Barb Hendee - Witches in Red

“Yes, perhaps. You are pleased?”

He took her hand and kissed the back of it. “More than pleased. I will be up to visit you shortly.”

Again, Amelie wondered what these two were to each other—but she received no answers.

As Lady Saorise swept from the room in a rustling of her purple robe, Damek squared off with Quinn, assessing his tall form.

“You do realize this is only the beginning?” Damek asked.

“Yes. What do you want done next?”

“A field test.” Glancing over at the table, Damek’s lip curled up in distaste at the dead Móndyalítko and the partially mutilated body of the wolf. With one hand, he motioned Quinn back toward the hearth, and both men walked over to stand nearer to the fire.

Amelie followed.

“I’m going to have you placed inside my father’s forces as a corporal,” Damek said.

“A corporal?”

“Yes, I need someone who will be trusted but not garner much attention.”

“So you are offering me to your father?”

Damek smiled, and Amelie found the sight chilling. “Oh, no,” he said. “My father would never accept any connection with anyone who’d ever served me. He would doubt my motives. No, I’ve forged a letter from an acquaintance of my father, a Baron Driesè. Apparently, according to the letter, the baron has a high opinion of you and would like for you to be given a chance in the guard of a royal household.”

Quinn frowned. “And you think your father will believe this unselfish act?”

“I do. You see, the baron has done this once before. It is in his nature. My father will accept you. But he and Driesè see each other only every few years at best, and I’ll make certain any letters between my father and him are intercepted in the first weeks after your arrival. The ruse will not be discovered.”

“So I serve as a corporal. Then what?”

“Your first task is to become trusted by your commanding officer. That’s all you need do for now. Later . . . though I’ve not chosen a time or a place, when I give the word, I will need you to find a way to get your contingent assigned somewhere isolated. You’ll then begin to experiment with the elixir. Start slowly, turning a man every few weeks perhaps. Your purpose is to create and incite a complete breakdown of the command structure, to foster such an atmosphere of terror and mistrust that although most of the men will remain healthy and appear capable of battle, it would be child’s play to ride in and destroy them.”

“You’re going to attack your own father’s men?” Quinn asked, but he didn’t sound remotely daunted by the task Damek had just placed before him.

“No, of course not. You are simply carrying out the initial test, but you need to take it to the point where order has broken down, fear has taken over, the contingent could be wiped out with little effort, and yet from the outside, the attackers will appear as the far stronger force. That is the key. I need to create situations where my men always appear as the stronger force. When you’ve reached that point, you may stop and send me word. I trust your judgment. I only wish to know if this will work to the degree that I imagine.”

“And if it does, you will then use it against your real enemies on a larger scale?”

“Oh, yes. I plan to show my father that I maintain the finest fighters in Droevinka, easily able to smash any opposition.”

“But why have me try this on your father’s men?”

“So that once you’ve finished your field test, I should be able to swoop in, look the hero as I stop it from happening again, and save the day. We can easily blame someone in the camp.” He smiled again. “Not you, of course. I find you far too useful, but I do need to impress my father on every possible front. Later, if he discovers what I’m doing to our enemies, I can say that I tortured the original traitor and gained knowledge of his weapon to use myself—in defense of our family’s interests. That will make me look even more resourceful.”

“And if I am successful in my . . . field test, you will agree to my reward?”

“To make you vassal of O’Kruge Keep and its fiefs?”

“With me keeping half the rents. And you’ll arrange a marriage for me to a noblewoman?”

“That was the agreement. Others have made promises to me, but you’re the only man to come this far. If you succeed in the next part of this task, the vassalage and rents are yours, and I will marry you to Lord Chaudoir’s youngest daughter. Will that be acceptable?”

“Lord Chaudior?” For the first time, Quinn’s icy blue eyes showed a hint of emotion—possibly greed or perhaps just hunger. “Yes, that is acceptable.”

As those words left his mouth, the room vanished and the mists rushed in. Amelie felt herself being swept forward . . . and forward until she knew some time had passed. When the mists cleared, she was inside the great hall of a castle, surrounded by a din. More than a hundred people had gathered at long tables for a feast.

Prince Lieven, Prince Damek, and six other well-dressed nobles were seated at a table at the top of the hall, upon a dais. Most of the soldiers in the hall wore dark brown tabards, so Amelie reasoned the scene was taking place at Castle Pählen, and Prince Damek was here on a visit to his father.

Looking down, Amelie saw three men seated directly in front of where she stood: Captain Keegan, Quinn, and the handsome Lieutenant Sullian. Quinn wore the brown tabard of Lieven’s forces now. All three men were drinking and laughing, and after only a few moments of watching them, Amelie could not help but note the easy camaraderie among them. Quinn must either be a master actor or so mentally deranged that he could convince himself of the role he was playing.

“A few of Damek’s guards suggested a game of dice after dinner,” Keegan said. “Under the front torches of the courtyard.”

Sullian frowned. “Sir . . . you’re in debt up to your ears to Master Terlone already. Maybe you should stay here and dance with a few girls instead. Keep whatever coins you have. The day after tomorrow is payday, and you told me you owe every penny to Terlone.”

Keegan’s expression tightened. “I can choose my own entertainments, Lieutenant.”

Sullian fell silent, but Quinn was looking at the main archway of the hall. A boy of about ten or eleven stood there, peering in.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Quinn said, standing up. “Nature calls.”

He headed toward the archway. The boy saw him coming and quietly put something in his hand before vanishing down the passage. Amelie came up behind Quinn as he opened a note that read only:

The gazebo by the river. At dawn.

The great hall vanished, and the mists rushed in for only a second or two, barely enough time for Amelie to feel much movement. When they cleared, she found herself at the edge of a small river, with a wooden gazebo to her right.

Quinn was already there, and Prince Damek was walking up. The sun was just breaking over the horizon.

“I’ve chosen the place,” Damek said without offering a greeting. “There is an isolated mining camp up north, above Enêmûsk. The captain my father assigned has died, and my father is having a difficult time replacing him, which is no wonder as the place sounds like banishment.”

“He won’t order one of his officers?”

“With such difficult assignments, my father prefers . . . volunteers. He’s a tyrant who hates to appear as a tyrant.” Damek paused and crossed his arms. “This mining camp is ideal for our purposes. Can you manage to place your captain in a position where he has no choice but to volunteer?”

Quinn remained quiet for a few moments, as if thinking. “Yes, I can manage.”