“Yes, your Grace.”
All the better, Philip thought. A man such as this would be equal to the task but raise no questions if he disappeared. He dismissed Lorenz.
“How well do you know this area?” he asked the other man.
“Not very well, I regret. I came up the road from the south only recently.”
“Good. Because it is to the south I need you to go.”
GIANCARLO LEFT the castle as the sun sank below the horizon. He carried a lamp with him to light the way, for what good it would do. The sky was overcast, and it would soon be very dark. He rode quickly to make what use he could of the last light of day.
More challenging than the dark was what the Landgrave had asked him to do.
The babe, thankfully, remained asleep. Giancarlo had no experience with children, and was not all sure what he would do if the child awoke and started to cry.
The task seemed sheer insanity. To leave this child in the midst of the woods, back down the very path that had nearly taken Giancarlo’s life? He was so stunned by the request that he was out of the castle and on his way before the reality of it sank in.
Yet the Landgrave was adamant that the future of his lands lay in the balance. All for a baby girl. And it had to be done that night, immediately.
Giancarlo managed to ask if the child would be harmed. The Landgrave waved the question off, assuring him she was being given to others who would care for her.
Other . . . what, he now wanted to ask. But it was too late.
By the time he reached the path, it was growing dark, too dark to ride through such woods. Giancarlo tethered his horse to a tree and continued down the trail, holding his lamp out before him.
The climb up the hill was less challenging than the first time, since at least now he knew what lay beyond. But in the darkness he went more slowly, slipping here and there on rocks grown damp with the night mist. Somehow he reached the top of the ridge and descended to the bottom without falling.
He stopped when he reached the point where they had fought the strange creatures, where Erich had arrived to save them. He looked around in the dark for their bodies, but they were gone. Something had dragged them off.
The child stirred against his chest. He rocked her as he had seen women do, hoping it was enough. It occurred to him that she was likely cold, so he wrapped his cloak more tightly around them.
Beyond the spot of the battle, the path turned to the left, deeper into the woods. Everything around him not lit by the lamp was now pitch dark. He said a brief prayer, hoping God would not condemn him for what he was about to do, and continued.
The only thing that kept him going was the knowledge that Erich and his wives had come this way safely. Whoever . . . whatever was down this path had not molested them.
A cold breeze blew through the woods. He could see nothing but the pale ghosts of the trees around him. A voice called through the night, and Giancarlo started in alarm before realizing it was merely an owl. There were more sounds, something in the woods to his left. He thought he saw a flash of gray, moving back the other direction—but then it was gone.
He fought the fear in his gut and walked more quickly. Giancarlo feared little in the world of men. He had seen horrors that would reduce others to shivering wrecks. But what he had seen had been things men had wrought, and he felt a growing certainty that he left that world behind. What waited for this child might not be entirely human . . . or human at all.
Something grabbed at his ankle, and he stumbled, falling to his knees and nearly dropping the lamp. Fighting the terror that shot through him, he somehow maintained his balance enough to avoid both crushing the child and extinguishing the lamp. He scrambled forward in alarm, reaching for his dagger . . . only to see when he looked back that he had simply tripped on the protruding root of an oak tree.
Giancarlo lay there for a few moments trying to collect himself. He was being stupid. It was dark, yes, but as his heart slowed, he realized the risks were mostly in his head. He was feeding the fear instead of controlling it. He was far too old to behave like this. He was not a child to be in such terror of the dark.
He rose to his feet. His destination could not be much further.
AND INDEED, it was not.
In a few more minutes, the path leveled out, and after another hundred yards or so, he saw dim light ahead. Bit by bit, the woods emerged in a pale glow coming from somewhere further up. Then the path turned around a bend, and he realized he had reached the place where he was to leave the child.
It was a small clearing. A ring of ancient stones surrounded a little pool. The light seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.
Now Giancarlo’s agitation returned. This was a place of magic. That was clear enough. And then, at last, he understood.
He had heard such tales before. Faerie creatures of the woods, who stole human children to make them their own. No doubt they were connected to the creatures they had fought.
But if there was anything here, Giancarlo could not see it. If they were waiting for this child, they were either invisible or waiting elsewhere.
He looked down at the babe, wondering where she had come from, who her family was. A family who would never see her again.
Giancarlo said a prayer for her soul, remembering again what the priest in Köln had told him. He must trust the Landgrave’s judgment.
One of the stones was lower than the others, with a broad flat top. This seemed as good a place as any.
He set the little girl on the stone, kissed her forehead, and then left her to her fate.
19.
ERICH AND ASTRID had spent the day fruitlessly searching the town for Ariel, finding only a few confusing clues.
A man near the church confirmed seeing Ariel and Shadow running back into town. Another man in the square thought he had seen a woman who looked like Astrid wandering aimlessly. A woman who sold dresses near the castle reported that Ariel had stood silently staring at a bolt of purple cloth until, unnerved, the woman had finally chased her out.
By late afternoon, they returned to the inn to think. Erich could see that something was going on, apparently at the castle. One fine carriage after another rode into town, through the square, and up the castle road.
“The Landgrave is having a party, it seems.”
Astrid sat next to him, holding his hand tightly.
“I keep thinking about that woman in the dress shop.”
“Yes. It makes no sense. Did she want a dress?”
“I don’t think it was the dress. I think it was the color.”
“Purple?”
“Yes. Have you noticed Ariel suddenly seems obsessed with purple?”
“No.”
“I have. I keep seeing her looking at things like that. And then there is her ring.”
Erich nodded.
“It’s that spring. I am convinced now it did something to her. Whatever it was, it’s responsible for this.”
“If we could only find her . . . we could figure out what is wrong.”
Erich stared across the room.
“I wonder if perhaps the answer is at the spring. But we need to find her first.”
SHADOW SPENT the day following after Ariel as best she could, though it was difficult being amongst so many unfamiliar humans. She could sense the hostility, the fear, the confusion. She did not belong here, in this human town. She knew that and so, clearly, did the humans she passed as Ariel went to and fro.
The young human child they found had not been afraid of Shadow. She was too young to know the difference between a dog and a wolf. Shadow understood the need to return the young one to her pack, even if the child’s dam reacted with such hostility.
Time and again, Shadow tried to get her mistress’s attention, thinking questioning thoughts, or ones of concern, even nipping at her heels several times. If Ariel even noticed Shadow’s behavior, she did nothing but briefly try to comfort her.
But as the day wore on, Shadow grew
weary. Ariel was in the grip of something she did not understand. Her sense of concern grew. She wanted to find the man, and the other woman, but she could not do it without leaving Ariel, and this she could not bring herself to do.
Then, all at once, as the sun was sinking in the sky, Ariel called to her, and they left the town, returning back the way they had come. Shadow was alarmed. Were they abandoning the pack? What of the others? But Ariel did not slow her stride even as they left the town behind.
It grew dark, and still Ariel did not stop. Shadow realized where they were going, back down the path where the foul things had fought them, where the man had spilled blood, both part-human and faerie. Shadow could smell the signs of death as they passed the spot of the battle, though the remains were gone.
Again she nipped at Ariel’s heels. What were they doing? Where was she leading them? But Ariel ignored her.
At last they reached the ring of stones, the place, Shadow realized now, where her mistress’s thoughts had become clouded and confused.
Some time passed. Ariel sat on one of the stones, and Shadow, weary and hungry, sat down as well. Eventually—for Ariel thereafter did nothing but sit motionless—Shadow curled up and went to sleep.
When she awoke, it was dark. Something was wrong. Ariel had left the stone she had been sitting on. Shadow sniffed the air, but smelled nothing. A breeze had come up, clouding her ability to pick smells from the air. But wherever she was, Ariel was gone.
This was enough for Shadow. It was time to find the others. She dashed back up the trail as quickly as she could. As she ran through the woods, she smelled a man coming toward her. She recognized his scent. This was a human she knew and did not trust, and so gave him a wide berth by darting through the woods as she passed.
When she reached the town, night had fallen and Shadow was momentarily unsure what to do. Though she was able to slip in underneath one last wagon that was entering town before the gates were shut, she realized she was not sure where the rest of her pack would be. Having no other ideas, she returned to the town square, carefully slinking along the edge of the road and doing her best to avoid any humans she saw.
She raised her nose again. There it was—the faintest scent, back toward the place they had spent the previous night. Was it simply the lingering smell of their presence? Perhaps. But she would check as best she could.
Moving carefully, she slipped around the corner of the inn and poked her head through the doorway.
ASTRID HAD never felt this helpless before, not even when they were imprisoned in Wilhelm’s dungeon. Then, at least, she knew what her problems were and what she might do to resolve them.
But this nightmarish day had frustrated her from the moment she woke up. She was not only powerless in Ariel’s absence, she had no idea even what was going on.
She had already cried as much as she could bear to. The tears had run out on Erich’s shoulder. She had wanted to continue the search, but Erich had insisted they eat something, since they had had nothing at all the entire day as they looked for Ariel. The food was bitter in her mouth, but at least she felt her energy returning.
“What can we do?” she finally asked.
Erich shook his head. “I do not know. Her behavior makes no sense. We can keep searching in the dark, but I—”
It was at that moment that Astrid saw a familiar gray form in the doorway.
“Shadow!”
Erich shot out of his chair, knocking it to the floor. The other guests in the main room all looked in their direction, but Astrid ignored them as she and Erich dashed outside.
But Shadow was alone.
Astrid knelt down, hugging the wolf. Shadow returned the affection, nuzzling her.
“Where have you been? Where is Ariel?”
Erich knelt down beside her. Astrid bent toward the wolf, trying to sense her thoughts. The images came almost instantly.
“The spring,” Astrid gasped. “She came from the spring. Ariel was there.”
“I see it as well. Let me get the horses.”
Erich had to bribe the guards to open the gate for them, but moments later they were galloping through the darkness, back down the road.
IT WAS DARK, but with the wolf-sight they had gained through the familiar bond with Shadow, they could see well enough to ride. They raced past one of the castle guards on horseback going the other direction, but—intent on reaching Ariel—Erich paid him no mind. They reached the entrance to the path in no more than ten minutes, where they left the winded horses to recuperate.
Erich moved down the trail as quickly as he could without stumbling. Astrid kept up behind him, and Shadow darted through the woods around them. He was concerned about finding another band of those strange creatures—or worse, Ariel’s body, ravaged by them—but there was nothing.
The night was cold, but the sweat had bloomed under his clothes by the time they reached the spring. He was only mildly surprised to find the place lit by some eldritch light that bathed the clearing in a dim blue luminescence—a glow that seemed to increase as they entered.
“Ariel!” he called out.
“Ariel? Where are you?” Astrid called.
But there was nothing. The clearing was as empty as it had been when they first entered it.
Shadow loped around, sniffing here and there, but seemed to have no better idea where Ariel was than they did.
As Erich caught his breath, he noticed Astrid’s gaze settle on the spring.
“What?”
She did not answer him, instead taking a step or two toward the water.
“What do you see?” he asked again.
“She was here.”
“How can you tell?”
“I—I don’t know. But she was.”
Astrid stepped closer to the spring, and Erich’s concern grew.
“What are you doing?”
“I . . . I need to—”
Before he could stop her, she bent down, reaching toward the water.
“No!” he shouted. Erich dove toward her, but it was too late.
The moment her hand touched the water, the blue glow filling the clearing shifted to an intense purple.
Part III
The Witch
20.
SABINE WAS perhaps five years old when she first realized that other children could not do the things she could.
She was born in 1401, the only daughter of Henry VII, the Count of Waldeck, a minor territory that bordered Hessen. Her parents had other children, but she was the only daughter to survive past infancy. Her mother was sickly and died when Sabine was four.
Sabine grew up under the care of a series of nursemaids, none of whom lasted very long, but all of whom allowed Sabine to do as she wished. They would initially tell her to do this or that, then Sabine would stare at them, a strange purple light would grow in their eyes, and then they would seem to forget whatever it was they had said.
Yet Sabine did not become a spoiled or willful child. So natural did it seem to bend others to her will that it was some time before it dawned on her that the entire world did not exist to do her bidding.
One day about a year after her mother had died, she was in her room playing with two other girls who lived in the castle, arranging their dolls in a little family and pretending that one was the Emperor and the others were all princesses. They were having a good time and completely engrossed in their fantasy when one of the girls’ nursemaids appeared in the doorway and told the girl it was time to leave.
Annoyed, Sabine waited for the girl to send the nursemaid away as she would have done. Instead, her friend gathered her dolls and prepared to leave.
Sabine was confused for only a moment before deciding to take matters into her own hands.
“No. I want her to stay.”
The nursemaid opened her mouth to correct this insolence . . . then instead sat down in one of the chairs in the nursery and stared blankly at the opposite wall.
Sabine went back to playing with the doll
s, and it was a few moments more before she noticed the looks of confusion on her friends’ faces.
“I don’t want to stop playing,” she said. But the words did nothing to calm her friends, who continued to stare at the nursemaid in mounting alarm.
Now it was Sabine’s turn to grow confused. She did this sort of thing every day. Why were her friends upset? Did they not command their nursemaids the same way?
As she stared at her friends, it suddenly occurred to her that perhaps they did not. She was about to ask them about it, when some inner instinct stopped her. If they were this concerned about the nursemaid’s behavior, they would likely react even more negatively to the news that Sabine was responsible.
Wanting the unpleasant situation to end, she released the nursemaid from her grip. The woman blinked her eyes a few times, glanced around the nursery for a moment, then looked down at the three girls.
“Gisela, it’s time to go.”
The girl stood up immediately, and the two of them left.
This incident, trivial though it might have been, had a profound effect on Sabine. Up to that point, she never thought her abilities anything unusual. Now, her eyes opened, she realized that no one else was doing what she could do. Had she been a less pleasant and good-natured child, she might well have gotten herself into a very bad situation long before this. But she enjoyed being around adults and enjoyed watching the things they did. She had only used her abilities on her nursemaids when they told her to do things she did not care to do. It had never occurred to her to command her father or the stern and imposing men who surrounded him.
Thereafter, she was much more careful about enchanting adults. She would do it only when no one else was present, and only when it seemed important enough, such as when her nursemaids interfered with her playing.
But she found, bit by bit, that she could command nearly anyone she cared to. She realized that the swirling streams of purple she saw flowing into their eyes were in fact some energy of the world around her that she herself was controlling. When she was alone, she would experiment with it, pulling the energies toward her and shaping them.
The Witches' Covenant (Twin Magic Book 2) Page 13
