Mist-Torn Witches 02:Witches in Red (8 page)

She’d already begun to think of the men being turned as victims.

Keegan’s mouth fell open for a moment, and then he closed it again. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but you have no idea with what we are dealing. Trust me, you will not want one of these
things
merely incapacitated.”

“Oh, but I will,” she countered. “I cannot even guess what is happening to your men until I examine someone who has been afflicted. My prince wants this situation solved, and therefore I will do whatever I deem necessary.” Standing up, she said, “Until I have one of these . . . soldiers turned wolves to study, perhaps I might see the body of someone who has been killed by one of these creatures? The wounds might tell me something.”

If Keegan found her first request disturbing, he found this one distasteful and curled one side of his upper lip. “It’s been three days since the last attack. There were several injuries. One miner was killed, but he’s been buried.”

Céline pondered this and knew any useful evidence would probably be too compromised at this point for her to insist on a body being dug up.

“You mentioned injuries. Does anyone have wounds in need of attention?”

Keegan frowned thoughtfully, as if this had never occurred to him. “Possibly . . . yes, I think so.”

As if on cue, Amelie stood.

“We brought a large box of medicinal supplies,” Céline said. “If you would be so good as to assign us private quarters, my sister and I will change our clothes and then go see what help we might offer the miners.”

At first, she thought Keegan might refuse, but he nodded. “Of course.”

* * *

Céline and Amelie were provided with a medium-sized tent to themselves—about the size of their workroom back home, with an entrance tall enough that neither one had to duck to enter.

“Not bad,” Amelie said, looking around. “Considering.”

Céline agreed. Most of the floor was covered with furs and there were no holes in the roof. There was a bed with a wooden frame and a down-filled mattress, along with a small table and three chairs. A plain washbasin and pitcher had been provided. She wondered who had previously been assigned here.

“Here,” Jaromir said, handing their travel bags through the entrance. “Change your clothes, and I’ll walk you north.”

Céline took the bags, and he closed the flap over the entrance from the outside, giving them some privacy.

“What do you make of that captain?” Amelie whispered. “I don’t think he’s going to be much help.”

“Me either,” Céline whispered back, taking off her
cloak and opening one of the bags. “But I was surprised Jaromir was so quiet. I thought he might press a few points.”

“He can’t. Keegan outranks him.”

“What?”

“Keegan is a captain. Jaromir’s a lieutenant. He has to follow the chain of command.”

“Yes . . . but Anton put Jaromir in charge of the investigation.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Amelie said as she began to get undressed.

Troubled, Céline began unlacing the front of her own wool gown. Jaromir was in charge of the security of a great castle and everyone who lived around it, and Keegan was in charge of a pack of motley soldiers in the middle of nowhere, and yet Keegan had more power due to what she considered a slight difference in official rank. That somehow seemed wrong to her. Jaromir was the most capable man she’d ever met.

After struggling out of the lavender dress, she shivered slightly in only her long white shift and stockings. The poor dress looked far worse for wear after the journey. Its hem was filthy, and the sleeves and bodice were dotted with some of Pavel’s blood.

“I’d give anything to put on my blue shirt and breeches,” Amelie sighed, looking down at the shift she wore.

“Well, let’s see what else Helga packed.”

They found two evening gowns and a set of silver hairbrushes in the first bag, so they moved on to the second. Inside, they found clean stockings, extra shifts,
and a pair of serviceable wool dresses, one of tan, about the color of Céline’s hair, and another of pale blue. Amelie took the pale blue, as it was slightly shorter, and Céline wore the tan. Then they tied on their red cloaks and Céline picked up her large box of supplies.

“We’re ready,” she called.

Jaromir drew the flap back and entered, seeing the box in her arms. “Let me carry that.”

He took it, and they followed him out.

“Where’s Rurik?” Amelie asked.

“Seeing the horses are properly fed,” Jaromir answered. “I don’t trust this lot with Badger, and Anton is fond of that gray mare.”

Out among the small sea of tents, Céline kept close to Jaromir as he led the way north, and a number of dirty soldiers in dark brown tabards turned to watch them walk past. There must have been women among the families of the miners, but Céline wondered how long it had been since these men had seen a pretty girl like Amelie in a pale blue gown and scarlet cloak.

However, with Jaromir as their escort, none of the soldiers tried to speak to them, and soon they left the collection of tents behind.

“There,” he said, pointing.

Following the direction of his finger, Céline spotted a path leading through the thick trees. Some of the gray clouds above were parting, and though the air was cool, patches of open sky peeked though.

The three of them took the path into the trees and had walked only about a hundred paces when it emptied into an open area with small hills in the
background . . . and Céline found herself looking upon the Ryazan miners’ encampment.

To her right stood a collection of about thirty-five shacks or huts so haphazardly placed that they could have sprouted up only over time with no sense of planning. Some were made from old boards, but most were circular wattle-and-daub dwellings with thatched roofs.

To her left stood six more of the wattle-and-daub dwellings, surrounded by four decaying wagons with what looked to be small homes built on top of the beds. From what she could see, some of the wagon-homes had once been painted in bright colors, but now much of the paint had faded or been chipped away. Empty harness poles stretched out from the fronts of these wagons, with no sign that they had been used in some time.

There were no horses in sight. In fact, there were no animals at all, no goats or milk cows, not even a few chickens scratching at the dirt.

But there were people milling about.

“Which side?” Jaromir asked.

“Left,” Céline said. She didn’t know why, but she was drawn to the scattered collection of wagon-homes.

The largest of these was also in the best condition, with a solid-looking roof and shutters over the windows. Two women were busy out front. One was hanging clothes, and the other was tending a fire. Both straightened as Céline approached.

The one tending the fire was perhaps sixteen years old, but Céline stopped upon getting a better look at
her. She was beautiful, slender and small boned, with a mane of black hair. Her skin was pale, and her eyes were as black as her hair. Her slight body tensed, and she reminded Céline of a young doe about to spring. There was something wild in her eyes.

Céline smiled. “Hello.”

The woman hanging laundry approached, protectively stepping up beside the girl. This one was about twenty-five, though thin lines were already etched about the corners of her eyes. Her thick hair was a shade of brown-black and pulled back into a braid. While she lacked the girl’s beauty, she was pretty, and Céline thought them alike enough to be sisters.

“What do you want?” the older one asked, glancing at Jaromir, her tone a mix of anger and anxiety.

Céline had to admit that he did look rather intimidating, especially in comparison with some of the soldiers stationed here.

“We’ve been sent here to help,” Céline said quickly, turning to open the box in Jaromir’s arms. “I’m a healer from Castle Sèone, and Prince Lieven asked his son, my lord, to send you some assistance. He’s heard of your troubles and these terrible attacks.” She motioned the woman closer and pointed to various pots, jars, and bottles inside the box. “There is cough syrup, healing ointment, salve for aching joints, bandages, insect and burn salves, and, oh, this is a cleansing tonic.”

The woman’s eyes flew over the contents of the box. Her body gave off waves of slow-burning anger, but something akin to hope passed across her face at the
same time. The slip of a girl took a step or two closer, just enough to peek inside the box, still moving like a forest animal come in from the trees.

Céline smiled again. “I am Céline, and this is my sister, Amelie. This man is Lieutenant Jaromir. He is our bodyguard, but I do assure you, we’ve been sent to help.”

The woman’s eyes moved up to Céline’s face as if searching for something, and then, satisfied, she nodded. “I am Mercedes. This is my sister, Mariah.”

The girl studied Amelie curiously, but she would not move closer to where Jaromir stood.

“Do you have any injured or ill here who need attention?” Céline asked.

Mercedes shook her head in seeming disbelief. “Do we have any . . . ? Yes. We have a number of people in need.”

Céline motioned to the wagon. “Perhaps I could set up here, and you could tell the others?”

Mercedes glanced back at the box.

“Mariah,” she said finally, “bring these ladies inside and give them what help they need. I’m going to find Marcus and have him round up any wounded men. I’ll speak to the women myself.”

The girl tilted her head to one side and waved Céline forward. Then she sprang up the back steps of the wagon and opened a door.

Céline followed.

* * *

Watching Céline head up the steps, Amelie turned to Jaromir. “You’d better wait out here. We’ll be fine, and
I don’t think there’s much room in there.” She looked over toward the shacks and huts. “You might even try walking around and talking to some of the men. See what you can learn that Captain Keegan didn’t tell us.”

“I doubt any of them will talk to me.”

“They will,” she insisted. “After only a minute or two, they’ll see that you’re here to help. You have that effect on people. All the villagers at Castle Sèone trust you.”

He blinked several times and then nodded. “All right, but I won’t go far.”

Turning, she hurried up the stairs to help her sister.

Inside, the covered wagon felt even more like a house. Toward the front were two bunk beds nailed into the wall. A bench was built into one sidewall with a stationary table. Pots and pans hung from the other wall. Threadbare curtains covered the shuttered windows.

“Mariah, would you open the shutters for some light and air?” Céline said as she took off her cloak and began setting out a collection of jars and bottles on the table.

“That soldier won’t come in, will he?” the girl asked.

It was the first time she’d spoken. Her voice was soft and wild, like her eyes, but she spoke with real fear—and something deeper, possibly hatred. Amelie wondered what she might have suffered at the hands of the soldiers here.

“No,” Amelie answered firmly. “He won’t. But even if he did, he wouldn’t hurt you.”

Sounds of footsteps came from the stairs, and
Mercedes returned with Céline’s first patients, a bone-thin woman and two children, all coughing.

“Come in,” Céline said.

Mercedes sent the family in, but she remained outside.

The rest of the afternoon became a blur. Mariah slipped out so there would be more room inside. Amelie stayed to help her sister, but the condition of the people here soon began to wear upon her. She had seen poverty, true poverty, in Shetâna, but this was different; a string of half-starved women and children flowed through, suffering from deep coughs, ringworm, infected insect bites, and shingles. Some of the women were pregnant. Céline did what she could for them.

Things only got worse when the men began arriving. Mining must be a dangerous business, as the equally underfed men coming through the door bore old injuries of poorly set broken bones. Most of the men over thirty were beginning to succumb to their joints stiffening to the point of constant pain.

There was nothing Céline could do for poorly set bones, long healed, but she’d brought along two jugs of a dense liquid she made from monkshood that worked well on aging joints, and she spent several hours just rubbing it into elbows and shoulders and knees to help relieve pain. She told some of the men that she’d come back tomorrow, and if they brought her a small empty jar or bottle, she’d send some of the monkshood home with them.

Several times, Mercedes came up to stand in the open doorway, just watching Céline.

In the late afternoon, a father arrived with a boy of about fifteen who was holding his left arm with his right hand. The arm had been loosely tied up with a stained rag that was not wide enough to serve as a proper sling.

“Broke his arm three days back,” the father said. “We were among the few still willing to go back into the mines, and then one of those beasts attacked. The boy was standing in a cart and scrambled to get out. He fell.”

Amelie was attempting to straighten up the bottles on the table. “Inside the mines? One of the . . . wolves attacked you there? Were you working at night?”

“No, it was midday. But no one has gone back in since.”

Amelie took a moment to get her head around that. One of the Pählen soldiers had transformed and attacked the miners at work in the middle of the day?

“Bring the boy inside,” Céline said.

The boy was brought in, and she sat him on the bench and removed the makeshift sling to examine his forearm. Amelie winced. The bone had been broken and had not been set at all. Although the skin wasn’t torn, from what she could see, the bone was still in two pieces. If something was not done, he’d lose use of the arm.

Céline looked up at the father. “If it’s only been a few days, I should able to set this.” She picked up the bottle of poppy syrup. “But it will be painful enough that I’d need to put him to sleep first, and splinting the injury will take some time. Once the bone is secured, it
will need to remain splinted and in a sling for at least a moon, probably longer. He’ll not be able to work for a while, but once the bone knits, he will have use of his arm again.”