Among Wolves

by Nancy K. Wallace

  The answer came down out of the dark. “Always, monsieur!”

  They made the turn at the end of the street and started back toward Chastel’s. A whip cracked and the horses leaped forward, rushing toward home much faster than they had left it.

  “Who do you think they were?” Devin asked Marcus.

  “I have no way of knowing,” Marcus replied, his own pistol in his hand. “Have you ever fired one of these?”

  Devin nodded. He’d had a few lessons in firearms but nothing beyond the basics.

  Marcus handed him the pistol, butt first.

  Devin, surprised at the weight of the gun, held it gingerly between his knees and pointed it toward the floor.

  “Don’t pull the trigger until you’ve aimed it,” Marcus commented dryly. “You’ll shoot yourself in the foot.”

  Devin was surprised to see Marcus hand a similar weapon to Armand while still retaining a third pistol in his hand.

  “How many guns do you have?” he asked.

  “Enough to get the job done,” Marcus replied obscurely.

  “You expect trouble?” Devin asked.

  “I always expect trouble,” Marcus replied.

  They questioned Armand over and over. What kind of uniforms had the men been wearing? Armand wasn’t certain – not the blue and silver of the Chancellor’s personal guard – but military uniforms of some kind. He wasn’t positive of the color, something dark with lighter trim. It had been hard to see in the dark as they stood at the door. The trip back seemed interminable, Devin’s mind was racing. He kept going over the incident in his head – why would someone in Coreé send soldiers as messengers? Or were they an escort? None of it made any sense.

  When the coach finally stopped at Chastel’s, Devin leaped over Armand and reached for the door. Marcus stopped him.

  “I go first!” he ordered. “You stay behind me, at all times!”

  There were no horses standing in the yard, no sign that anyone but the household staff were about. Marcus knocked and the door was opened by Chastel himself.

  “What’s going on?” Chastel asked. “What’s happened?” He had removed his jacket. He stood with his vest unbuttoned, his shirt loosened at the throat. Dr. Mareschal stood at his elbow.

  “Did some men come here from Coreé?” Marcus demanded.

  Chastel nodded. “They’re with Gaspard in the study, right now.”

  “Who are they?” Devin asked.

  “I don’t know,” Chastel replied. “Gaspard seemed to know them. He called one of them by name.”

  “Who sent them?” Devin asked.

  Chastel shook his head. “I have no idea. Is there a problem?”

  A sudden feeling of dread overwhelmed Devin. He turned and ran, ignoring Marcus’s shouts to stop. He yanked open the study door and then crashed headfirst onto the floor as Marcus flattened him from behind.

  Armand and Chastel halted behind them.

  “There’s no one here,” Chastel said in surprise.

  Marcus rolled off Devin and staggered to his feet.

  “God, will you never listen to me, Devin?” Marcus growled angrily. “If there had been a man with a pistol in this room, you might be dead right now!”

  Devin dragged himself to his knees. The room was empty!

  Chastel circled the walls in disbelief.

  “You saw no one leave?” Marcus demanded of Chastel.

  Chastel shook his head. “Mareschal and I were in the hall the entire time. I assumed Gaspard would tell me what was going on when he had finished talking with them.”

  Devin pulled himself upright, an awful realization suddenly shaping itself in his mind.

  “You assumed they were his father’s men, didn’t you, Chastel?” he asked, his voice shaking.

  “God, yes,” Chastel replied. “I thought they had come in response to my letter.”

  “There wasn’t time for that,” Marcus pointed out.

  “Of course not,” Chastel stammered. “I realize that now.” He stood with his hands clenched. “I think I may have left Gaspard alone with assassins in my study.”

  “Had they simply been assassins,” Marcus said grimly, “we would have found his body by now. Something else is at work here.”

  Devin turned to Marcus. “Gaspard called one of them by name,” he said, repeating what Chastel had told them. “He knew them, Marcus. He trusted them!”

  Marcus turned to look at Chastel. “Do you remember the name of the man Gaspard knew?”

  Chastel frowned. “I think it was St. Clair.”

  “Dear God,” Devin murmured.

  Marcus whirled, slamming the doors to the study, shutting them safely inside.

  “Is there another way out of this room?”

  For only an instant Chastel hesitated. “Yes,” he admitted. “It leads to the back door by the orchard.”

  “Where?” Marcus demanded.

  Chastel went to the fireplace mantel and released something with his hand. The bookcase on the left swung out from the wall, revealing a dark passageway. Marcus took a candle from the mantel to illuminate the entrance. Recent boot prints marked the dust along with huge paw prints, double the size of either a wolf or a hound.

  Armand swore.

  Chastel cleared his throat. “Sometimes, I let the dogs run through here…” he began.

  Armand shook his head. “We’ve only begun to trust each other, Chastel. Don’t lie to me. I’d actually prefer not to know.”

  “Chastel, send your men after them,” Marcus directed. “Perhaps we still have a chance of catching them.”

  “I’ll go with them myself,” Chastel offered, taking a rifle off the wall rack. He paused in the doorway and glanced at Mareschal. “I’ll get my men together. You’ll see that our guests have anything they need…anything at all.”

  Mareschal nodded. “Of course.”

  “I’m going, too,” Devin insisted as Chastel left the room.

  “Absolutely not!” Marcus snapped, “Sit down and be quiet! I need to think.”

  Devin paced instead, crossing the floor time after time.

  Mareschal forced a glass of brandy into Devin’s hand. “You’d probably be more comfortable across the hall. There’s still a fire in the parlor.”

  “I’d rather stay here,” Devin replied.

  “Chastel will come and find you as soon as he gets back,” Mareschal pointed out. “If they locate Gaspard, you will be the first to know.”

  Devin glanced at Marcus. “And what are the chances of that?” he asked.

  Marcus’s face was forbidding. “Very little, I think. You need to accept the fact that he may already be dead.”

  CHAPTER 45

  Lac Dupré

  Chastel and his men returned just before dawn, their clothes smudged and muddied. Chastel’s face was grim.

  “Nothing,” he said, before Devin could question him. “It’s as though they disappeared from the face of the earth.”

  One small fear eased inside Devin. “Then Gaspard’s not dead,” he murmured.

  Chastel glanced at Marcus over Devin’s head. “I wish I could assure you of that, monsieur. If they were foolish enough to head into the forest, they may all be dead. My wolves show no mercy.”

  “They had horses,” Devin reminded him.

  Something like compassion crossed Chastel’s face. “A wolf can take down a running horse, monsieur, have no doubt of that.”

  Devin slumped down in an armchair.

  “Will you continue the search this morning?” Marcus asked.

  Chastel nodded. “I’ve already sent out a second party of men. At least they will have daylight on their side.”

  “Perhaps, if we contact the local authorities…” Devin suggested.

  “Believe me,” Chastel said, “you do not want Picoté and his band of fools involved. Besides, I have a great many more men at my disposal than he does.”

  “I agree,” Marcus said. “The fewer men who know about this, the better.”

/>   “But surely we could use help from the men in the village,” Devin protested.

  Marcus loomed before him. “Devin, this has nothing to do with the villagers. This business goes straight to Coreé, surely you realize that!” He turned to Chastel. “Who else knew about your secret passageway?” he asked.

  Chastel rubbed a hand over his face. “Only one other man,” he said, after a moment. “René Forneaux.”

  “God,” Devin murmured. It confirmed what he had feared most. Gaspard’s father had kidnapped his own son!

  “René visited here once over the Christmas holidays when we were at the Université,” Chastel continued. “We’d both had too much to drink one evening and René persuade me to reveal some of the family secrets. I’ve never shown that passageway to anyone else until last night.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me,” Marcus muttered. “I can’t vouch for anyone else.” His steely glance fell on Armand.

  Armand averted his eyes. “Many of these old châteaus have hidden passages,” he replied, his voice amiable. “It’s no cause for alarm.”

  “Why would René Forneaux have Gaspard kidnapped?” Devin asked.

  Chastel sighed. “Perhaps he was just tired of asking him to come home,” he speculated quietly.

  Armand cleared his throat. “Let’s be honest. Gaspard had become a liability. Perhaps, René Forneaux believed he could salvage something from the situation. His son’s untimely death at the hands of provincial barbarians would further his agenda.”

  “He could hardly publicize that when we know the truth!” Devin protested.

  “Then I suggest you watch your back, Monsieur Roché,” Armand said grimly. “I would imagine you are next in line for assassination and your bodyguard with you. If Forneaux is behind this, he can’t risk letting you return to Coreé alive.”

  Devin closed his eyes, a chill running down his back.

  Marcus took a deep breath. “We need to leave Ombria as soon as possible.”

  “What about Gaspard?” Devin asked, jumping up. “Isn’t it possible…?”

  Marcus flushed beet red. “Devin,” he demanded angrily, “use your head. In what scenario do you imagine that Gaspard is still alive?”

  “I don’t know,” Devin replied. “Maybe he went willingly. Have you considered that?”

  “Would he leave without taking any of his things, or thanking his host?” Armand asked. “The only way that Gaspard could still be alive is if he is an active participant in this conspiracy. Have you considered that, Monsieur Roché?”

  “I will never believe that! Gaspard is my friend!” Devin snapped, hoping his nagging doubts didn’t show on his face. He remembered how hard Gaspard had tried to convince him to go back to Coreé. And the odd conversation they’d had about a second red cross at the château that Marcus couldn’t substantiate. He ran a hand across his forehead. “Gaspard never even made the decision to come with me voluntarily,” he added. “Marcus and I brought him on board the Marie Lisette while he was dead drunk.”

  Chastel made a placating gesture. “We may never know for certain what happened, Devin. But I agree with Marcus. You need to leave Ombria as quickly as possible. You can stay here tonight and leave early tomorrow morning. Marcus, I can offer you a dozen men to go with you.”

  “They’ll only slow us down,” Marcus retorted. “Or call attention to us.”

  “Where will you go?” Armand asked. “It surely isn’t safe to return to Coreé right now.”

  Devin glanced at Marcus. “We’ll finish what I started. I left Coreé to gather as many of the Chronicles as I could. That task seems more imperative now.”

  “And more dangerous,” Chastel pointed out.

  “There seems to be no prospect open to me that’s not dangerous,” Devin replied. “I should have followed my father’s advice and stayed at home.”

  “The correct decision is always easy after the fact,” Armand told him.

  “What about you?” Devin asked Chastel. “Surely you aren’t safe either.”

  Chastel smiled. “I think René Forneaux still believes me sympathetic to his cause. I am in no danger at the moment.” He rubbed a weary hand over his eyes. “I suggest we all get some rest.”

  Devin objected. “I can’t sleep,” he said. “Can we borrow your coach to go into Lac Dupré? I need to collect my things.”

  “Of course,” Chastel said. “Let me send some men with you.”

  No one spoke on the journey back to Armand’s. Devin had already faced the loss of Gaspard’s companionship on the journey ahead; he refused to face the possibility that his friend was dead. He held his emotions at bay by mentally reciting Ombria’s Chronicle, retelling the stories that Armand had taught him so painstakingly.

  They finally drew up in front of the Bardic Hall. Armand disembarked first, calling Jeanette’s name before he’d even opened the door to the house. Marcus followed him, glancing quickly at the street, before motioning Devin forward.

  Armand came clattering down the stairs as Devin entered the hall.

  “They’re not here,” he said, his voice rough with anxiety.

  “Where would they be?” Devin asked, walking quickly into the kitchen. The fireplace was cold. Nothing hung cooking over the hearth. The house felt strangely empty. Even the cat was missing. “Is there a market this morning?”

  “No!” Armand snapped. He opened the front door and stood a moment with his hand on the doorknob.

  Except for Chastel’s men, the street was devoid of villagers and curiously quiet. Armand stalked to his nearest neighbor’s house and pounded on the door. When there was no response he flung the door open and entered. He was gone only a moment.

  “There’s no one here either,” he reported, before rushing to the next house.

  Marcus dispatched four of Chastel’s men to the other side of the street. Every house and shop was empty.

  “Could they be at the church?” Devin asked.

  They all set off running. The church door stood open. A few stray leaves had blown across the threshold but both the sanctuary and the rectory were vacant and silent.

  After an hour of fruitless searching, they returned to the Bardic Hall and gathered in the kitchen. Armand slumped into the rocker by the fireplace, his face gray with fatigue. Devin stood by helplessly, his fists clenched, his heart pounding. Gaspard’s disappearance was bad enough; the thought that Jeanette and Adrian might be dead made him physically ill.

  “What can we do?” Devin asked. “Someone must know something.”

  “Who would you suggest that we ask?” Armand snapped.

  “It’s like Gaêtan returning to Rameau and finding it deserted,” Devin murmured his chest tight. “How many people lived in this village?”

  “Nearly eight hundred men, women, and children,” Armand answered. “And now they have vanished!”

  “They can’t have vanished,” Marcus protested.

  “Then what is your explanation?” Armand demanded sharply. “I’ve lost both my daughter and my apprentice; I’d be interested in your assessment of the situation, Marcus Beringer!”

  “If they are dead,” Marcus replied quietly. “There would be a mass grave. If they are alive they are being held somewhere close. You can’t physically move that many people quickly.”

  “We need help,” Devin said. “We need to get back to Chastel’s.”

  Armand turned to look at him. “And are you certain that you can trust him, Devin?” he asked, his voice lowered. “After all, Gaspard disappeared from his château. The people of Lac Dupré vanished while we were occupied with Gaspard’s disappearance. What if Chastel is part of this, too?”

  “If he were,” Marcus replied. “He could have killed Devin any number of times. We have no one else we can trust, Armand. We need Chastel if we are going to make it out of here alive!”

  “I’m not leaving this place until I find out what happened to my daughter,” Armand replied stubbornly.

  “We are all leaving,”
Marcus replied. “If you don’t walk to the coach on your own, I will have you bound and carried. Devin, get your things.”

  Devin ascended the stairs two at a time. He opened his bedroom door and stopped.

  “There is nothing here,” he called down. His clothes and knapsack were gone, along with his letters. Nothing remained but the furniture.

  Marcus pushed past him. His breath hissed through his teeth. “They were very thorough,” he said, grabbing Devin’s arm. “Come on. We need to get out of here now.”

  Epilogue

  They left the château at twilight. A full moon lay huge and orange just above the horizon. Armand limped along beside Devin. He seemed to have aged ten years in the last day. Chastel’s men had found no sign of the people of Lac Dupré, just as so many years before, Rameau had been left totally devoid of life. It was Chastel who had finally persuaded Armand to accompany them. There were no answers to their questions here, and death seemed to lie in wait for all of them in Ombria.

  Each of them carried a pistol. Travel during the day was suicide with unknown assassins looking for them. Travel at night seemed just as dangerous. Yet, Chastel had suggested it and assured them of their safety, mapping the route to a neighboring province himself.

  They followed the road in the gathering darkness, alert to the slightest sound that might indicate pursuit. The howl of a single wolf echoed across the valley. A chill ran down Devin’s back. Were they destined to die so quickly? A chorus of howls joined the first. Devin’s eyes followed the sound. On the hillside above them, a pack of wolves had gathered, watching their progress. Marcus yanked his gun from his pocket and cocked it.

  Armand forced the gun barrel down with his hand. “Don’t,” he said hoarsely, “Don’t you see? That’s how he assured our safety.”

  “What?” Marcus asked.

  “Chastel’s provided an escort,” Armand replied.

  Devin’s eyes were on the huge wolf at the front of the pack. “My God,” he murmured, “he’s leading them himself!”

  About the Author

  Nancy K. Wallace lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband in a 140-year-old farmhouse. The author of 13 children’s books, she works as a Youth Services Librarian, and reviews young adult literature for VOYA magazine. She has two daughters, a collection of cats, and one Arabian mare. Find Nancy online on Twitter @FairySockmother and her blog http://fairysockmother.com/