle went out inside the house and every window went dark beneath the moon and stars.

  I expected to wait much longer, but in less than an hour, I saw something dark crawling steadily across the lawn. Joined by another dark form, and another. Stalking toward the house like tigers in the grass.

  The Lycanthru.

  Four wolves, including a gigantic one that was clearly Grenault. They had only waited long enough to ensure the family had gone to sleep. Grenault was hungry for Madame Leóne’s address.

  I waited over a minute, then climbed down. I raised my crossbow and hurried across the lawn.

  Someone lit a fresh candle in the front room. I crept onto the porch and peered through cracks in the front window shutters.

  The wolves were standing upright. One carried a candle while another lit a second one and the other two scanned the room.

  The front door stood ajar. They had splintered its edge to dig through the inside bar as quietly as possible. I pushed the door open farther and slipped inside, crossbow raised. They continued searching through drawers of end tables and a liquor cabinet that still smelled of wine. They didn’t even notice me.

  Until I dropped the first one with a single bolt.

  Two other wolves gasped. “Tumier!” one cried.

  The largest one, holding the candle – Grenault – merely studied me from the shadows.

  I gasped at the sight of him. Every Lycanthru gained an extra foot in height but he now stood nearly eight feet tall. He was frightening enough as a man and as a black wolf on all fours. Standing upright, his ears scraping the ceiling, fangs glinting in the candlelight, he had become a genuine monster.

  “My, my,” he said softly. “Quite a dramatic entrance. So nice of you to come, Helena. I’ve missed holding your lovely throat.”

  I refused to let him rattle me. I stepped forward, keeping one foot back to maneuver as needed, the way Francois had taught me. “Leave now or you’ll fall right next to your friend.”

  “Will I, little Helena?” Grenault snarled. “I hear the waver in your voice. I see the hesitation in your steps.”

  “Careful, Grenault,” snarled the wolf standing at his side. “Look what she just did to Tumier.”

  “She surprised him, Jareau,” Grenault said, gritting his teeth. “And now she’s lost that advantage. So she’s scared, as she should be. We’re going to savor every bloodied piece of her.”

  I clenched my jaw to keep my arm from quivering. He saw right through my bravado. But his friends remained unsure. That might be enough to use. I lifted the crossbow higher. “Last chance to leave without being dragged out,” I said.

  “When we have what we came for,” he said, setting the candle on the mantle, as another wolf did the same. “Which, of course, includes you.”

  I shuddered. “You’re searching for Madame Leóne’s address,” I said.

  “Of course. But I also knew you would come.” He stepped closer, flashing his grinning fangs. “I’ll be Prime before daybreak.”

  I swallowed, once more picturing him race up the cooper shop wall at me. Once more feeling his giant fingers close around my throat. I held the crossbow steady. “Step back. Friendly warning.”

  He laughed. “I didn’t know the Red Rider could be friendly. But then, I didn’t know she was a little blonde girl with a scarred face. Come closer, Red Rider. I want a good look at you.”

  Papa’s voice echoed in my mind. You cannot hesitate.

  I stepped forward and aimed between his eyes. “Be careful what you wish for.”

  I fired.

  He dodged, letting my bolt strike the mantle. Then he grabbed an end table as the other wolves grabbed a portrait and a wooden tray to defend themselves. I fired three more bolts, which sank into their protective shields. I stepped back, angling for a position to shoot as they advanced. Without warning, Grenault swung his table at me, knocking me toward the front door. The crossbow fell to the side.

  “Take her down!” the wolf behind the portrait growled.

  They charged forward as I gasped.

  I spun away from them, letting one wolf rush past me as I rolled sideways to retrieve the crossbow. I stood and threw open the window latch there as the end table swung at me again. I ducked and it struck the window, throwing open the shutters. I rose and threw myself backward through the opening, tumbling onto the front porch and rolling off its side, out of sight.

  I pressed my back against the outer wall of the house, breathing heavily, as I heard the Denues rise from their beds, asking who was there.

  They would all be dead in seconds.

  9.

  I pressed my back harder against the outer wall of the Denues’ house. I wanted to run. The Lycanthru had nearly cornered me inside just now, simply because Grenault had taught them not to fear me.

  Leaving me to fear them.

  I had barely escaped through the window with my life. But the Denues were starting to wake up. If I left now, the Lycanthru would devour them all.


  Stand up and do something. Francois’ encouraging words echoed in my mind, condemning my cowardice.

  But they’ll kill me.

  I pictured Francois at La Maison de Touraine, half-drunk at the banquet honoring him for saving my life. I was eight years old, a year after the wolf attack. Francois still had not understood how he killed the wolf with a single blow of his silver ax, but he knew why he had rushed in to save me.

  “A hero isn’t somebody who’s big and strong,” he had said. “It’s just somebody who stands up to do what’s got to be done. All I did was stand up.”

  I lifted the crossbow in both hands.

  Stand up and do something.

  I had no idea how to stop the wolves while they shielded themselves with heavy furniture, but I had to try. I stood and peered between the cracks of the side window shutter that opened into the Denues’ living room.

  The three wolves surrounded Madame Denue as she stood in her robe, screaming in the far corner. Her candle cast flickering shadows across the room as one wolf hurried to grab it from her, handing it to the next wolf and raising his claws to her throat.

  Grenault’s back was to me. I could break through the shutters, shoot once, and be free of him.

  Sacrificing Madame Denue.

  I found a half-broken panel within the shutter and punched my gloved fist through it. The impact shattered two adjoining panels to make a small hole as it seized the wolves’ attention.

  Grenault reacted quickest, turning to shield himself with the table he gripped. Ignoring him, I fired at the wolf threatening Madame Denue.

  “Devereaux!” Grenault shouted as the wolf slumped to the floor.

  I had four bolts left.

  I punched through more panels, widening the hole. Then I reached through to unlatch the shutters and climb inside.

  “I’ll handle her,” the other wolf snarled as he advanced on me, his wooden tray raised in defense.

  I fired at his lower paw, producing a yelp of pain. The tray dropped as he stared blankly at me, eyes bulging.

  “Jareau!” Grenault snarled. “Jareau!”

  The wolf named Jareau fell snout-first to the floor and lay still. Dead from the single silver-tipped wound.

  Grenault uttered a low growl, his yellow eyes narrowing at me. “They were meant to rule by my side.”

  “Well, it seems they failed,” I said, keeping him in my sights as I circled the room. “You should pick some other friends fast.”

  He circled with me, leaving Madame Denue in the corner. “You’ve earned yourself a long night of suffering, Helena. These men and I – we were friends since childhood.”

  I half-shrugged. “Time to grow up, then.”

  “No. Time to collect you.”

  He hurled the table at me. I dropped to the floor, letting it fly over my head to smash against the wall. I heard a confused grunt from Monsieur Denue, as he finally started to rouse himself from the rear bedroom.

  Grenault started for me, but I rolled to face him and fired at his chest. He stopped and twisted at the waist to dodge, letting my bolt lodge itself in the mantle. He grinned and picked up a chair as I fired again.

  He swatted my bolt away with the wooden chair legs.

  I had one more bolt.

  His smile widened as he stood over me. I backed away to the wall, keeping my crossbow on him as I scrambled to my feet.

  “Nothing wrong, is there, Helena?” he asked. “You’re bound to hit me sooner or later, if you just keep shooting. Why not try one more?”

  He had been counting. He knew this would be my last bolt.

  “Go ahead, child,” he goaded. “Shoot me.”

  I kept my aim on him, my fist clenched around the crossbow lever. He blocked the previous shot. If I missed, there would be no chance of bluffing him again.

  “What – What’s going on out there?” Monsieur Denue moaned from the rear bedroom.

  Grenault glanced toward the noise, then smiled back at me. “But that wouldn’t be wise, would it, Helena? Better to keep one in reserve.” He turned quickly to the mantle, spotting one of my bolts there and dislodging it. “I’ll just take this as a souvenir.”

  He hurled the chair at me. I dropped to my stomach as it smashed against an end table in the corner. I rolled sideways and rose to my feet, but Grenault was gone. I peered through the front window pane to see vague hints of his shadowy retreat, loping down the hill and off to the forest.

  I should have felt a sense of triumph, for protecting a family’s home. Instead I felt a sense of dread. Grenault had confirmed his suspicions.

  He knew I could only fire ten bolts.

  In the corner, Madame Denue’s hands trembled violently as she stared at the three dead wolves littering her floor. “It – It stood,” she stammered. “It was st-standing right beside me! And it spoke!”

  “I know,” I said.

  Monsieur Denue emerged, securing his own robe, looking from me to his wife to the wolf carcasses. He gaped and fell silent.

  “It stood, Andre,” Madame Denue continued, eyes bulging. “I swear to you it stood!”

  “It – what?” he asked. “What on earth are you babbling about, Marguerite? What’s the Basque girl doing here this time of night?”

  “The wolves!” she burst. “A whole pack of them, broke in! She shot six or seven of them and chased off the last one.”

  “I shot three,” I said dully. I couldn’t blame Madame Denue for imagining more than four wolves. She was in shock. I couldn’t expect her to count.

  Monsieur Denue blinked at the wolf carcasses again. Then at the half-empty wine bottle and snifter on the liquor cabinet top. “You’ve been drinking, Marguerite.”

  Her face turned red, then purple. “Only –! Only a little! That’s nothing to do with those wolves. I tell you it stood and tried to strike me! And it talked!”

  Monsieur Denue turned to me. “I’ll leave it to you to answer my question. Why are you here, Helena? Where did these wolves come from?”

  “She just told you,” I said.

  He arched both of his eyebrows. “Told me what? That there were talking wolves? I’m sure you’re both frightened by whatever happened, but that’s no reason to lose our wits altogether.”

  “What are you doing here, you ugly hag?”

  Jacque Denue stood in the doorway behind his father, cinching up his robe, baring his teeth.

  I narrowed my eyes. “Leaving,” I said. “You’re welcome.”

  I marched out the front door. I had no time for Jacque Denue and his petty tyranny. Or for his father’s interrogation. I had to track down Grenault while he was still close by, and alone.

  Though the thought of facing him again chilled my blood.

  I found Crimson at the edge of the forest and started off.

  Then pulled him to a halt.

  I had forgotten to reload. My fingers scrambled to pull out another pouch of silver-tipped bolts from the saddlebag. After dropping them into the top slot of my repeating crossbow, I breathed a sigh of relief, but my hands still shook.

  I resumed the chase, galloping deeper into the forest, glancing on all sides, fearful of an ambush from the trees or from behind a boulder.

  Expecting to die.

  I gathered speed, heading straight through the forest path to the underground longhouse. I had meant to pursue Grenault, but again I was running scared.

  I couldn’t fight like this. Perhaps I could no longer fight at all. Grenault had nearly killed me twice. And he had learned everything about me that he needed to know. I was sixteen, I was frightened, and I relied solely upon intimidation and my crossbow, which could only fire ten bolts in succession.

  All I knew about him was that he was bigger, stronger, and smarter than most Lycanthru. And that he intended to rule the Lycanthru with all of his friends, whom I had now killed, sparking his rage. I couldn’t cite a single weakness in him, but he knew every one of mine. He would soon bypass all my weapons and tactics.

  And
then he would make good on his promise to kill me slowly.

  10.

  I had woken from nightmares. Horrific visions of Grenault holding me aloft, over the heads of the rest of the Lycanthru wolves, jaws snapping up at me. Yet Grenault held me high out of their reach. Until he finally decided to toss me down to them.

  I sat upright on my cot, clutching my heart. My skin felt cold and clammy in the underground longhouse, despite the bars of noonday sunlight falling across me through the cracks in the ceiling planks. My heart pounded, my breath coming in rapid gasps.

  I had to face Grenault. I had to beat him. But I couldn’t. Not like this. Not when I was crippled with fear.

  Not when I had no idea how to stop him.

  I gradually regained control of my breathing, as Crimson watched me patiently from the corner, ready to move.

  I fixed my eyes on him, preparing in my mind to saddle him, lead him up the ramp and outside to ride into town.

  My next encounter with Grenault might well be my last.

  I needed help.

  I needed to talk to Father Vestille.

  I snuck through the back door of la Chapelle de Saint Matthieu. I had not found Father Vestille at his hovel so I rode to his chapel instead. He stood alone in the sanctuary there, preparing a casket, as the pleasant smell of incense filled the room. I swallowed, recalling how I used to believe he did little more than bury bodies. Yet he had recently started helping me and giving me counsel. Which I desperately needed now.

  “Father Vestille,” I whispered.

  He whirled about, the sunlight from the windows gleaming off his bald head. “Helena,” he said, lunging forward. He stopped to glance about, then marched to shut the windows before darting to take me by my shoulders. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” I said, keeping rigid. I didn’t want him to know how much I needed his overprotective concern. Especially when I might not survive the night. “I’m fine,” I said.

  He nodded, looking unconvinced. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you this morning. I heard of an – an attack two nights ago. A little girl. I had to see to the body right away and meet with her parents.”