Mist-Torn Witches 02:Witches in Red (6 page)

Yes, this had been a questionable action on her part, but at the time, it seemed her only possible course.

Pavel had been reprimanded, and afterward, in his anger, he’d cornered Céline inside a shack and terrified her. Later he regretted this, but it didn’t matter. She no longer trusted him. Though he kept this dark side of himself hidden away much of the time, she had seen it.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” he asked. “Are you so angry that you won’t even talk?”

Glancing up the slope, she became very aware that they were alone. She wasn’t remotely angry. She was afraid of him. “I need to get back to Amelie.”

She tried to walk past, but his right hand snaked out, grabbing her wrist. Before she realized what was happening, he had her back pressed up against a tree. She gasped, instinctively pushing against his chest. He didn’t seem to notice she was struggling.

“Are you punishing me?” he whispered in her ear. “You know I’m sorry about . . . about before, but you played with me, tricked me, made me look a fool to the lieutenant.” He raised his left hand and touched her cheek. “That’s all done now.”

Her mind raced for a way to stay calm and get herself free, but when he moved his hand down her face, toward her throat, she couldn’t help trying to cry out.

“Amel—”

Instantly, his hand was over her mouth, and his eyes flashed in anger. “You’re going to stay here and talk to me! Tell me what I have to do to make you forgive me, to stop punishing me.”

She couldn’t move in his grip, and she was struggling to breathe though her nose. Somehow, she got one hand up around his wrist, trying to pull it off her mouth.

“Pavel, please,” she tried saying into his palm, but the sound was muffled.

“Corporal!” a deep voice barked.

Pavel’s body jerked. His grip eased slightly, and Céline managed to look to the left. Jaromir stood there with moonlight washing over his face.

“Step away,” he ordered.

For only a second or two, Céline thought Pavel was going to refuse, which would mean he was more unhinged than even she’d realized. Jaromir’s men didn’t disobey his orders.

But with a sharp jerk, Pavel stepped backward, glaring at her as if she’d caused this.

“Céline, get up to camp,” Jaromir said.

This was embarrassing for all of them, but she didn’t need to be asked twice. Dashing past Jaromir, she ran up the slope, hearing his low voice behind her, followed by Pavel’s short, clipped replies.

Though she was glad Jaromir had come down to check on her, a part of her couldn’t help regretting what he’d seen. While she certainly didn’t blame herself for Pavel’s behavior, she also couldn’t help feeling that because of her, there was now a rift between two soldiers who needed to depend on each other.

Walking back into camp, she tried to appear calm—and apparently failed.

“What’s wrong?” Amelie asked.

“Nothing.”

She would say no more.

* * *

Though Amelie expected the following day to be less rife with tension . . . it wasn’t. Jaromir once again treated her in the same easygoing manner as before their misunderstanding—which made her both glad and mildly annoyed—but something else felt wrong, and now he and Pavel seemed to be avoiding each other.

No matter how much Céline denied it,
something
had happened the night before, and Amelie was hurt that Céline wouldn’t tell her. The sisters had never kept secrets from each other.

However, as the day progressed, Amelie’s sore backside took precedence over all other concerns, and she began to focus on just making it to dusk.

The forest around them continued to grow darker and denser. The path they traveled, which barely passed for a road, became so narrow that the entire party began riding single file, and Sergeant Bazin, who drove the wagon, was having difficulty as brush kept getting caught in the spokes of the wheels.

Somehow, they all pressed onward until Jaromir called a halt at dusk. Amelie slid off her horse, putting both hands to her back. Once again, the soldiers worked quickly to set up camp, but they seemed just as angst ridden as they’d been the night before, glancing into the dark trees.

When the campfire fire burned brightly and supper had been passed out, Céline stepped in again to try to distract the men. Tonight, she switched to storytelling.

“Have you heard the tale of the ungrateful prince?” she asked, holding up both palms.

Her first story was an adventure about a haughty young prince transformed into a wolfhound by a wizard to whom he’d been rude. The young noble then roamed the land, attempting to lift the curse using only his brains and his paws while learning more about the people of his province in the process.

Céline walked around the glowing campfire, using her arms and hands to help tell the story, and altering her voice to make the characters seem more real.

By the time she was halfway through, all the soldiers had stopped eating and were leaning forward, just listening.

Of course the young prince negated his curse in the end by undertaking one unselfish task, helping a village plagued by trolls.

Céline acted out the final battle with great flair.

The next tale was a comedy about three brothers vying for the love of an unworthy woman by playing foul tricks on one another. When Céline reached the point at which one brother tainted another’s bathwater with blue dye, the soldiers were laughing out loud.

Although Amelie had been enjoying the stories, too, she glanced back and noticed Jaromir watching Céline with the same gratitude as he had the night before.

At the sight of this, Amelie couldn’t help feeling useless again. She possessed skills and gifts, but
entertaining other people was not among them. Though she longed to be useful, Céline’s gifts were simply much more . . . apparent.

Soon, everyone bedded down for the night, somewhat cheered both by the stories Céline had woven into the night air and with the hope of reaching their destination the following day.

But on that next day, Céline’s gifts only proved ever more visible and indispensable.

The morning started off well enough. Once they were packed and ready to leave, Jaromir mounted his horse and consulted his map. Amelie settled gingerly into the saddle of her black gelding and then rode up beside him.

“How far?” she asked, already gritting her teeth at the pain shooting up her spine.

“It depends,” he answered, holding the map down for her to see. “We’re going to have to cross the Vudrask River, so we have two possible routes from here.”

“Cross the river? Isn’t that the borderline between Droevinka and Stravina?”

“Generally, yes,” he answered. “But over the past hundred years or so, a few territories directly on either side have been traded. Ryazan is one of them.”

Drawing her attention back to the map, he pointed his finger at their current location and then began sliding it. “If we want an easier time of things, we turn off onto this wide northeast road, follow it all the way up to and around Enêmûsk, and then keep going until we reach this bridge.” He pointed to a symbol representing a bridge. “Once across, we can head west again, but
that route will take us longer.” His finger moved back to their current location and then upward. “Or we can continue straight north on this current narrow path and ford the river here where the water is more shallow. Following that route, we should reached Ryazan by late afternoon.”

“Oh, the shorter one, please,” Amelie blurted out.

“Are you in a hurry to arrive there?”

“No, I am in a hurry to be off this horse. My backside will never be the same.”

Instantly, she regretted her words, expecting him to make some joke about her backside, but he simply nodded. “All right. Straight north it is.”

She rode behind him as he led the way, with Céline directly behind her. The single-file column did not leave much opportunity for conversation, but in a way this was better. She wanted to just focus on getting through one more day. If all went well, tomorrow she would not have to climb back onto this horse.

However, in the early afternoon, she heard the sound of rushing, gurgling water, and within a few more steps, the sound grew louder.

“What is that?”

“The river,” Jaromir answered.

The road broke through the trees, and he walked his horse down the bank to make room for those behind him. Following him, Amelie felt her first hint of doubt over her impulse to take the fastest route. When Jaromir had said “shallow,” she’d been envisioning slow water over a rocky streambed.

The sight before her looked nothing like the image
in her mind. The river was wide and the current appeared swift. Through the water, she could see to the bottom and gauged that the depth would nearly cover the wagon’s wheels.

“You said it would be shallow.”

Jaromir glanced down at her. “This is shallow. This is the one place where barges can run into trouble.”

Céline pulled up beside them and went slightly pale. “We’re going to cross that?”

“Soldiers from the northern houses do it all the time,” he assured them. “We’ll be fine.”

After that, more horses came from the forest out onto the bank, and Jaromir started giving orders. “I’m going to take Amelie and Céline over first,” he called. “Pavel and Rurik, you help Bazin with the wagon, one of you on each side of the team.”

“Yes, sir,” they both called at the same time.

Amelie remembered that the stocky, middle-aged guard driving the wagon was the one whose wife had apparently thrown him out of the house.

But she didn’t have time to think long on this, as without delay, Jaromir nudged his horse forward. “Follow me,” he said.

With little choice, Amelie urged her gelding after Jaromir’s oversized chestnut stallion—named Badger due to his penchant for biting anyone he didn’t like. Amelie’s smaller horse didn’t hesitate, walking right into the water. She glanced back once to see Céline’s gray mare coming after them. The water rose to the level of Amelie’s mount’s stomach and the current rushed swiftly. The bottom of her gown and cloak were
soaked, but her horse managed to keep walking at a steady pace, following Jaromir’s lead, and soon, all three horses broke into a trot as they reached the bank on the other side.

Céline was still pale, but she managed a smile. “Not so bad after all.”

Amelie turned to look back and see how the others were faring. The soldiers on horseback were having no trouble, but Bazin was trying to force the harnessed team into the water, and both horses refused. To help, Rurik leaned over and took hold of one bridle while Pavel did the same with the other. Jaromir watched tensely and then seemed to relax a bit as the team finally moved forward, pulling the wagon into the current.

“Well done,” he called.

As Amelie had guessed, the water quickly reached more than halfway up the wheels, and the team snorted as they struggled forward, with white ringing their eyes. Halfway across, it seemed they would make it without incident, but then the harnessed horse on the left side tripped over a rock and started to go down. It screamed out as it fought to right itself. Unfortunately, Pavel had been holding its bridle, and his horse panicked and tried to bolt. It slipped as well . . . going down with him in the saddle.

“Pavel!” Jaromir shouted, kicking his own horse back into the water.

Amelie watched helplessly as Pavel’s horse landed on him and then thrashed to jump back up. Pavel came off the horse, but his foot was still in the stirrup. Amelie
heard a cracking sound over the rush of the water, and then he was free of the saddle but caught in the current.

Céline drew in a loud breath as Jaromir reached him and swung off his horse. Catching Pavel under both arms, Jaromir somehow managed to pull him the rest of the way across the river and up onto the bank. Pavel’s horse had managed to reach the bank as well. Céline was already running toward them, and then, finally, spurred from her shock, Amelie dashed after her.

Pavel was crying out in pain, and Céline was already giving orders.

“Jaromir, don’t move him anymore. Just lay him flat. It’s his right leg.”

The next few moments were a blur of confusion as more of the men came running over. Jaromir used a dagger to cut Pavel’s pant leg open, and Amelie put one hand to her mouth. She wasn’t squeamish, but the white bone of his shin was poking through his torn flesh.

“By the gods,” one of the soldiers said, “that cannot be fixed. He’s going to lose that leg.”

Pavel’s eyes went wide. “No!” He tried pulling himself up the bank.

Amelie wanted to punch the soldier who’d spoken.

But Céline was at Pavel’s head, talking to him. “Don’t listen to him. You won’t lose your leg.” She looked around as the wagon came up out of the river onto the bank. “Amelie, run and get my box.” She turned back. “Jaromir, I need flat boards. Can you break one of the apple crates and bring me several of the boards?”

Amelie and Jaromir both ran for the wagon. Amelie’s errand was quicker, as she simply needed to get Céline’s box and run back. She left Jaromir breaking the side off a crate.

“Here!” Amelie called, skidding to a stop.

Pavel was in so much pain, he was panting, and his features were twisted.

The box was large, and Céline opened it carefully. The inside was filled with bottles, jars, powders, and bandages. She took out a bottle filled with a white milky substance. “Amelie, hold his head.”

Amelie knew what to do and moved to cradle Pavel’s head.

“Swallow this,” Céline told him. “It will stop the pain.”

Her words must have gotten through, because he let her put the bottle to his mouth, and he took a drink.

“One more,” she ordered. “A large swallow.”

He obeyed her.

Everyone else just stood watching, but in a few moments, Pavel began to relax in Amelie’s arms. Carefully, she laid him on the bank, and his eyes closed halfway. Jaromir came jogging up with the boards.

“What did you give him?”

“Poppy syrup,” Céline answered. “He’ll be asleep soon. I have to set the leg, and you will not want him awake for that.” Scooting down, she frowned at the broken bone. Pavel’s boots were made of stiff leather and came halfway up his shins. “This boot must have protected his ankle and foot when the horse jumped back up, but then his leg took all the force.” She glanced
at Jaromir. “We need to get the boot off without causing any more damage. I’m going to hold the leg, and I need you to slowly, very slowly, inch off the boot.”