Mist-Torn 01 - The Mist-Torn Witches (12 page)

It seemed foolish for Jaromir to form these impressions in the matter of a few seconds, but he couldn’t help it.

A tall man in a tan tabard walked beside Anton. They both wore long swords.

“My son,” Lieven said, “and Captain Nazar. Welcome. Come and sit.”

Anton seemed to sleepwalk toward the top of the hall, and Damek watched his every move as if gauging him somehow. Still sitting in his chair, Damek casually pulled his own sword from its sheath and began wiping it with a cloth.

Jaromir tensed.

But then he realized that he no longer felt Lizzie against his leg. Looking around, he spotted her sniffing the floor near the arched entrance to the hall. He couldn’t call her back or make a sound. The hall guards were to remain silent.

“How was your journey, my son?” Lieven asked Anton, but his voice was strained, as if he had no idea what else to ask.

“Fine, Father. Thank you.”

Anton’s response sounded obligatory, polite but without thought, and it occurred to Jaromir that the young man might truly be in mourning. He looked fragile…wounded, and Jaromir was
astonished at the compulsion to protect someone else surging through him. He hadn’t felt this in a long time.

Damek stood up and yawned.

With his sword in his hand, he walked casually toward the dais. “Well, now that we’re all here, perhaps we might finally settle some matters of importance.”

Lieven raised an eyebrow. “What matters would those be?”

“Naming me official heir, of course. I assumed that was why we’d all been called to home and hearth.”

Prince Lieven’s face began to redden. Damek must be the greatest of fools to blindside his father like this—and in front of witnesses.

“I’m sure Anton is in agreement,” Damek went on, “aren’t you, my brother? You think it’s time Father officially names me heir?”

Anton was staring toward the burning logs in the hearth. “What?” he asked, seeming to speak through a fog. “Oh, of course. Whatever you both decide. Father, could I please be excused to my rooms? I’m weary from the journey.”

Without waiting for permission, he got to his feet and headed for the archway. His guard captain, Nazar, followed him.

“You see?” Damek said to his father. “He’s tired. He’s always tired. He’s not fit to rule. Let us stop this charade of you ‘choosing’ between us
and give our people some assurances that I will follow you.”

Lieven was on his feet. “Anton! You stop right there.”

The Lady Karina hadn’t said a word, but neither did she seem the least intimidated, and she was watching this play out with close attention.

Anton stopped near the left side of the archway.

Lieven turned on Damek. “I am head of this house, and
I
will decide who follows me.”

Damek lost all his seemingly bored composure. “I am the eldest! The title is mine by right.” He pointed at Anton. “Look at him. Can he hold our lands together?”

Anton indeed looked to be the shadow of a ghost standing there by the arch. He didn’t say a word to defend himself.

“Get out of this hall until dinner,” Lieven ordered Damek. “And do not broach this subject in my presence again. I will name my heir when I so choose.”

Damek’s expression flattened in open hatred, and he whirled on one foot to stride from the hall. Just then, Jaromir saw Lizzie in the center of the archway. Damek saw her in the same instant, and his eyes narrowed. His sword was still in his hand, and he gripped the hilt tighter. He was enraged, and he wanted to hurt something, to kill something.

Jaromir fought from crying out. If he made a
sound, if he challenged a sub-prince in this setting, he’d be dismissed immediately. Panic flooded through him that he was about to lose the only friend he had.

Finally, unable to just stand there and watch, he took a step forward, ready to shout.

But Sub-Prince Anton appeared to awaken from his fog. He saw Lizzie and he saw his brother’s face—and the sword in his brother’s hand. In a graceful movement, Anton crossed the archway and used his knee to nudge Lizzie to the other side. She obeyed and followed him.

By the time Damek reached the archway, Lizzie was out of his path. He kept on walking, ignoring both his brother and the dog.

*   *   *

That evening, Jaromir was granted a few hours off duty—as he’d been appointed to help with the night watch later. As he wouldn’t be paid until the end of the week and he wasn’t allowed in the great hall during the dinner hour, he made his way to the kitchen to try to charm a meal from the women there.

Thankfully, he looked better. He’d been able to borrow a razor an hour ago. Using a bucket of well water, he’d shaved and washed and tied his hair back at the nape of his neck. When he walked into the kitchen, he found it abuzz with activity, but a few scullery girls glanced his way. Lizzie sniffed the air and drooled.

“You get that dog out of here,” said a squat middle-aged woman in an apron, “or I’ll cook it.”

Jaromir flashed her a grin. “You’ll get us both out of here fast if you can spare some chicken.”

“Food’s up in the great hall,” she said, leaning over to examine the crust on a pie.

“Yes, but there’s no invitation up there for the likes of me, and I’m starving. I’ll trade a kiss for your trouble.”

She looked up from the pie, taking in his face. Most women liked his face when it was clean and properly shaved. “You can keep your kiss.” However, she grabbed a wooden plate and piled on a few pieces of roasted chicken and potatoes. “Now, out back with you. And take that dog!”

He thanked her and headed through the back door, sitting down on some crates outside, tearing some chicken off the bone for Lizzie. “Here, girl.”

It was a cool night with a clear sky. The potatoes were excellent, and he knew that if he could land himself a permanent place here, he’d never go hungry again.

Lizzie had finished her first bites of chicken and began whining for more. “Hold on,” he said, tearing more off the bones.

When he looked up, he saw someone walking toward the stables. A moment later, he realized it was Sub-Prince Damek. What was he doing out there? All the nobles should be up in the great hall stuffing their faces, gulping wine, and dancing.

Damek vanished inside the stable and didn’t come out.

Jaromir waited, keeping to the shadows of the back door and the piles of crates. Not long after, another figure came into sight, heading for the stable as well…a tall man wearing a tan tabard.

Captain Nazar.

He too vanished inside the stable.

“Stay here,” Jaromir told Lizzie.

Looking for an open window in the stable, he spotted nothing that might help him, but then he noticed a slight crack in the wall with a large knothole in the adjoining board. Slipping up silently, he crouched to see if he could hear what was going on inside.

Two low but clear voices could be heard through the hole.

“I’ll give you the Westlake fiefdom and a quarter of the rents,” Damek was saying.

“Half the rents,” Captain Nazar countered. “What’s one fiefdom to you when you’ll be named heir to your father’s lands?”

A pause followed. “All right, half, but only if this succeeds.

Jaromir took a sharp breath.

“There’s an old gazebo down by the river,” Damek went on. “My father liked to have us meet him there when we were boys, for talks with him or sometimes for training. I have a scribe in my employ who can imitate my father’s handwriting perfectly. Tonight after Anton retires to his rooms,
I’ll have a note delivered to him, asking him to meet my father at the gazebo tomorrow at dawn. He’ll not find that strange. Father often asked us to meet him quite early or late, probably as a test of obedience.”

“And when he arrives, your own men will kill him?”

“Yes, you need not take part in the act. Just make certain he’s unprotected. But his body must be dumped into the river afterward. The current is fast this time of year, and he’ll be swept downstream. I will still be abed, with witnesses to speak for me, and Anton will simply not appear for breakfast. It may be weeks before he’s found. If ever.”

Jaromir pulled away from the outer wall, thinking over everything he’d just heard, wondering how he could use it to promote himself, and in the end decided that protecting Anton took precedence. It was the only path of honor.

*   *   *

The next morning, before dawn, Jaromir was crouched behind an oak tree growing near the gazebo. As a hired guard he had access to the castle amory, and in the night, he’d borrowed a few extra weapons. Now he had a loaded crossbow in his hand, a second loaded crossbow on the ground, and his sword and dagger in their sheaths.

Anton and Captain Nazar arrived first. It was a misty morning and the sun was just cresting into view.

“Father?” Anton called. He looked exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept.

“You’re sure he told you to meet him here?” Nazar asked.

“Yes, of course.”

Four soldiers in black tabards came out of the mist, walking toward the gazebo. Anton wasn’t alarmed. He probably assumed they’d been sent with a message. Then all four drew their swords.

“Nazar, look out,” Anton called, drawing his own blade and taking a defensive stance.

But Captain Nazar simply stepped away, and the leader of the black-clad soldiers charged.

“Nazar!” Anton called, confused now.

Jaromir didn’t rush himself. Carefully, he aimed the first crossbow, and when he was sure, he fired. The quarrel struck the lead assassin in the back with a sucking sound. The man fell forward. Jaromir dropped the empty crossbow and snatched up the second one. The next soldier in line turned in panic to see where the quarrel had come from, and Jaromir shot him square in the chest.

Dropping the second crossbow, he drew his dagger and charged. He thought it was possible that the last two of Damek’s men would turn and run, but apparently they feared Damek more than a fight against unknown odds, and they kept coming.

By that point, Anton had recovered from his initial shock, and he was running forward into the fight, engaging one of the assassins.

Jaromir caught the other one—a middle-aged
man with a scarred face. His opponent swung hard, missed, and drew his arm back, overconfident at the prospect of fighting a man who’d chosen a smaller weapon. But Jaromir dashed inside his guard, grabbed his sword arm, and drove the dagger up into his torso, between his ribs. The man’s eyes widened briefly, but it happened so fast it might not even have caused much pain.

Jaromir jerked out his dagger, knowing that if the man were still alive, that act would cause pain. He whirled to see Anton fighting the last soldier in a black tabard, but Captain Nazar was closing on Anton fast. He must have realized the consequences of failure at this point.

Jaromir ran to intercept Nazar, dropping the dagger and pulling his sword.

The captain swung at him in desperation. Jaromir dodged and faked a strike from the right, and when Nazar moved to block, Jaromir swept with his leg, knocking Nazar off his feet. The instant Nazar’s back hit the ground, Jaromir struck downward with the point of his sword, driving it through the man’s stomach with both hands on the hilt.

Nazar cried out, and a few seconds later, blood flowed from his mouth.

Jaromir whirled again to find that Anton had sliced through the throat of his own opponent. The assassin fell backward.

Then Jaromir and Anton stood alone, panting, surrounded by dead or dying men.

Visibly shaken, Anton stared at Jaromir’s tabard, perhaps trying to figure out what had just happened. “You’re one of my father’s guards?”

“No, I’m a hired sword…for this gathering.”

“Why did you save me?”

“Because you saved my dog.”

Anton was silent for a moment, and then he glanced down at his dead captain and back. “So you’re a man of no rank, then?”

“I was a lieutenant under Prince Phillipos of House Hilaron, but I would not serve his son.”

Anton nodded. “Phillipos. I see.”

Jaromir wondered what it was that he saw.

*   *   *

Five days later, the “family gathering” was officially over, and the castle was alive with activity as Damek’s and Anton’s entourages were preparing to leave. Jaromir waited to see if there would be repercussions from the attack at the river, but it seemed that Anton never told his father, and Damek was quite skilled at cleaning up behind himself.

However, as a result, Jaromir had done nothing to distinguish himself to Prince Lieven and would be out of work again tomorrow.

He’d been asked to help load some of Lady Karina’s baggage. As he could hardly refuse, he was in the guest quarters waiting outside her rooms with a few other men when he looked up to see Anton coming down the passage toward him.

“Walk with me,” Anton said.

Jaromir had no idea what to think, but he fell into step beside Anton, and they went all the way to the end of the passage, where they stopped and looked down through tall archers’ slits in the wall, observing the activity in the courtyard below.

Anton’s eyes were still haunted.

“I seem to be short a captain,” he said.

“I’m not a captain.”

“You could be.”

Jaromir shook his head. “I’d not be named to a rank I hadn’t earned.”

Anton kept gazing through the slit in the wall. “You are a strange man. Would you come back with me and head my guard at Castle Sèone?”

Jaromir didn’t need to be asked twice.

S
till leaning against the wall in the passage outside his room, Jaromir ran a hand over his face, remembering the journey “home” with Anton.

By the time they’d reached Castle Sèone, he and Anton had become friends, but Jaromir had no idea how highly he’d been placed until they entered the castle and he began his duties—with full authority over everyone in Sèone except for Anton and the Lady Karina. After that, he became
the
Lieutenant, like the title of a lord.

He owed Anton more than he could ever repay, and now he had to stop these bizarre murders.

He didn’t blame Céline for his failure last night. She’d done exactly as he’d asked. She’d read the girls at the banquet, and she’d given him the name of the next victim.