《Hexenjager》


 Cloven Cavalcade

    ¡°I only glanced into the abyss, and I don¡¯t think it got a good look at me.¡±


    -Felix DeWinter, Canis Dei ¡°The Hound of God¡±


    Anno Domini MCDXXXIII


    Rome was a decaying carcass. Once the heart of an empire, it was now little more than a gutter¡ªfilled with the collected shit and piss of a million pilgrims. The only evidence of its once proud history was sealed away in the Church, a place where muck and slime seemingly wicked from its immaculate bastions, hoarded by covetous priests afflicted with their own plagues of corruption, greed, and contemptible ambition. The air, too, was thick with a foulness that clung to the skin, a reminder that even in Rome, the holiest of cities, the devil¡¯s hand was never far from the throats of the pious.


    Felix DeWinter rode slowly through the crumbling outskirts of the city, the late September sun casting long shadows across the ancient stone road.


    From under a weather-stained hood, his eyes, cold as hailstones, took in the streets around him¡ªwomen sweeping dust from their stoops and merchants shuttering their shops for the day. Beside him, tethered by a frayed rope tied to his saddle, trotted a goat. Its coat was black, with white stripes in a v-shape down its face that mirrored the spiraling horns atop its head¡ªcommon features in all Toggenburger goats. Hanging from its chin was a long tuft of hair that gave the appearance of a goatee. It trundled along, its haunches swaying rhythmically side to side, unbothered by the week-long trek.


    Felix had been sent by the College of Cardinal Bishops to retrieve a goat in a small village on the Swiss border. The villagers had petitioned the Vatican for aid, and were near hysteria when he arrived. A talking goat, they claimed¡ªa demon in animal form that whispered blasphemies in the dead of night, wilting crops with its foul breath, and souring milk with bewitching stares. Felix had scoffed at the idea. He¡¯d heard of many things in his years serving the Church, but a talking goat seemed more like the ravings of simple minds than a genuine threat to the faithful.


    Yet, orders were orders. The cardinals had sent him to investigate.


    When the complex chess board of ecclesiastical politicking needed a blunt instrument, they had pawns in abundance, but when discretion was needed, Felix DeWinter was their silent scalpel¡ªthe bishop they moved on the board. As a penitent, his path to redemption was paved with such duties¡ªwitch hunts, exorcisms, assassinations. All done in secrecy. He choked down thoughts of his unspeakable past malefactions, the kind the Church was so eager to possess for themselves. Now he only lived to serve, and serve well, until his soul was worthy of forgiveness.


    The scuffle to claim the goat had been brief but not without some brutality. The villagers, half-mad with fear, had refused to let it leave their village alive. They claimed the beast had cursed their lands, its malevolent whispers creeping through their shutters at night, poisoning their thoughts and corrupting their kin. Felix had dealt with worse, and a few sharp blows from the flat of his smallsword had been enough to cow them into submission. He took the goat, bound its mouth shut to silence any devilish whispers, and made haste back to Rome.


    Felix and his cloven captive approached St. Peter''s Basilica, built atop the foundations of Nero¡¯s circus. Beside it stood the obelisk, stolen from Egypt and erected by Caligula a millennia earlier. Madmen both. Before it was called the Vatican, it was a swamp beside the Tiber where all refuse flowed¡ªin many ways it still was.


    Felix tugged at the rope, dragging the reluctant billy goat through the grand gates and into the building¡¯s hallowed halls, each adorned with breathtaking frescoes of angels, instruments held aloft, and fat little cherubs, all masterfully painted and finished in gold leaf. The goat, head held high with a defiance that was curious for a mere animal, clopped along beside him, its hooves echoing off the cold marble floor.


    The cardinals were mingling in a dimly-lit chamber filled with flickering candles and wearing crimson vestments topped with silk skullcaps or thin, wide-brimmed hats. The cardinal bishop, dean and leader of the lot, sat in a golden chair on plush cushions. The others stood and communed amongst themselves, grumbling over divine mandates that would see them grow their influence.


    They reminded Felix of clucking hens who all thought themselves the rooster. Felix brushed back his hood and bowed deeply, trying to ignore the goat''s bleating, which seemed to grow louder in the chamber.


    "DeWinter," hailed the cardinal bishop, Giordano Orsini, his voice haughty with nasally condescension. "You bring us the cursed creature?" Rising from his gilded seat adorned in pearls, rubies, and other shining jewels, he moved hastily towards the two shabby figures, his slippers scraping across the floor.


    "Aye, Your Eminence," Felix replied, his voice respectful but weary. ¡°Though cursed, I am not sure. It talks, they told me. Whispered to them in the dead of night. But all it¡¯s done since it came into my custody is bleat incessantly like any other goat.¡±


    The goat, as if understanding the exchange, let out a particularly loud and indignant bleat, stomping its hooves on the floor.


    Another cardinal came forward. "Do you believe it bewitched?" Moving towards the goat and leaning forward, he peered at the animal with suspicion, his own long face and black goatee a perfect match. ¡°Hideous,¡± he snarled.


    Felix shrugged. "I believe the villagers were indeed afraid. But was their invective and ire mistakenly placed upon an innocent beast through ignorance? I cannot say for certain. But I think it likely.¡±


    The cardinal bishop raised his voice again, ¡°But can it speak?¡±


    ¡°I have no evidence to the contrary.¡±


    The cardinal bishop frowned, his gaze shifting between Felix and the goat. "Yet they beseeched us for aid. They feared this creature enough to send for our help. You, Canis Dei, who has hunted witches and demons across the breadth of Christendom. Do you think these simple folk would lie?¡±


    Felix bristled. "I do not. They believe, aye. But men believe many things when harvests go bad and plague tears through their hearths. A desperate man will believe anything. Sometimes it¡¯s easier to put blame on a thing you can see.¡±


    "Then let us see for ourselves," the cardinal bishop said, his voice hardening. He stepped forward, bending down over the goat in his long red robe, golden jewelry hanging from his neck. "Speak, creature, and reveal your master!¡± He squinted his eyes in cold seriousness. ¡°Be it Satan?¡±


    The goat blinked, its expression unreadable. For a long moment, the chamber was filled with nothing but the empty silence of wearing patience. Then, the goat tilted its head and let out a long, low bleat. The sound rang through the chamber, empty of all meaning, and utterly ordinary.


    The cardinal bishop tried again, his Roman nose just inches away from the goat this time, ¡°I command you, speak!¡± He sent a sideways eye at the animal, and then tried French. ¡°Ou en fran?ais s''il vous pla?t, diable de ch¨¨vre!¡± And then in Latin, ¡°Lingaticum sanctorum combustit?¡±Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    The goat seemed not to know English, French, or Latin. Felix could not blame the creature for not knowing Latin¡ªthe declensions could be challenging to memorize.


    The cardinals exchanged glances, their suspicion giving way to doubt. Felix couldn¡¯t help but allow a wry smile. The cardinal bishop turned to Felix, his expression dripping with frustration. "Is this your idea of a jest, DeWinter?¡±


    Felix held his ground. "No jest, Your Eminence.¡±


    Another cardinal, far in the back, spoke out, ¡°Are we certain this is the right goat?¡±


    The goat, as if in response, bleated again, louder this time, and stomped its hooves with a stubbornness that bordered on comical. One of the younger cardinals snorted, barely able to contain his laughter.


    The cardinal bishop scowled, his patience worn thin. "Enough of this nonsense. If the creature refuses to speak to me before God, then it surely cannot, and then it is not bewitched, and this is no work of the Devil. Come, DeWinter. I have more pressing matters to discuss."


    Felix''s heart sank. He had hoped for some reprieve, some rest after the grueling journey through the Alps so late in the year, but the cardinal bishop¡¯s tone left no room for argument.


    "Very well," Felix said, bowing his head once more. "What would you have me do?"


    The cardinal bishop stepped closer, lowering his voice so only Felix could hear. "We are in need of miracles, DeWinter. The flock is losing faith, and even now schisms arise. It is imperative we find proof of divinity, and that we possess it. So, you are to go to Normandy. There is something there, something of great importance to the Church. We have received word of a¡­ holy relic."


    Felix frowned. "What sort of relic is it, Your Eminence?¡±


    "That is not for you to know," the cardinal bishop replied, his tone allowing for no further questions. "You are to retrieve it and bring it back to Rome. Safely. Do this, and your penance will be well on its way to absolution."


    Felix nodded. "As you wish. But how will I know what to bring if I do not know what this relic is?¡±


    ¡°There is an abbey, a mile off the coast of Northern France. There is an abbot there. He will know. He sent word that the French are in disarray after the death of their bannorette, and they are fearful of a siege.¡±


    ¡°The d¡¯Arc girl is dead?¡±


    ¡°She was burned for heresy.¡±


    ¡°Then they have turned a peasant maid into a martyr.¡±


    ¡°Her trial and execution was not sanctioned by our church. The English pervert our will and undermine our authority. The relic cannot fall into their hands. Go to Normandy.¡±


    ¡°The English control Normandy.¡±


    ¡°Yes, and Paris. And much of the countryside has fallen into civil war. If it were a simple task, I would not be giving it to you.¡±


    ¡°A journey that far will require financing.¡±


    The cardinal bishop recoiled, as if offended by the mere mention of money. ¡°Do this kindness, and your soul just might be saved, Felix DeWinter.¡±


    Retrieving a small coin purse from beneath his robe, the cardinal bishop carefully measured out a few florins then tossed the pouch to Felix who caught it in a raised fist. Felix had a distaste for the casual use of gold coins by the clergy. He would need to trade them for the more common lira to buy supplies, which the French called livre, and the English translate from its Latin meaning to pound¡ªeach lira being worth a pound of Roman silver.


    ¡°And the goat?"


    The cardinal bishop waved a dismissive hand. "It is blasphemous for such a low animal to be within a house of God, and I will not have it fouling these holy halls with its presence. Take it with you.¡±


    ¡°What am I to do with it?¡±


    ¡°Your intentions are your own.¡± The head Cardinal turned, returning to his golden throne. ¡°I suggest a red wine marinade to soften up the meat¡ªgoat can be tough. I hear it¡¯s a delicacy in Portugal.¡±


    Felix shouted out a reply, ¡°I don¡¯t know if I¡¯ve had goat.¡±


    ¡°It tastes like mutton. Now go with God.¡± And with a wave of his jeweled hand, Felix was dismissed.


    He bit back a sigh and dipped his head once more. He took the rope at the goat''s neck in hand and led the stubborn beast out of the chamber, the sound of its bleating following him as he exited the building through its grand church doors and out onto the black cobblestone roads. Night had come, and the sun had all but disappeared over the horizon.


    Inns did not display their names¡ªpilgrims were so often illiterate. Instead, they used imagery above their doors. This one bore the sign of a blue fox. Felix knew it, and unsurprisingly, it was indeed called The Blue Fox. It was a welcome sight after the long journey. Felix tied his horse to a post, and before he could find a place to put the goat, it promptly leapt atop the horse and stood there, staring down at him on top of the saddle.


    "You¡¯ll be mutton stew if you keep this up," Felix muttered darkly, though he knew he wouldn¡¯t follow through with it. The goat was maddening, but it was also strangely endearing. Anything that made the cardinals flustered was worth keeping around¡ªfor now.


    He tossed it one last look, waiting for it to speak. There was no response. Felix shook his head, casting away idle fantasies, then continued inside for much-needed rest.


    The innkeeper was jovial and welcoming, a pudgy man with sleeves pulled up to his armpits revealing thick black hair covering his shoulders all the way down to the the backs of his hands. Felix bought a room for the night, a private one, which cost extra, and some feed for the horse. After exchanging coin with the innkeeper, Felix snapped his fingers, and requested two carrots as well. He decided the goat deserved a treat, as well.


    Returning outside, Felix gave one carrot to his horse, a large but lean destrier he had named Castigar, and offered the other to the goat. The goat did not immediately take the offering, choosing instead to stare at Felix, its eyes like polished jasper.


    ¡°I promise it¡¯s not poisoned.¡± Felix placed his hand on the head of the goat and patted it firmly. ¡°What should I call you?¡± A wry smile carved its way across Felix¡¯s face, ¡°How about Mutton?¡±


    The goat seemed to take offense.


    Standing defiantly atop his horse, the goat reminded Felix of Julius Caesar on his chariot, parading through these same city streets after a triumph centuries before¡ªshowered in cheers and flower petals in his victory procession. Felix thought for a moment, and then offered the carrot again. "Render unto Caesar what is Caesar''s." And the goat accepted.


    ¡°Caesar, then.¡±


    The inn¡¯s upstairs room was small but clean and illuminated by a single candle melted down almost completely to a brass dish. The bed was dirty linen stuffed with hay, but was soft enough and a welcome relief. Felix removed his knee-high boots fixed with spurs one at a time and then stripped to his long shirt. The corner of the headboard held his belt, which contained a Hussite-made pistol he kept loaded with a single lead ball, and a smallsword with a silver hilt that was an arm¡¯s length. He ran his hands through his hair, straightening it with his fingers, and then laid down for the night.


    Not long after he had drifted off, a voice, low and insistent, whispered in his ear.


    "Wake up."


    Felix¡¯s eyes snapped open¡ªevery sense on high alert. He reached for the pistol, still hanging from the headboard, and readied it as the door creaked open. Three shadows slipped into the room, long knives glinting in the dim light. Assassins.


    With a fluid motion trained through a career of violence, Felix rolled from the bed and fired. A furious conflagration of sparks and milk-white smoke erupted from the firing mechanism, blinding him momentarily. The first man dropped, the lead ball penetrating deep into his neck. Blood poured in an arc from the wound. It was fatal. The second lunged, but Felix was faster, twisting back and drawing his sword from its sheath on the headboard and driving it through the man''s chest.


    The third hesitated, but only for a moment. Felix¡¯s blade found him before he could take another step, the steel cutting through flesh and bone with grim precision. That''s why Felix preferred the smallsword over the Spanish rapier. Rapiers were overly long, flashy¡ªbad in close quarters. The wider, shorter blade of the smallsword made the steel more durable, and every cut was twice as wide, slicing through double the internal organs. Although that did tend to result in twice the blood¡ªtwice the viscera.


    Silence fell over the room, save only Felix''s heavy breathing. He wiped the blood from his sword on a dead man and peered into the darkness around him, surveying the scene and listening for any others. He was safe, for now. Who had sent them? They looked to be peasantry¡ªshort, stocky people with skin tanned and shriveled by the sun. They were not professional killers. Not like him.


    He turned toward the open window, his instincts telling him there was more to this than a simple attempt on his life. But before he could investigate further, a familiar sound reached his ears¡ªa low, mocking bleat from the street below.


    Felix froze. That voice¡­ Caesar could talk.

 City of Ghosts

    Felix hastily buckled the last strap of his armor, a set of dark, road-worn leather dotted in silver rivets fixed to steel plates beneath. The pistol, discharged and now useless, was slipped into a satchel at his hip and covered with a leather flap that was pulled tight to conceal it.


    Sword in hand, Felix approached the doorway, letting its keen edge lead the way. His every step was deliberate, his boots sinking into the worn floorboards without a creak.


    He made his way down and paused at the base of the narrow stairwell, his back against the stucco wall, listening for footsteps before turning the corner into the parlor. He didn¡¯t have to look far to find the innkeeper. The portly man was sprawled behind the bar in a pool of his own blood, his rosy complexion now deathly white. His neck had been neatly opened by an expert blade. Upended wine bottles on the counter were still spilling their contents onto the floor. The purple wine met with the crimson blood of the innkeeper, mixing into a macabre magenta that gave off the acrid scent of copper and fruit perfume.


    Felix felt a pang of sympathy¡ªtruly, the man had been a decent host. But Rome had a way of devouring its own.


    Outside, the streets were quiet, the maelstrom of sword and shot from just minutes before was replaced by an unsettling calm. Felix surveyed the dim alleyway. He was alone. Save his horse and the damned goat, which balanced atop the saddle looking back at him. Felix narrowed his eyes as he approached the beast.


    ¡°Can you talk, goat?¡± he asked with cynical curiosity. ¡°Did you warn me of danger?¡±


    The goat said nothing and returned only an inscrutable, obstinate stare. Felix lowered his eyebrows. ¡°Silent now are we? So be it. I saved you, and you saved me. Call us even.¡±


    The goat let out a guttural bleat, raising and kicking its front leg towards Felix.


    ¡°Enough of that,¡± said Felix, reaching out and shoving the beast off the saddle. Caesar tumbled from its equine perch and landed gracefully, unbothered, on all fours.


    Leaping to the saddle, Felix spurred his horse to a gallop and made his way through the narrow streets of the city. The moon chased him as he rode.


    Rome at night was a city of ghosts¡ªa thousand cities layered on one another, ruins stacked upon ruins, bones beneath stones. The haunting sounds of distant revelries flooded the streets from hidden grottos, where vintners hawked their wine. They preferred the cave-like alcoves to keep the wine cool.


    Decorated with chipped and crumbling tile mosaics, these basements once served as secret holy places where blasphemous gods were venerated. Now people return to them to hide from God and sin with impunity¡ªhopeful that Jupiter or Apollo might condone their illicit activities and hide them from judgment.


    A few inebriated men paraded about in the dark city streets, sometimes stumbling, sometimes propping themselves up against adoring women in scandalous silk gowns. The wine would loosen their minds, and the women would loosen their wallets. Felix, especially in his youth, was familiar with the brief, and all too often transactional encounters.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    At that moment, riding beneath the night sky, he gulped down a rising sense of guilt. Felix was not without sin. His justice, although as righteous as it was final, was never pure.


    Felix was not born as others, but rather, discovered. He was found on Christmas, left on a bloody butcher¡¯s block, and no more than an hour old. A fresh snow had settled on the screaming child. A kindly peasant couple, unable to have children of their own, found him. They named him Felix. It meant luck. A winter gift from God for a family that had no children of their own. But they were gone now, and it was his fault. They were wrong to name him that¡ªluck was not a friend. He was not a blessing. He was no gift.


    Felix took notice of the Colosseum below him. Centuries of earth had lifted city streets high above the old architecture. Crippled by earthquakes and the grabbing hands of masons starved for stone to erect their own works, it still stood as a marvel¡ªeven in its sorry state.


    Once a den for thieves, The Pope founded a fraternity of monks to rebuild it. They took refuge there, living within its crumbling walls. Every day they returned a block and pulled up roots that undermined its foundation, and every day another stone fell and the burgeoning plants returned. Just as Sysiphus knew, heavy stones preferred the cradle of the ground.


    Felix slowed his horse as he approached the Flaminian Gate at the north of the city. The gate was half buried but still served its purpose, allowing entry through the Aurelian Walls that protected Rome. There was a time that Rome was in need of no walls and sought its protection through its legions. But, as time passes, we all must put up walls to protect ourselves. The higher the walls, the greater the threats. These walls were very high, and shot up towards the sky at an oblique angle. They were topped with towers and parapets not made from the cobbled granite of northern castles, but the reddish kiln-fired brick of the old Italians.


    The gate was manned by two armored sentries equipped with long halberds. Their steel-clad forms flickered in the light of fires that burned within iron braziers that lined the path.


    When Felix rode near them their eyes did not greet him. Instead, their focus was drawn to something behind him.


    Felix whirled his horse around by the reins and gripped his sword, readying himself for another attempt on his life. His previous attackers must have known that three men would not be enough. How they tracked him down so quickly, he did not waste time to contemplate. He was ready.


    Appearing through the dark, slowly trundling into the brazier firelight, was Caesar the goat.


    Felix''s breath left him in a gust of disbelief. He let his sword arm drop, shoulders sagging in defeat. ¡°Away with you,¡± he growled.


    The goat was silent.


    ¡°You¡¯ll slow me down, and I will take you only toward danger.¡±


    The goat offered no response, merely waiting. Felix contemplated the absurdity of it.


    Caesar stood still and solemn at the edge of the firelight. Its spiraling horns and long goatee the very image of some dreamed demon. But Felix knew better than to believe such superstitions. Demons were real, and they lay in men, not this poor creature.


    Grinding his teeth, Felix finally conceded. ¡°Fine. Come on, then.¡±


    Caesar kicked up its legs and sprinted beside him.


    Then, as a most curious pair, they exited through the city gate together.


    The guards looked at one another, baffled as to what they had just witnessed, then returned swiftly to attention.

 Bared Benediction

    It was a brisk trek towards the city of Foligno. Once Felix was certain he was clear of danger, he slept beside an oak tree¡ªits leaves an autumn yellow. Caesar made itself comfortable. It circled a few times, following its tail, then curled up and slept beside him.


    Felix awoke to the taste of blue morning.


    The old Roman roads flowed between every city in Italy, and the breaking sun made the Via Cassia shine like water. The landscape beside it existed nowhere else in the world, and sang with the poetry of a tapestry¡ªrolling hills of the central Apennine Mountains and their snow-capped peaks in the distance, and a spattering of pastoral farms surrounded by sunlit fields of golden wheat.


    The October harvest was among the common folk. They were in their fields, adorned in simple tunics and breeches, reaping with their plowshares for the last time this year. The women worked alongside the men and wore linen wimples on their heads. An early chill could soil the harvest, so they hurried to complete it together. The wheat, once milled into flour, would last them through the winter. A majority would go to their lords, what was needed for the hungry mouths of their families would be kept, and the rest would be sold.


    Some of the men stopped to watch Felix pass by, rubbing sweat from their brows and relishing the reprieve from their work. Indulging in a bit of curiosity, they inspected the lone horseman and considered if he was a threat. As they were armed with scythe and sickle and he was alone, they were confident that he posed no danger to them, and they returned to their work.


    Felix wondered of the men as well. In his belief, men are of two kinds.


    Those that build¡ªthe creative mind. They seek to make order of things. They plot and plan and create. But they also flounder and starve without education. For the tools of the mind must be sharpened to erect wonders, or they fall into melancholy if they cannot find the will or way to see their creations to completion.


    The other is the hunter¡ªthe focused mind. They identify only friend and foe and ignore all else. Their desire is to dominate those who do not fall within their tribe. They must always look outward, stay dutiful and active, for when they are at rest they suffer from paranoia and the prey they seek to make submissive becomes within their own household.


    These traits must be identified young. Too often a sword is thrust upon a young man when a paintbrush or plow is more suitable. But do not be confused, both types of men are capable of exquisite war.


    Women are of one kind. They look inward, always. They like to gather, to collect. Be it objects they deem significant in some way, or information and insight they gain through hushed gossip. This also makes them experts of war. For centuries it has been women who had the ears and hearts of rulers and generals. And while the poets and historians do not give them great significance, more cities have been razed and cultures extinguished by the wills of spiteful women than all the fury and might of men. In this way, Felix believed, all women are dangerous.


    As he continued up the road beside the busy farmers, he imagined himself among them, completing a season¡¯s harvest and spilling spiced ale in a warm home surrounded by laughing children. He shook the image from his mind. No, his destiny lay elsewhere.


    His journey was punctuated by the occasional bleat from Caesar, who trotted just behind him. The sight of the goat clinging to his horse¡¯s flank amused Felix despite himself. He could not admit that the goat¡¯s companionship was at least a bit agreeable to him¡ªFelix so often traveled alone.


    Ahead, where the road turned around a hill was the familiar forms of peasants marching in a procession. What was of particular interest to Felix was that these people were in the nude. At the lead were four naked men who held a long wooden box on their shoulders. A coffin.


    Felix slowed as he came upon them in the road. The oldest man beneath the casket was crying, straining to hold it. If it was the weight of the body or the weight of his heart, it was too heavy for him, and he collapsed. The now uneven coffin teetered on their shoulders and was liable to drop.


    Felix slid from his saddle, his spurs ringing as his boots hit the dusty road, and ran over to take the old man¡¯s place. Caesar trotted behind him. Heaving from bent knees he lifted up the vacant front corner and walked in silence with them. The old man got up and walked beside him, still weeping.


    ¡°My son,¡± said the old man.


    Felix looked to him and gave a dour, sympathetic expression.


    ¡°He had not confessed.¡± The old man turned away. ¡°I did not have the money to pay for his sins to be forgiven. He will burn in purgatory. It is my fault.¡±


    Felix, with his neck bent to accommodate the casket, did his best to meet the man¡¯s eyes. ¡°The flames of purgatory do not burn. They are a cleansing fire and reveal the path to heaven. Your son will be there. And he will greet you when it is your time.¡±


    The old man wiped away a tear. ¡°You are kind.¡±


    Felix did not correct him.


    There were a dozen people in all, and Felix was in the lead¡ªcarrying the corpse of a stranger.


    ¡°Where are we going, father?¡±


    A smile grew on the old man¡¯s lips. ¡°A holy place.¡±


    The old man was right. They turned and proceeded up a hill, a nude procession led by Felix, and followed by a goat. At the top of the hill was a stone chair carved from a solid block. And above it was a large, overgrown olive tree. In its twisted branches were human bones. A skull looked out from its center, held in place by gnarled branches, staring at Felix with its hollow eyes.


    ¡°What manner of sacred site is this?¡±


    ¡°It is called the Cenobictum. Some believe it is one of the apostles. No one is sure of which. I believe it John who fled Rome after he was cast into a vat of boiling oil. Exhausted, he shed a tear at the top of this hill, and from it this olive tree grew and swaddled him¡ªcomforting his bones. My son should be beside him. They can watch over one another.¡±


    A hole was already dug and a simple wooden crucifix erected at its head.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°Do you have a priest?¡± asked Felix.


    ¡°No. We could not afford one. And we do not know the words. We hoped this consecrated soil would suffice.¡±


    ¡°I know the words,¡± said Felix.


    The old man smiled, showing his few remaining teeth. ¡°Would you, please?¡±


    Felix nodded, and then knelt down as they reached the hole in the hill. The coffin was intricately carved and painted, and it would be reused. So they slowly opened the casket and gently slid the dead man¡¯s body, wrapped in thin white sheets and tied with string, to its final resting place.


    The old man stood beside it, looking down, and holding back his tears. His hair was white and his skin was tan. Not from the sun, which would make sense in his current condition of undress, but the almond complexion of all Mediterraneans. A woman came to his side. She was younger, and in a similar state. Then he began to speak to the gathered people. A thread of something familiar flowed through them. Felix knew at that moment that they were family. The woman was the dead man¡¯s wife.


    ¡°What can I say for Fabiano? I do not know how best to eulogize my son. He was a father. He was a husband. He was a good man who lived every day for those he loved¡­ until he didn¡¯t.


    The old man paused to look among the nude people. They shared the same sad eyes.


    ¡°Some grow up healthy and strong. Others are ill-made, and these are special gifts from God that bestow us with immaculate uniqueness. Fabiano¡¯s heart may have been weak, but it beat so fiercely for his family. May he be with God for all time.¡±


    The old man nodded to Felix.


    Felix held his hands down, and began a benediction in Latin.


    Deus, cujus miseratione animae.


    Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis.


    Requiescat in pace.


    Amen.


    The old man dropped a handful of dirt onto the body, and then the three men that helped carry the casket began filling the hole with dirt using their hands.


    The woman approached Felix and kissed him on the cheek.


    Then, the old man held a hand to his chest. ¡°Thank you, friend. I am Galleotto. How can we repay you?¡±


    Felix considered it for a moment. How could these people, who could not even afford clothes, offer him anything?


    Felix gave a warm smile and shook his head.


    The old man¡¯s thick white eyebrows shot up in realization. ¡°Oh, no, traveler. We are not bare before God for want. We are Benandanti. This is our custom.¡±


    Felix knew of the nudist cult, but had yet to encounter them. They were spirit travelers. On sabbath nights they believed they left their bodies while asleep and flew into the sky to wage holy wars against evil. This would ensure a good harvest.


    The man lowered his head and seemed concerned, looking sideyed to the men still pushing dirt into the fresh grave, then back to Felix.


    ¡°We are Christian,¡± said the man, hurriedly. ¡°I promise.¡±


    Felix did his best to put the man at ease. Felix was armed and armored, and these people undoubtedly had a history of persecution by the Roman inquisition. ¡°If Christ be your shepherd, your customs are your own.¡±


    Then, the familiar sound of hoofbeats. Felix looked down the hill to see his horse waiting by the road. Felix squinted his eyes. A small contingent of men on horseback were rounding the hill. He knew them. Inquisition.


    ¡°Tend to your family, father,¡± said Felix.


    Gripping the handle of his smallsword, Felix moved between the riders and the people of the naked funeral. Caesar mirrored him, and stood by his side.


    At the head of the armored cavaliere, six in total, was Lorenzo Abate, a powerful knight and servant of the Church. He knew some of the others as well, Finoldo, a squire recently knighted, and Grimmand, a scarred veteran and brute of a man.


    ¡°DeWinter!¡± called Lorenzo as the horses slowed to a stop. ¡°You precede us.¡±


    Lorenzo wore a tabard emblazoned with the symbol of the Pope, giving him supreme authority here. Beneath it he wore a chain gambeson, including a chain hood that circled his hauty, self-important face.


    ¡°What is your business here?¡±


    The horsemen were not still, and trotted in place. Grimmand and another man moved their horses and flanked Felix. It was an intentional gesture. They wanted him to know that he was outnumbered¡ªoutmatched.


    ¡°We are rooting out heresy, of course. The Holy See has granted us permission to cleanse these lands of any heretical practices.¡± He held a mailed hand out toward the naked people. ¡°For instance, this abomination. The Benandanti.¡±


    ¡°They are Christian. They swear it.¡±


    ¡°It is no matter to say you¡¯re Christian when you partake in blatant blasphemy. This immodesty must be punished.¡±


    Felix sized up the men trotting back and forth at his sides, and then looked back to Lorenzo. ¡°Were not Adam and Eve in the nude? These people venerate God in their own way.¡±


    ¡°Careful, DeWinter. You may have jurisdiction in Rome, but we decide the Church¡¯s will in these places. You will not impede us from exacting our judgment.¡± Lorenzo paused for a moment, looking to his men at either side of Felix, confident he had the upper hand. ¡°Go back to whatever senseless quest those squawking cardinals have you on. How you became their favorite, I will never understand. Canis Dei,¡± he laughed, ¡°lap dog of God.¡±


    ¡°I will not let you harm these people,¡± said Felix. His thumb flicked the hilt of his sword forward from its scabbard, revealing just an inch of the blade.


    The naked people huddled together around the fresh grave. Bare and vulnerable in more ways than one. They were helpless.


    Lorenzo kicked his heels to direct his horse forward and came up to Felix. He slowly rounded him, circling him along with the other two. Felix would lose this fight. He was certain.


    Grimmand was the biggest concern. He was the strongest, the most seasoned veteran. Felix would have to unhorse him quickly, or he would be overwhelmed. The squire turned knight was due to a political appointment more than recognition of battlefield bravery¡ªhe could be ignored until last. Lorenzo, though, he was a coiled snake, and he would be the first to strike. Felix readied himself.


    ¡°You have no command of me,¡± said Lorenzo. Then he began to laugh. His men joined him. ¡°It would be so easy to put down this dog right here. Then cast all of you into that hole. Wouldn¡¯t you like that, though? To end your penitence. To be absolved by God. No, I think you¡¯d do best to live with it. The things you¡¯ve done, the secrets you keep. I condemn you to live in your suffering.¡± He leaned down from his saddle. ¡°At least a little while longer.¡±


    In a single breath, the horses stopped. ¡°As you wish, DeWinter,¡± said Lorenzo loudly. ¡°But if you come between me and our Lord¡¯s judgment again, I will kill you. I swear to that.¡±


    Lorenzo kicked his heels into his horse again and led the men thundering back down the hill. Felix said nothing as he watched them. He dared not breathe out until they were gone. He did not want to give them the satisfaction of his relief.


    The old man rushed to his side. ¡°I thank you.¡± His face, old and wrinkled, turned to great valleys at the corners of his eyes as he smiled.


    ¡°It is no matter,¡± said Felix. ¡°I suggest you hurry home. May the evils you fight in your dreams be only in your dreams.¡±


    ¡°And where are you going, traveler?¡±


    ¡°To do battle with my own evils,¡± said Felix.


    ¡°Then in our dreams we will aid you.¡±


    Felix smirked. ¡°I will look to the skies for you.¡±


    Felix took one last look at the nude people, the grave, the shrine, the throne, the olive tree, and the mocking skull hung from its branches. Would he count this dead man among those he had put in the dirt? He did not linger on the thought.


    Then he headed down the hill, the goat close behind¡ªunaware that evil would find him first.

 The Lombard

    After many miles the hills began to separate in front of them and Felix descended into a lush expanse of emerald-green fields.


    Tugging gently on the reins, Felix guided his horse down a tight irrigation ditch. He leaned forward in the saddle, brushing a hand over the foliage. The resinous sap clung to his fingertips, sticky and pungent. The tall, thin plants swayed with the faint breeze, their slender stalks crowned by seven-pointed leaves glistening with dew. Some bore delicate yellow flowers that had a musky, aromatic quality that was at times overpowering.


    Upon reaching the end of the field, a modest farmhouse and several outbuildings appeared. They had white walls and were topped with bright red clay shingles that blazed in the midday sun. Having traveled from Egypt to Edinburgh, Felix knew no more charming a place than the Italian countryside. What a waste, he thought, that it knew nothing but war in its long history. But even a diamond must first be dug from the dirt.


    A man appeared from the farmhouse. He was tall, ducking his head to manage his way through the doorway, with long blond hair and a fair beard. He was wrapped in a tawny shirt that hung loosely from his heavy, muscled form. He was a head or two larger than Felix, who was already uncommonly tall himself. His eyes fell on Felix, widening in recognition.


    ¡°DeWintwer!¡± he called.


    Felix grinned and spurred his horse forward, bringing it to a halt just before the man. Swinging down from the saddle, he hit the ground in a cloud of dust and embraced the giant, his arms barely reaching around him.


    ¡°Tabor! It is good to see you, friend.¡± Felix relinquished the hug and looked up at Tabor, who was smiling with a toothy grin. ¡°It¡¯s been too long.¡±


    ¡°Honestly,¡± began Tabor, his voice deep and booming, ¡°I was certain that you had been killed.¡±


    Felix smirked, brushing dust from his travel-worn coat. ¡°Many have tried. I remain disappointingly alive.¡±


    ¡°And I see that you¡¯ve brought a guest.¡± Tabor looked down to Caesar, the goat¡¯s mouth filled with green leaves from the field, chewing them side to side.


    ¡°Aye,¡± Felix replied. ¡°This is Caesar. He insisted on coming along. I¡¯m beginning to think it¡¯s more stubborn than I am.¡±


    Tabor let out a roar of laughter. ¡°Then it makes perfect company for the likes of you. Come, tell me¡ªwhat brings you to Umbria?¡±


    ¡°I could ask you the same. Why aren¡¯t you fighting in Lombardy? You¡¯re a Lombard, are you not?¡±


    Tabor let out a deep chuckle. ¡°I am Norman, firstly, and Lombard second, and I have lost my taste for warfare. And besides, whose side would I take? I care little for the Visconti in Milan or the Venetians. The Visconti believe they¡¯re exacting the will of a giant serpent. They speak of it in private. They feed it children in a demonic ritual, I¡¯ve heard.¡±


    ¡°A devilish child-devouring serpent, you say? Truly alarming, if true. And what of Venice?¡±


    ¡°Venetians are no better. Slavers. Those men and women they sell in their wet markets look more like me than these olive-skinned Latins, especially the sharp-eyed Sardinians.¡± Tabor looked Felix up and down. ¡°Say, what manner are you, DeWinter?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know for certain. My lineage is a wave that has crashed across the mutable borders of this plagued continent. English, French, Dutch¡ªit hardly matters. I am assuredly a product of conquering barbarians and the women they ravaged.¡±


    Tabor grimaced. ¡°Is that what you think of barbarians? Do you think low of the Normans and the Lombards? It was not long ago my people conquered much of Italy. Twice. And stole your Pope.¡±


    ¡°Aye. I wish you had kept him.¡±


    ¡°You speak blasphemy, but it¡¯s why I like you, DeWinter. Quite the contradiction. A holy warrior so full of contempt for that which is holy.¡±


    Flex tossed up his arms. ¡°God is good, it is men who are failable.¡±


    ¡°Spoken like a true sinner,¡± Tabor chuckled. ¡°It¡¯s the Venetians that have failed. They¡¯ve lost their fleet. Can you believe it?¡± Tabor let out another boisterous laugh. ¡°A city built on water, losing their ships! They say a hundred galleys, either captured or sunk to the bottom of the Po.¡±


    ¡°They should not have engaged in the river. War galleys need open water to maneuver,¡± replied Felix. He knew the Poe River well, he had crossed it a hundred times. It split northern Italy in half through the middle and was a direct route from Venice to Milan on the other side of the peninsula¡ªa waterway for war.


    ¡°Aye, that¡¯s true,¡± said Tabor, nodding, a thick finger rubbing his chin. ¡°But they keep expanding. They call it their terraferma. And while we fight amongst ourselves, sapping our strength, the Turkish Caliphates continue to consolidate. Soon, there will be nothing to stop them.¡± Tabor¡¯s look hardened, his mind roaming somewhere distant. And then, coming back to his senses, his eyes sparkled and he snapped his meaty fingers. ¡°What we need is wine.¡±


    Felix had no time to protest before he was stolen away into the farmhouse. It was odd for Felix to see Tabor this way¡ªbright and beaming. They had campaigned together across three continents, faced innumerable odds, and always managed to come out with their heads still attached. To Felix, Tabor was a man who looked underdressed when not covered in the splatter of blood. Armed with his axe, he was a frenzied berserker, an ulfwerener, a blood-drunk madman who delivered withering fear into whole regiments of men. Those who dared step forward were split in half by his axe, nape to neck. But the quiet life of a farmer seemed to suit him, and he had earned his peace.


    The interior of the farmhouse was a far cry from the lavishness of Rome¡¯s palaces, but it was comfortable and filled with the familiar scent of leather and forge. Tabor gestured toward a table laden with blank pages.


    ¡°Come, sit. I¡¯ve taken up bookmaking, and I¡¯m growing hemp for paper,¡± Tabor said, his pride evident. ¡°The Church even pays me for thirty percent of the yield. Quite profitable, I must say.¡±


    Felix raised an eyebrow. ¡°Paper for their manuscripts?¡±


    ¡°Not quite,¡± Tabor replied with a sly grin. ¡°Just the plant oil. Curious, isn¡¯t it? The Church has its reasons, though I¡¯ve never quite understood them myself. I care only of my books.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know you could read.¡±


    Tabor laughed, and as he did, Felix took interest in a set of white brigandine armor in the corner. Tabor took notice.


    ¡°Do you like it?¡±


    ¡°What is it made of?¡±


    ¡°These wonderful plants can make more than paper.¡±


    ¡°Surely you wouldn¡¯t wear paper armor.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s strong! Hemp cordage is among the toughest there is. I have woven it with steel beneath. It¡¯s soft as silk, drapes like linen, and is as snug as fleece. It is the armor of Alexander the Great during his conquest of Persia.¡±


    ¡°I think you¡¯ve been around your herb too long, my friend.¡±


    ¡°Ha! You¡¯ll see,¡± boomed Tabor, retrieving a bottle of wine and two wooden mugs from a shelf behind him.


    As Tabor poured the wine, Felix adjusted in his seat. ¡°I came here for information.¡±


    ¡°Sure, speak,¡± said Tabor.


    ¡°You said you would take a pilgrimage to Normandy after we last saw one another. Where did you go?¡±


    ¡°An Abbey,¡± said Tabor. ¡°A mile north of the shore.¡±


    ¡°Tell me of it.¡±


    ¡°The French call it Mont Saint Michel. It was a solitary rock that pierced through the sea, home to not much more than bird shit. Then, a cleric saw a vision of St. Michael standing atop it, beseeching him to venerate God on that spot, and he erected a church on the rock. Now there is an abbey and a town has grown around it.¡±Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°And what of its defenses?¡±


    ¡°High, sturdy ramparts and a portcullis. The English covet it greatly, as it lies between their realms and exists as a staging point for their armies. But they have not been able to capture it. And not because of the strength of its walls. The tide obscures it, swallowing the path to its gates. An invading force has only hours, and if they fail, they will be caught in the tide and washed out to the ocean. The clerics refer to it in Latin as Mons Sancti Michaeli in periculo mari.¡±


    ¡°The mountain of Saint Michael in peril of the sea¡­¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± said Tabor.


    ¡°Does it hold relics?¡±


    Tabor shrugged. ¡°Dozens, I¡¯m sure. Every pebble kept in a wooden box was stepped on by Jesus, every piece of rotting flotsam was torn from the real cross. They say these things to attract pilgrims and extract coin. I saw nothing that confirmed my faith.¡±


    Felix nodded and thought for a moment, then let his hand slide to the leather holster at his waist. ¡°I also have something to show you.¡±


    Felix retrieved the pistol from its satchel and gently dropped it on the table. ¡°A trophy of sorts.¡±


    Tabor locked eyes on the weapon from above his wine cup. After a hearty gulp he said, ¡°I¡¯ve never seen its make.¡±


    Tabor gingerly lifted the device with his free hand, and inspected the round mechanism fixed to the handle.


    ¡°I liberated it from an armory in Bohemia. They had collected the very best clockmakers in Germania to create it.¡±


    Tabor furrowed his brow. ¡°Then there are more of these?¡±


    ¡°This was a first attempt, I believe. A gift for one-eyed general Jan Zizka before he went fully blind. If my mission was successful, there will not be. The Church is set on stopping the advancement of these firearms.¡±


    ¡°I was there at the Battle of Deutschbrod. Gunwagons tearing through heavily armored Teutonic knights like we were wearing butter. It was a massacre. My men and I barely survived by escaping over a half-frozen river. My mercenary company vowed to never fight again. It is God¡¯s justice that Jan Zizka died of old age, undefeated.¡± Tabor shivered and inspected the pistol again. ¡°And what of these clockmakers? Can they make more?¡±


    ¡°Their tongues were cut out. They will not share its making.¡±


    Tabor flexed and eyebrow. ¡°You did this?¡±


    ¡°No, they were cut out before. A sorcerer engineer called Ruprecht Von Trest is the true maker. He had kidnapped the clockmakers and cut out their tongues to keep his secrets. I was able to free them, and in exchange, they will not make his weapons again. I regret I was not able to find him.¡±


    Tabors eyes widened. ¡°The man you speak of, this sorcerer engineer, he is here. In Foligno.¡±


    Felix reached for the gun and stuffed it back into the satchel on his waist. ¡°Here?¡±


    ¡°The Castilian of Foligno is arming himself and his forces with these new weapons.¡±


    Felix shook his head. ¡°Why arm himself with foreign weapons? Umbria is within the Papacy¡¯s protection.¡±


    ¡°Foligno plans to leave the Papal States and ally with the Venetians. They are in open rebellion. That would, of course, put a Venetian dagger at Rome¡¯s throat.¡±


    ¡°This is a cursed age.¡±


    ¡°The world has changed,¡± said Tabor gruffly. ¡°The Germans are losing to gunwagons in the east, and the French are losing to canons in the west. An armored lancer no longer rules the battlefield. Whatever age we exist in, we are at its end.¡±


    ¡°The English still prefer the bow.¡±


    ¡°An English bowman takes a lifetime to train.¡± Tabor pointed a thick finger at the weapon now covered on Felix¡¯s belt. ¡°That takes but a day.¡±


    Before Felix could reply, a distant commotion reached them¡ªhoofbeats and shouts. Felix¡¯s hand instinctively moved to his smallsword, but Tabor grabbed his arm


    Felix and Tabor exited into the evening air, and were met with twenty men in the colors of Foligno surrounding the farmstead, their horses stamping and snorting in the fading sunlight. The man in front had gaunt, hollowed cheeks adorned with a jet black curling mustache.


    ¡°I am Baldassarr Cellini, Marshal of Foligno. And you,¡± he pointed, ¡°must be Felix DeWinter. We were told you were traveling with a goat.¡± His eyes shot to Caesar, standing outside.


    Lorenzo, Felix thought, the backstabber. In his quest for favor he had sold out Felix to their shared enemy. Felix undid his belt and handed it to Tabor, and held out his hands showing that he was unarmed. Tabor accepted the belt, fixed with Felix¡¯s sword and pistol, and moved it behind his back.


    ¡°Do we have business?¡± asked Felix.


    ¡°We are wary of Vatican spies, and we must bring you back to the fortress of Foligno for questioning.¡±


    ¡°Very well,¡± said Felix. He leaned in to Tabor. ¡°Watch over Caesar,¡± he said softly. ¡°And do not eat him.¡±


    Tabor did not laugh this time. He seemed to have much distrust for these men, and his face was a mask of concern.


    Felix admired Tabor. A man of integrity and some education. He would have been astounding as a philosopher. One for the ages. But he was born into a body built for war, and that¡¯s what he was sent to do. If Felix did not return, he hoped Tabor had success with his books. And that Caesar had a home.


    Felix was forced to walk, leaving his horse with Tabor. It was a humiliation, but Felix held his head high. They would not break him so easily.


    Foligno was a beautiful city, admittedly. It had the old trappings, like most Italian cities, of towering aqueducts suspended on arched pillars that supplied fresh water to its people. The common folk walked down its streets under a fading sun going about their business, unaware of the war that was coming for them.


    They arrived at the seat of power, a modern fortress at the center of the city, the Palazzo Trinci. It was a marriage of the old Roman style and modern gothic architecture. Built with a labyrinth of arcaded passages and high walls with small slits for windows, it preserved much of the old structure it was erected on top of.


    The men dismounted and ushered Felix into a great hall. Golden light spilled from candelabras, reflecting off frescoed ceilings that depicted constellations as though the Trinci family believed themselves anointed by the stars. Rhea Sivlia, the mother of Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome, was pictured falling in love with Mars. A veneration of their lost history, and subsequent fall from greatness, was something all Italians shared.


    At a golden throne sat a pampered man wearing a great red robe flanked by magistrates and clergy and two pools of fresh holy water that flowed from above. His hair was perfectly quaffed and soaked in oils to give it the shine of royalty. This was certainly the Castillan of Foligno¡ªCorrado.


    Baldassarr, the marshal who had escorted Felix, stepped forward and bent low to Corrado¡¯s ear. His whispered words drew a dark scowl from the Castilian.


    ¡°A spy?¡± Corrado¡¯s voice rose, heavy with indignation. His sharp gaze turned to Felix. ¡°The Church dares to send its hound into my den.¡±


    He rose from his seat, his robe pooling on the floor like spilled blood. ¡°I am Corrado the Third Trinci, Castilian of Foligno, lord of Palazzo Trinci. We are not in alignment, DeWinter. Speak¡ªwhy are you here?¡±


    Felix kept his tone even. ¡°I was visiting a friend. I had no intention to linger.¡±


    ¡°And your mission?¡±


    ¡°I am tasked by the Holy See to travel to Normandy.¡±


    ¡°Normandy is a long way, witch hunter. What is it the cardinals call you? The Canis Dei?¡±


    ¡°They do.¡±


    ¡°And what brings you sniffing around here, hound?¡±


    ¡°I am merely passing through.¡±


    Corrado¡¯s sneer deepened. ¡°I have declared my independence from Rome. And yet, here you are¡ªtheir pet assassin. Do you mean to kill me?¡±


    ¡°That depends,¡± Felix replied, his voice flat. ¡°Have you sinned?¡±


    Gasps rippled through the court. Corrado¡¯s face darkened, his fist tightening around the jeweled hilt of a ceremonial dagger at his waist. ¡°You dare?¡± Corrado sneered.


    Felix stepped forward, his boots echoing in the silent hall. ¡°I know of you, Corrado. You and your brothers went hunting, and only you returned. How fortunate that your elder siblings met such tragic ends, leaving you sole heir to this city.¡±


    Corrado¡¯s composure cracked as he stormed toward Felix. ¡°We were betrayed by Pietro di Rasiglia, the castellan of Nocera Umbra to the north. He murdered them, and I took my revenge. I marched my army into his city and I took it. He threw his children and then his wife from his tower rather than submit, before leaping himself. I am without sin. I am no murderer.¡±


    ¡°Then I have no purpose here. I will leave.¡±


    ¡°No, dog. You will certainly not be leaving,¡± Corrado¡¯s voice thundered. He raised a hand and the men surrounding Felix grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to his knees. ¡°Fetch the torturer! We will pry your secrets from you.¡±


    The marshal cleared his throat delicately. ¡°The torturer is out today, his wife had a baby this morning.¡±


    Corrado blinked, momentarily disarmed. ¡°Oh. Well... send him a wine from me. What pairs best with a birth? Perhaps a pinot?¡±


    Felix, even on his knees, smirked faintly. ¡°A Sardinian cannonau would be more fitting.¡±


    Corrado cocked his head, the faintest trace of amusement breaking through his irritation. ¡°A fine suggestion, DeWinter. Now someone fetch the backup torturer!¡±


    Baldassarr hesitated. ¡°It is his birthday, my lord. He has taken the day off.¡±


    The Castilian¡¯s face went purple with anger and he stomped his foot. ¡°Will no one torture this man?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do it,¡± came a voice.


    A man in a dark cloak and courtly jerkin emerged from behind the throne, his voice tinged with a thick Bohemian accent. ¡°They call you the Hound of God in Italy,¡± the man said, his lips curling into a razor-thin sneer. ¡°But in the Kingdoms of Germany, you are known as the Hexenjager.¡±


    The man pulled back his hood. He had a slim face but round belly, with a flattened nose and greasy black hair slicked back on his head like leaking tar. ¡°I am Ruprecht of Trest, and I believe you stole something of mine.¡±


    Corrado¡¯s laugh rang out. ¡°Ah! The engineer works more than steel, it seems,¡± said Corrado. ¡°With his canons we will see our great city finally free of Rome.¡±


    ¡°It is a great honor to serve you. And for this man,¡± he said looking to Felix with the hunger of a slavering wolf, ¡°I have questions of my own¡­¡±

 A Drop of Agony

    The dungeon beneath the palace reeked of damp stone, mold, and the cries of despair. The air was heavy, suffocating, with the faint metallic tang of blood lingering on its slick surfaces. Felix¡¯s boots scuffed against the uneven floor as the guards dragged him by his armpits deeper into the cold¡ªhis wrists bound tightly with iron chains.


    Ruprecht led the way, torch in hand. ¡°Canis Dei,¡± he said, his voice echoing in the tight space of the dungeon corridor, ¡°let¡¯s see how loud this hound can howl.¡±


    They stopped before a massive door reinforced with iron bars. One of the guards produced a heavy key and unlocked it with a resonant clang. The door groaned open, revealing a dark chamber. Instruments of torture sat on a table and lined the walls¡ªracks, pincers, tongs, and hooks¡ªeach one designed to reduce flesh and bone to pliant obedience.


    Felix was shoved forward, the impact driving him to his knees on the cold stone floor. The guards yanked at his armor straps, stripping him of his clothes and his boots, leaving him naked. Then they hooked the shackles on his wrists to a chain dangling from above and lifted him off the floor.


    ¡°Leave us,¡± Ruprecht ordered, placing his torch on the wall. The guards hesitated for only a moment before obeying. The iron door slammed shut behind them, sealing Felix alone with the mad Bohemian.


    Ruprecht held up a hand and cupped Felix¡¯s chin. ¡°It is good to finally meet you in the flesh.¡± He picked up a thin blade from the table, its edge gleaming in the torchlight. ¡°While you still have flesh.¡±


    Ruprecht toyed with the knife between his fingers, and peered into Felix¡¯s eyes, looking for something¡ªfear. But it did not come. It displeased him greatly. ¡°You will answer my questions. And when you do, your suffering will be over. Perhaps even mercifully.¡±


    Ruprecht began methodically pressing the blade¡¯s tip against Felix¡¯s side, drawing a line of shallow blood. ¡°Where is my weapon?¡±


    Felix said nothing, his eyes locked straight ahead.


    Ruprecht¡¯s expression soured, his thin lips curled into a scowl. He began twisting the knife into Felix¡¯s side. ¡°The church sent you after something. What is it?¡±


    Felix, again, did not speak.


    The blade dug deeper, and Ruprecht¡¯s patience wore thin. ¡°You think your faith will save you? Let us test its strength.¡±


    Ruprecht turned to inspect the tools of torture provided to him¡ªan arsenal of pain. ¡°The hot poker? Thumb screws? Or maybe,¡± Ruprecht forcefully yanked on the chain, nearly dislocating Felix¡¯s shoulder, ¡°I leave you here to bleed.¡±


    ¡°Your commander is dead. Your coalition is lost. You cannot win,¡± said Felix. ¡°What are you planning?¡±


    Ruprecht laughed like a viper, a raspy sibilant sound. ¡°You think me Hussite? Jan Hus was a reformer. He sought to reforge the Church. Not me. I wish to break it.¡±


    Felix watched the man as he paced the table.


    ¡°Hus knew the power of the Eucharist. Your Church condemned him to die in a whirlwind of fire at the stake and the kindling was his own handwritten works. It¡¯s a shame I¡¯ll never know what he wrote in those pages, what ancient truth he uncovered that drove him to tear down a thousand years of ecclesiastical doctrine. All I know for certain is that he called it The Light.¡±


    ¡°The Light¡­¡± Felix murmured.


    ¡°You know it?¡± Ruprecht did not look shocked. ¡°It is your mission, is it not? And where did you say you were going? Normandy?¡± He cracked a sliver of a smile, his teeth revealing like a crescent moon. ¡°With its magic, and my engineering, we will remake the world, Felix. We will usher in a new golden age.¡± He licked his lips. ¡°There will be no God, and we will worship ourselves and become Einherjar¡ªimmortal warriors blessed by Valkyrie. We have already sowed the seeds, and when ripe, we will pluck humanity like fruit from the World Tree.¡±


    ¡°And those who refuse?¡±


    ¡°Rendered asunder by my cannons.¡± Ruprecht began pacing again. ¡°Do you know why the knightly class rules Europe? They did not always. In the power vacuum of Rome¡¯s fall, farmers banded together and paid strong men to protect them. Then, after a generation or two, the strong men thought themselves the rulers, and crowned themselves. But with The Light, armed with my weapons, all men will be the strong¡ªall men will be kings.¡±


    ¡°Men you choose.¡±


    Ruprecht allowed a slit of a grin. ¡°Naturally. We Germans thought burning Rome would end its control over us, but we were mistaken. Now Rome is the Church, and all of Europe still lives under its thumb. This relic will expose you, all of you, and empower us to free mankind from its rule. It will be an enlightened age. An age of the serpentine.¡±


    Felix knew the word. Serpentine was the name for the melange of different elements that created the explosive reaction in the barrels of their canons, sending stone and shot through armor, flesh, and bone.


    ¡°And how will you do that with French and English in your way?¡±


    Repurecht unleashed another raspy laugh. ¡°I am allied with the English and the French. You know nothing of the state of this war, DeWinter. Everyone is begging to know the outcome, but the result is certain. Guns, my weapons, will decide the future. Ragnarok is coming, and I am its maker. We will rule the new battlefield, the whole world, tearing down idols from a distance.¡±


    ¡°A spear gives courage. A longer spear even more so. But when men build spears so long they cannot see who they are killing, it becomes arrogance, and then it is the knives that come for you.¡±


    ¡°A philosopher, I see.¡±


    ¡°The English, perhaps, but the French will not abide you. There is no honor in it.¡±


    ¡°Do I tell you my plans now? Or do I cut your tongue out first so that you may never speak of it? It hardly matters, you will not leave this place. I have courted the Marshal of all of France, Gilles de Rais.¡±


    A loud metallic bang rang out from the door. Men were shouting just behind it.


    Ruprecht left Felix dangling helplessly and unlatched the door. The guards had returned with orders from the Castilian. Felix was not to be killed yet, not before the torturers could arrive and extract the information he wanted on his war with the Pope.Stolen story; please report.


    As they argued, Felix looked above him. The chain was drawn through a metal ring in the ceiling. Over time, the stone had worn with the sweat of encroaching water, crumbling around the nail that held it. They had built a palace on the surface, but down here it was still ancient Roman stone. Felix flipped upside down and braced his bare feet on the ceiling, and began to pull.


    Ruprecht was the first to notice. ¡°Stop him!¡±


    Felix strained with all his might, his muscles tensing and his teeth clenched. Then he felt it loosen, and the stone gave way at the bracket, and he was cast to the cold stone floor with a meaty thud.


    Two men rushed towards him and Felix scrambled to his feet. His wrists still bound in iron shackles, he grabbed the chain and whirled it around his wrist, then sent out a loop that caught the closest man by the neck. Pulling him close he lashed out with a heavy kick that knocked the other man prone.


    Felix pulled the man against him, the chain taught against the man¡¯s throat. He tightened it until there was a snap and the man went limp, dropping to the floor.


    Ruprecht brandished his knife, a realization washing across his face. ¡°You meant to be caught¡­¡±


    Felix allowed himself a smirk. ¡°And now I know thy face.¡±


    Deftly dodging Ruprecht¡¯s knife, Felix brought down his bound hands on Ruprecht¡¯s head, hitting him with the edge of the shackles and carving a gash in his forehead, knocking him cold.


    Felix didn¡¯t have much time. He could hear the shuffle of guards mustering deeper down the corridor.


    Naked as the day he was born and bleeding, Felix dashed out and up the stone stairs. The dungeon¡¯s layout was a maze, but Felix¡¯s memory served him well. He retraced his steps. His bare feet were silent against the stone, his ragged breath muffled by the cries of other prisoners echoing through the halls.


    He could hear yelling behind him. He would not outpace the prison guards. And there was nowhere to flee. The dungeon fed directly back into the great hall, where he would be surrounded. He paused momentarily to think.


    ¡°Fuck it,¡± said Felix.


    Corrado sat in his chair conversing with his council. They spoke of military campaigns and arming the condottieri, veterans of the Italian Wars, to use against the Papacy.


    Then they went quiet.


    A naked, shackled Felix was standing at the center of their court.


    ¡°Wha¡ªseize him!¡± cried Corrado.


    Felix sprinted towards his throne, and kicked him in the face. Unaccustomed to receiving the violence he so often afflicted on others, Corrado gripped his broken royal nose and tears streamed down his cheeks, pouting like a baby.


    Felix planted a foot on the back of the throne, and leapt directly up, catching his shackles on an unlit sconce. Then he scrambled up to the source of flowing water.


    Felix knew that during the plague, the Roman aqueducts were redirected. Kings and nobles would receive their own unpolluted water directly into their keeps, to save themselves from mingling with the corrupted water of the commoners. It was his way out.


    The priests and magistrates reached up in a swarm and clawed at his feet with grasping hands, trying to tear him down. But a few swift kicks knocked them onto their perfect robes, their jewelry jingling as they hit the floor. Then he swung to where a steady stream of fresh water poured into the fountains of the keep, a fount so small that only in the nude could he squeeze through, and he slipped inside.


    Felix thought of the irony that one leaky roof in an ancient church, collected in a bucket, had spawned a thousand years of belief that water could be holy. And now their hubris, surrounding themselves with flowing cisterns to wash themselves of sin, would be his salvation.


    He scrambled as best he could through the water. It was cold. The water came up to his chest, flowing against him, choking him. The aqueduct channel was just large enough to accommodate his size on bent knees. He reached out in the darkness, navigating with his hands, until he could feel the stone change in texture and knew he had reached the much older, larger Roman aqueduct. Then he followed it towards freedom.


    A beam of moonlight spilled from a crack in the stone wall ahead, cutting through the darkness like a guillotine. He raced for it, fighting the current with his last bit of strength. The stones here were old, crumbling. Pressing his weight against the wall, he pushed the loose masonry free, making just enough room to fit, the cool air of the night rushed into the dark, cramped tunnel. He could not hear the stones fall on the other side, and he thought to look down first¡ªto measure the distance of the fall. But he didn¡¯t hesitate.


    He jumped.


    Felix landed in the mud on his back. He was outside the walls of Foligno. He lay there for a moment, staring up at the stars, catching his breath. Water trickled from above onto his forehead like a second baptism.


    He rose to his feet, dripping, naked, and exhausted, only to find himself face to face with two Foligno guards. They were armored with their weapons at the ready. He did not have the energy to fight these men. His escape was for naught.


    The men laughed at his nude state and pointed. ¡°Damn Benandanti,¡± one chuckled disapprovingly.


    ¡°Get out of here,¡± said the other.


    Felix nodded, grateful for their mistake, and fled into the cold night. Maybe luck was only late to find him.


    Caesar was standing watch at Tabor¡¯s house, and bleated with excitement as Felix arrived, tired and sore.


    Tabor emerged from the home, an expression of relief washed over him. ¡°You look like hell.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been worse.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re bleeding.¡±


    ¡°Aye.¡±


    ¡°And naked.¡±


    Felix waved away Tabor¡¯s insightful observations. ¡°The Marshal of France plans to acquire Ruprecht¡¯s guns,¡± said Felix. ¡°They will flood all of Europe with his weapons, and the balance of power will shift.¡±


    ¡°Alarming, if true,¡± replied Tabor in jest. ¡°Gilles de Rais is the Marshal of France.¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± said Felix.


    ¡°He worships the snake, too. The child eating serpent of Milan.¡±


    Felix shook his head at the notion in disbelief.


    ¡°They may return. And if they don¡¯t, Ruprecht may make his way to Normandy, and I must beat him there.¡±


    ¡°Well, at least take some clothes, first,¡± chuckled Tabor. ¡°And let me help you out of those chains.¡±


    Tabor brought Felix into the home to warm up by his hearth. He handed him a fresh undershirt and some black breeches. Then, he worked a hammer and chisel to break the shackles. With one final strike, they fell onto the table with a clatter.


    ¡°Here,¡± said Tabor, ¡°take this armor. It does me no good.¡± Tabor retrieved the white hemp armor and tossed it to Felix.


    The armor was impressive, but Felix had his doubts. It was a cream color, only nearly white, and pocked with silver studs. It was light, much lighter than he anticipated, and just as flexible as his old leather.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± said Tabor, ¡°but I¡¯m afraid I have no spare boots. You can have mine, but they¡¯ll be quite big for you.¡±


    ¡°A man of your size has enough hardships finding a cobbler willing to spare the material. Keep them. This is more than enough.¡±


    After helping him fix the straps, Tabor handed the belt back, and Felix latched it to his waist. ¡°Thank you, friend. I¡¯m sorry I brought this upon your house.¡±


    Tabor waved the notion away with a thick hand. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine. I¡¯ll be moving my harvest north, maybe I will see you again soon.¡±


    The men held a brawny embrace, as soldiers do.


    Tabor stood tall. ¡°You are wise, you are justified, and you are ancient,¡± said Tabor.


    They were the old words. The Norman words. An epithet for the Allfather. It was heresy to speak them.


    ¡°You are wise, you are justified, and you are ancient, my friend.¡± Felix smiled. Heresy be damned.


    Felix leapt on to his horse. And then he rode. In his white armor, he disappeared like a shooting star through the night.


    With unnatural speed, the goat chased close behind, bringing with it a darkness that followed them both.


    A darkness that would not be denied.

 The Black Knight

    A fine mist crawled across the valleys of Northern Italy in the heavy autumn air. Caesar trailed just behind Felix, bleating occasionally as if to scold Felix for his hurried pace.


    Felix¡¯s side throbbed where Ruprecht¡¯s knife had bit deep into him, and though he had bound it with strips of linen, it was not healing right and wept blood at its edges.


    Felix grimaced as the road turned upward, winding toward a wooded ridge that overlooked the river. He could smell them first. An intoxicating aroma of fresh herbs and what Felix assumed was rabbit meat.


    Something was cooking and Felix was starving.


    There, sitting leisurely by the bank, were lean, dirty figures silhouetted against the pale sunlight. Stew was the sole dish on their menu, and it boiled in a black pot over a simple fire.


    They took notice of the witch hunter. The first man stepped forward, his youthful face streaked with dirt and a faint shadow of a beard. ¡°Elifort,¡± he said, introducing himself with a bow that was more theatrical than genuine. ¡°And these fine gentlemen are my companions.¡±


    Felix regarded the group. They were rough men, their clothes tattered and patched, and their eyes carried a weight Felix recognized. There was something soldierly about their stance, the way their hands hovered near their belts, where knives or short swords waited. Mercenary veterans of the condottieri, no doubt¡ªsurvivors of the endless Italian Wars.


    Italy was a chessboard of blood. Venice, Milan, Florence, and Genoa had all grown rich in trade with the Levant, but had woefully undermanned armies of their own. So they contracted mercenaries who changed allegiances like exchanging currency, fighting for one city one day, and fighting against their own allies for a new city the next. And when the money stopped flowing, the innocent people of the countryside, their crops and animals, and even their daughters, became the spoils. Like a street dog laid low too long in the gutter, Italy was infested with these fleas.


    ¡°I see you¡¯re without boots,¡± Elifort said, his gaze falling to Felix¡¯s bare feet in their stirrups.


    Felix grunted, his fingers tightening instinctively on the reins. ¡°You¡¯ve an eye for detail.¡±


    Elifort laughed, a sound that seemed to put the others at ease. ¡°You¡¯ve luck, traveler. There¡¯s a cobbler in the next village across the river. A day¡¯s ride. We¡¯d be glad for your company.¡±


    Felix hesitated. His coins, thankfully still strapped to his belt, felt heavier at the thought of these men. Yet his boots were somewhere in the dungeons of Foligno, and his feet ached.


    ¡°We have stew cooking,¡± the man gestured. ¡°If you¡¯d like some.¡±


    The smell of rabbit stew was intoxicating, aromatic and savory. Felix could not refuse.


    ¡°Aye,¡± Felix said.


    Felix dismounted near their simple camp and Elifort offered Felix a bowl, his smile disarming.


    ¡°You¡¯ve the look of a man who¡¯s seen war,¡± he said, settling beside Felix. ¡°Where have you fought?¡±


    Felix sipped the stew, his gaze steady. ¡°In many places. None worth naming.¡±


    Felix greedily gulped down the rest of the stew. It tasted of lemon grass, turnips, and rabbit. He could feel the warmth in his belly, and for a moment, he let himself be content.


    Elifort offered no further inquiry.


    The day passed in measured silence, broken only by Caesar¡¯s occasional grumble and the murmur of distant birds. As they travelled north, Felix watched his companions carefully, noting their movements and gestures. One older man, his grizzled beard streaked with gray, wore a patched leather cuirass¡ªan odd piece for a simple traveler. Another polished a blade every time they rested, his eyes darting to Felix with faint curiosity.


    When night fell, they camped beside a crumbling farmhouse. The men gathered wood for a fire, whispered among themselves.


    The men huddled by the firelight and Felix laid out his bedroll beside an oak tree thirty paces away. In the crackling firelight, Felix noticed one of them strapping on armor¡ªa breastplate dulled by years of use. Another sharpened his sword. They spoke in low voices, their words clipped and tense.


    Caesar stood near Felix, chewing on tufts of grass, his yellow eyes flicking toward the group. The goat¡¯s presence seemed to unsettle them. One of the men muttered about witches and devils, but Elifort waved him off.


    Even with his wounds aching and the mercenaries with their calculating eyes on him, Felix fought exhaustion long enough, and he slept deeply that night. He gripped his smallsword behind his head, even as he slept. Caesar did not sleep, and kept watch. The men might kill a sleeping man, take whatever they could repurpose or sell, but they were not willing to face his demon. Caesar stared right back at them, its eyes like smouldering coals in the darkness. He stirred them all the way to their souls. They did not sleep well.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Morning found them at the bridge, an ancient span of stone barely wide enough for a man on foot, let alone a horse. Felix dismounted, and went ahead. Beneath him, the river churned, its waves frothing and gnawing at the rocky banks.


    Elifort gestured toward the far side. ¡°The village lies just beyond.¡±


    Felix¡¯s hand rested on his sword hilt as he stepped onto the bridge. His new companions followed closely behind. The horses would follow after.


    Halfway across, a shadow loomed at the far end. A man in full black armor stepped forward, emerging from the trees. He had a full helm and a German two-handed sword slung across his shoulder.


    Black armor was a sure sign of a brigand. Armor rusts and needs constant attention. A knight will often march to war with a whole ensemble of people¡ªsquires, armorers, horse attendants. At any battle the army of servants watching on would outnumber the men on the field. But a knight in black armor, that was a poor man. With no squire to polish and maintain it, to keep it free of rust, it must be painted. And pitch from a fire was the cheapest form of paint. No black knight can be trusted.


    ¡°Going somewhere, friend?¡± the brigand called out, his voice echoed from his helm like tumbling stones thrown down a well.


    Felix¡¯s stomach knotted. Behind him, Elifort and the others spread out, blocking his retreat. His exits were cut off. He did not know if he could swim in the hemp armor, and he was not willing to part from his horse.


    ¡°Hand over the coin and your armor,¡± Elifort said, his earlier charm curdling into menace. ¡°And we¡¯ll take the demon goat too. It will make our next stew.¡±


    Felix drew his smallsword, the blade flashing like a shard of starlight. His fist tightened behind the single silver knuckle bow on the hilt.


    The armored brigand laughed, stepping forward with a heavy, deliberate gait, taking up the full width of the narrow bridge. ¡°Your sword¡¯s too small! You mean to pierce my heart with that?¡±


    Felix did not reply, and instead, attacked. Felix wasn¡¯t aiming for his heart¡ªnot yet. His oversized sword was too slow to counter, and in a fluid thrust, Felix¡¯s smallsword struck the breastplate near the shoulder and the keen blade slid up the steel plates and into the small gap of exposed armpit where it made purchase, its sharp point slipping through the chainmail and into flesh.


    The man stiffened and made a mighty grumble. He tried to lift his free arm to deflect Felix as best he could, to bat him away with his heavy spiked gauntlet, but the arm was limp.


    Felix pushed himself into the man until their chests met. Twisting the small sword in his hand, he forced the handle forward like a lever, letting the man¡¯s own rib cage act as a fulcrum, and sent the blade tearing through his insides. Felix could feel the blade probing within the man¡¯s chest, searching. Then he found it. And severed his heart from within.


    The armored man stood for a moment. But not on his own power. Felix stepped backward, and the man¡¯s lifeless shell, devoid of spirit, slid down Felix and collapsed with a rattling, metallic thud onto the stones of the bridge.


    Turning and moving towards the next man, Felix readied himself, and held his sword straight out in front of him. The wound at his side stung. It had reopened in the brief scuffle. He could feel the hot blood pool at his side.


    They had sought to trap him on this narrow bridge, but in truth, they had trapped themselves. They would have to face him one on one and had lost the ability to bring their numbers to bear¡ªthe one advantage they had. Elifort realized his error, but the men behind, afraid to take on Caesar who bowed its head at the other end of the bridge and ready to charge, trapped him in place.


    Felix DeWinter would make short work of them. Pitty, he thought. They made such good stew.


    The bridge was silent save for the river¡¯s roar and the metallic rasp of Felix¡¯s blade being wiped clean. Felix walked over to the black knight and sat down, leaning back he lifted up his bare foot and compared it to the sole of the dead man¡¯s boot. It would do.


    After donning the boots and crossing the bridge, Felix mounted his horse. Caesar bleated in approval, and the two continued northward, avoiding the town.


    By the time they reached the borderlands, Felix¡¯s wound had festered, the edges puckered and red. The air grew colder as the terrain shifted to jagged cliffs and dense forests.


    Much like the Holy Roman Empire, these lands were a discordant spattering of tiny kingdoms, neither Italian, Swiss, nor German, but a mixture of all three. Nestled high in the mountainous, they were inaccessible to a large army, and not worth the effort to siege for any tactical significance. So they were allowed to rule their small domains with impunity.


    Along the road, Felix came upon a pony. It snorted nervously, its reins tangled in the underbrush. Beside it, obscured among the tall grass, Felix noticed a child laying crumpled on the roadside. His leg was twisted at an unnatural angle.


    ¡°Help me,¡± the boy whispered weakly, his face pale. ¡°Please.¡±


    Felix dismounted, his expression grim. ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°I fell,¡± the boy said. ¡°My name is Ollie. Are you a knight?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Felix replied.


    ¡°Are you a priest?¡±


    ¡°In some ways, yes.¡±


    ¡°So you are devout?¡±


    ¡°I wish to believe that I am.¡±


    The boy¡¯s voice grew urgent. ¡°We need a holy man. My lord¡ªhe is possessed by a demon.¡±


    Felix frowned. ¡°Madness, perhaps.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Ollie insisted. ¡°It is a demon. He rages and howls, his eyes black as the bottom of a well. We had sent for aid but none came. I was to find a priest but fell from my pony. None will help us. Please, will you?¡±


    Felix glanced toward the horizon, where the jagged silhouette of a castle rose against the sky. Then back to the boy. He was blond, and no older than twelve, with dirty fingernails and a courtly tunic. He had done his best to represent his lord¡¯s court as a faithful page, even if not highborn himself. He radiated a sincerity that Felix had not seen for weeks.


    ¡°What is this place?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Schloss Reichter,¡± the boy said. ¡°My lord is Siegfried Von Reichter.¡±


    Felix looked to Caesar, who gave its signature low, guttural bleat of disapproval. Perhaps one demon was enough.


    Felix ignored it. He had taken an oath to help the weak, to champion those who were in need. He was compelled to help the boy. Or, at the very least, deliver him home.


    ¡°Very well,¡± Felix said, hoisting the boy onto his horse, wincing from the wound on his side as he did. ¡°Let us see what afflicts your lord.¡±


    Tying the reins of the pony to his, he led the boy back to his castle among the mountains. Demons be damned.

 The Honey Witch

    Felix felt a weight in his chest, and his breathing slowed. Caesar watched him closely, trotting along at his side.


    ¡°It¡¯s not far,¡± said Ollie, sitting in front of Felix on the nape of the horse. He pointed with his small, dirty hand.


    There was a castle, indeed. Built atop a rocky spur, the castle jutted out, hanging on the cliff¡¯s edge. The rest of its stonework descended back into the evergreen trees of the forest. It was a formidable castle, with high walls and parapets. But of the castles Felix had seen, it was quite diminutive in size.


    It was not the grand castle of royalty, but of the ministeriales¡ªserfs given knighthood and fiefs of their own. Although not free men, they built the castles they could in service to their lords, and could not inherit or bestow the land to their kin. Many such castles were erected during the investiture controversy, a time when many knights were needed when kings and bishops were at war to decide who had the divine right to appoint clergy. Kings preferred relatives, a celibate archbishop was an excellent place for a king to cloister a close relative and claimant to the throne to ensure he had no progeny, while the Pope preferred loyalists to Rome.


    The matter was settled at the Concordat of Worms. The Church would choose, and the kings would have veto power. And the kings used it¡ªoften¡ªas the first few nominations for powerful positions were always spies for the Church.


    As they rode up the rocky, uneven trail, scarred with the deep gashes of wagon wheel tracks, Felix was forced to slump forward against the boy to stay upright. Felix¡¯s breathing again grew short. Blood dripped from his lip, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± asked Ollie.


    ¡°Aye,¡± grumbled Felix, breathlessly. His wheezing worsened.


    As they came to the gatehouse, its battlements cracked and mottled with creeping moss, two men manning the wall signaled to open the gate. They were old, much too old to be worthwhile with a blade.


    Felix and the boy entered at a slow gate on the horse, the goat and pony just behind. As they reached the courtyard, patched with puddles and weeds, the men at arms approached. Felix¡¯s eyes, having grown heavy, finally closed completely.


    Felix slipped from his saddle and fell to the dirt of the courtyard, splashing down in a puddle.


    The last words he heard were from Ollie. ¡°Help him, help him please¡­¡±


    Felix¡¯s world became darkness.


    Sticky, he thought.


    His mind awoke before his body. Trapped in a sightless, unmoving shell, Felix mustered all of his strength to open his eyes. He envisioned every saint, calling to them in his mind, some of them even by name. Saints be damned, he thought, there are too many to count. Then he recalled Saint Vitus, the saint of awakening¡ªhis emblem the rooster. Felix cried out to him.


    The saint did not answer, but someone did. A soft, feminine voice. ¡°Wake up, sleeper¡­¡±


    His eyes did open, but he was certain that he was still dreaming. The woman before him was youthful, but not young, with a mane of brown curls and a sharp nose that upturned softly. Her eyes were hazel, yellow and green, and as she smiled they seemed to brighten.


    ¡°Ollie was lucky you found him. And I think you were lucky you were found by Ollie. Another day, and you might be dead.¡±


    Felix¡¯s head ached and he turned and inspected the room. His surroundings were unfamiliar. A simple bedroom, somewhere in the castle. Heraldry was hung from the walls. The sigil was of a raven in sable with wings displayed on a tawny shield. In its mouth it held an arrow.


    ¡°Where am I?¡±


    ¡°The west tower, and in my care.¡±


    Felix reached down to the wound. His fingers were met with a viscous, golden substance.


    The woman grabbed his wrist and returned his arm to his side.


    ¡°It¡¯s just honey. Be still.¡±


    ¡°It smells strange.¡±


    ¡°I have infused it with herbs¡ªyarrow, lavender, and chrysanthemums. Its make I learned from my mother.¡±


    ¡°A fine place for me to find myself, among a wi¡ª¡° Felix could not finish the sentence before Caesar let out a loud bleat.Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°Christ in heaven, that thing¡¯s here?¡±


    ¡°He would not leave your side. You have a loyal animal in this one.¡±


    Felix began to laugh until the pain in his side forced him to stop. Haddie only smiled, and stroked the hair on Caesar¡¯s head between the horns. It tilted its head sideways to allow her access to the back of its ears, and closed its eyes in preening pleasure.


    ¡°What have you done to me?¡±


    ¡°The cut was deep. I had to pack the wound in your lung to keep you from drowning from within. I¡¯ve removed enough arrows to recognize bubbling blood. It is a common thing.¡±


    ¡°And my horse?¡±


    ¡°Safely in the stables.¡±


    Felix leaned his head back on the pillow and rested his arm on his brow. ¡°I was reckless.¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± she said. ¡°Ollie said you were a holy man. What manner of holy work leads a man to get stabbed?¡±


    ¡°I encountered some brigands.¡±


    The woman looked to the armor and sword leaned against the bed. ¡°I¡¯m sure they ended up with more holes than you did.¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± replied Felix.


    The woman scoffed. ¡°Tell me truth. Where did you come from?¡±


    ¡°I came from Rome. I am on a holy mission.¡±


    ¡°All men believe their missions are holy. Tell me, what do you seek¡ªreally?¡±


    ¡°Absolution¡­¡±


    ¡°Then you have come to the wrong place. There are only condemned men here.¡±


    ¡°What is this place?¡±


    ¡°Schloss Reichter, a castle that exists only to be a castle. To claim dominion over a land that no one cares about, and people no one remembers.¡±


    ¡°Then why are you here?¡±


    ¡°Nowhere else would have me.¡± The woman looked away.


    ¡°I understand¡­ I will make my time here brief,¡± said Felix.


    ¡°Well, now you are in my care, and I will decide that. But I cannot attend to you much longer. Our lord needs my services, he is also unwell.¡±


    ¡°The possession¡­¡± Felix whispered under his breath, remembering why he had come. ¡°Ollie said he was under a demonic spell. What say you?¡±


    ¡°Our lord Siegfried has a touch of madness. Although, many prefer him in this state.¡±


    ¡°Why do you say so?¡±


    ¡°His affliction keeps him in his chambers, away from the greedy lords and desperate inheritors who seek to claim this castle upon his death. There are many who believe they own this land, but it should belong to its people. He is best left alone.¡±


    ¡°If it¡¯s all the same, I¡¯d like to see him.¡±


    ¡°I do not recommend it. He is in good hands.¡±


    ¡°You are his healer?¡±


    The woman glanced down, playing with the ruffles of her simple work gown, a forest green bodice embroidered with white flowers. The scoop neckline revealed much of her chest, which was lightly freckled. ¡°I am a dairymaid, in truth.¡±


    Felix roared with laughter, allowing the pain to rush through him, this time unabated. ¡°You are telling me that a milkmaid performed surgery on me while unconscious?¡±


    The woman shot back in offense. ¡°I am no milkmaid! Those are women in the fields among the cows. I work with milk and fat in the scullery to make butter, cream, and lotions. My cheese is the best for forty miles. I use crabapples in place of vinegar for the acidity. I also make tonics, and in your case, healing honey.¡±


    Felix recognized that what she said was true. Her hands were soft. Impossibly so¡ªfor a servant. A milky, silk texture he half remembered from her gentle care while he was asleep. He wanted to beg her to touch him again. But that thought was sinful, and he pushed it from his mind¡ªalthough it did not want to leave.


    ¡°I apologize.¡± He smiled as warmly as he could. ¡°My name is Felix.¡±


    ¡°I am Haddie.¡±


    ¡°I thank you, Haddie. For saving my life.¡±


    ¡°It is my duty. And what service are you in? Priest, knight, soldier?¡±


    ¡°I am a witch hunter.¡±


    Haddie abruptly rose from the bedside. A look of concern washed over her. ¡°Not a man of God¡¯s love, but of God¡¯s hate. I must go, there are other matters that need my attention.¡±


    ¡°I did not mean to offend. It is my duty.¡±


    ¡°To hurt people? To persecute and condemn? Does God demand it?¡±


    ¡°God only demands we live as good Christians.¡±


    ¡°This Christianity of yours, it is for men, not us. For the pagans¡ªthe Romans, the Greeks, and the old Germans, god had a wife. You replaced him, but stripped us of her. Who are women to pray to when men extract synch atrocities upon us in his name?¡±


    Felix was caught off guard. Her words wounded him, as they were truth. This woman was more than she seemed. So much more.


    ¡°Who¡¯s room is this?,¡± Felix said, trying to change the subject to keep her around for a moment more, ¡°am I imposing?¡±


    ¡°Oh, no,¡± said Haddie. ¡°The west tower is haunted. No one dares set foot in here.¡±


    Haddie turned to a tray on the table, and after shuffling plates and jars around, she turned back to Felix.


    ¡°Here, if you be hungry.¡±


    Felix eyed the plate. It was fresh bread, a sourdough with large airy pockets and a flaky brown crust, smeared with a familiar shining gold substance. ¡°More honey?¡±


    ¡°It is a specialty here. Now I must be on my way.¡±


    Felix took a large bite, and with his mouth full, he said, ¡°I don¡¯t believe in ghosts.¡±


    Haddie paused at the doorway and looked back. A dark smile crossed her lips¡ªher beauty and joy replaced with an impish delight.


    ¡°You will, witch hunter. Now rest, your friends sent word that they will be arriving soon.¡±


    His mouth full, Felix spit crumbs as he spoke, ¡°What friends?¡±


    ¡°Ollie sent work to the Church for help with our lord. A man named Lorenzo and his men will be here by morning.¡±


    Felix¡¯s eyes widened and he nearly choked.

 Caesar the Goat

    Felix had no desire to cross Lorenzo and his men again. He would need to leave before dark.


    Felix slid from the bed and donned his armor. He moved to the window and peered down to the courtyard. At the base of the tower was the stable, a simple wooden structure with a slanted roof leaning against the interior castle wall. That''s where he would find his horse.


    As Felix stepped into the courtyard he inspected Schloss Reichter. It was sparsely inhabited. Felix suspected no more than a handful of men at arms for the entire castle, and just a few servants. For a castle this remote, that may be plenty to defend it. Sieging a castle is rarely a test of raw strength, but of planning¡ªcan the attacker¡¯s logistics outperform the defender¡¯s preparation. Moving an army and supplies this far into the Alps would be difficult, and winter wouldn¡¯t permit a long campaign. That¡¯s why men journeyed up to mountain tops¡ªto stack rocks and call themselves a lord.


    It was Ollie that recognized Felix first. He was in the stable, pouring feed from a sack into a shallow trough for Castigar, his horse. Beside the horse were four plump cows. Most would no doubt be killed before winter, then salted and stored. Keeping animals of that size alive between harvests would be too costly, and the people of Schloss Reichter would be happy to have the meat.


    ¡°Did Haddie patch you up?¡± said Ollie. He sat the sack down and retrieved a crutch that was lying against the wall, then hobbled over to Felix.


    ¡°Aye,¡± said Felix.


    Felix walked briskly and Ollie did his best to keep up.


    ¡°And my lord? Have you rid him of his demons?¡±


    Felix approached his horse and began adjusting the saddle.


    ¡°Haddie says she has it under control.¡±


    Ollie looked down at his shoes, one foot slightly held aloft. ¡°That¡¯s why I asked for your help.¡±


    Felix blinked his eyes as he listened to Ollie, trying to focus. He felt as if he had too much wine. But that was not possible. Felix had not had a drop since Tabor¡¯s.


    Ollie lifted his hand to the side of his mouth, to hide his words, and he whispered, ¡°I think Haddie is in league with the demon, or summoned it herself... Sir," said Ollie, nervously. "Please... don''t leave. My lord needs you." Ollie¡¯s face twisted in desperation. "He''s worse than before. He speaks of demons and serpents¡ªthings I''ve never heard from him before. Please. He always said men like you are closer to God. If anyone can save him, it''s you."


    Felix frowned. Closer to God. The words grated. He muttered a curse under his breath, adjusted his belt, and nodded. There was still daylight, time enough to fulfill his word. He shook his head, driving everything back into focus. ¡°Very well, where is your lord?¡±


    ¡°His chambers are in the keep. There, in the center of the castle.¡±


    Felix nodded, then strode off towards the central tower, marching through the courtyard. The dizziness worsened, and a faint buzzing started in his skull, but he did his best to choke it down. The men on the walls seemed unconcerned, and continued their patrol.


    The keep opened into a large banquet hall. Long tables, bare of plates or candlesticks, lined the room. Large iron crown-shaped coronas hung from the ceiling, and long tendrils of melted wax leaked from them, frozen in time. What grand events must have occurred here when this castle was new? But now, like the rest of the castle and its aging guards, this room had been forgotten.


    Felix passed through the hall and came to a large chamber door. It looked to be the right place. Felix braced himself. He had no crucifix, no Bible, no symbols of the Pope¡¯s authority. He would have to reason with this demon¡ªif it be a demon¡ªas a man.


    Tossing aside the heavy door, Felix entered with all the confidence and authority of Saint Benedict himself. The room was oversized and stately. Large rooms were hard to heat, and reserved only for those wealthy enough to afford the labor to cut the required firewood. A bed, complete with four large posts and draped in fine cloth dyed black, sat in the center of the room. Felix approached and tore the drapes to the side. Lord Siegfried Von Reichtor was not in it.


    A hand erupted from beneath the bed and grasped Felix¡¯s ankle. Felix recoiled immediately, but it held fast. Then it pulled him under.


    ¡°Shhh¡­¡± said the creature. It held a single finger up to its mouth.


    The thing in the darkness¡ªskinny, pale, with large dark eyes and long fingernails pointed up. ¡°Secrets are sharper than swords¡­¡± it croaked.


    Felix found himself beneath the bed, cast in shadow, laying beside the mad, possibly possessed, Lord Siegfried Von Reichter.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    ¡°What secrets?¡± asked Felix.


    ¡°Honey that¡¯s sweeter than lies. You have the stick of the queen bee on you.¡±


    Felix shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    "You think I¡¯m mad," Reichter hissed, his fingers digging into Felix¡¯s arm. "But they left something behind, something terrible. I suckled on the serpent. They made me do it. And now all I can see is men crashing over the world on their chariots. They left it behind for us to find. The serpent. The white serpent. It infects us.¡±


    ¡°You know of the serpent?¡±


    The wrinkled man reeked of urine. His hair was wild and gray. His eyes, seemingly bulging from his head, glistened with fear, but also with sincerity. What he said, he believed.


    ¡°It knows I know,¡± he whispered, the words trembling with desperation. ¡°It crawls beneath the skin, twists the mind. It whispers... oh, how it whispers.¡± The man¡¯s arm stretched out and reached for something on the bed, then drew down a pillow. ¡°Look, do you see?¡±


    Felix felt his world continue to grow dizzy. He looked at the pillow, and the patterns seemed to move on their own, like passing fence posts along a road. Rainbows poured out from the sides of the object. The man¡¯s face began to stretch and distort grotesquely, melting away like warm tallow.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening to me?¡± asked Felix.


    ¡°We¡¯re fucked up,¡± said Lord Reichter in a burst of laughter.


    Felix began shaking his head, trying his best to focus. His vision swam and his head felt like it had left its body, floating to some otherworldly, euphoric place.


    Lord Reichter grabbed Felix by the face and covered his mouth with a filthy hand. Then he looked directly ahead from beneath the bed.


    Felix and Lord Reichter watched Haddie enter the chamber. She carried with her a silver serving tray. On it was bread, water, and her special, infused honey. She held a knife. Felix and Lord Reichter¡¯s eyes widened in fear and they held their breath, muffling their giggles. Looking to either side, she dipped it in the honey and spread it on the bread.


    That must be it, thought Felix. She uses poisoned honey to drive men to madness and rules the castle, leaving its rightful lord a drooling, gibbering fool.


    Their eyes traced her footsteps as she approached the bed, knife in hand. Felix felt a shock of fear crawl down his back. She stood there for a moment, but did not look down.


    After she left, Lord Reichter let go of Felix and rolled onto his back, gulping down a sigh of relief. Then he mumbled, ¡°Honey witch, honey witch, honey witch, that she be free is my only wish.¡±


    Felix began laughing hysterically. Lord Reichter joined him.


    ¡°I have to go,¡± giggled Felix.


    Lord Reichter¡¯s eyes rolled in his head, and he continued laughing. His form seemed to phase in and out of reality, riding an iridescent rainbow.


    ¡°Don¡¯t eat the bread,¡± slurred Felix, suppressing his laughter.


    ¡°Don¡¯t eat the bread. Don¡¯t go to bed. Don¡¯t do what I said¡­¡± Lord Reichter cackled.


    Felix crawled from beneath the bed and tried to stand, but immediately fell back to the floor. His knees did not seem keen on cooperating.


    Lord Reichter called out from beneath the bed as Felix stumbled away. ¡°You¡¯ll see. You¡¯ll see. Don¡¯t suckle the serpent. Don¡¯t submit to the serpentine.¡±


    Ignoring the old man¡¯s ravings, Felix was able to rise, barely, and exiting the chambers, slumped against the stone walls of the keep, and slid down the corridor. His mouth was wide open, drooling, and his pupils were the size of saucers. As he went, he clumsily batted away tapestries and knocked over candelabras that blocked his path along the stone wall.


    After stumbling out to the courtyard, he made it back to the west tower.


    It was dark now.


    Felix did not know how long it took him to get from the keep to the tower. What felt like seconds must have taken hours. The haunted west tower did not receive the attention of the servants, and the candles were not lit, leaving the entire building in blinding darkness.


    Felix shut the door and leaned against it, breathing hard. He glanced at the plate of bread and honey left by Haddie earlier. Gripping it, he hurled it across the room, sending crumbs scattering across the floor. The empty jar of honey rolled to a stop at his feet.


    Picking it up, he sniffed its rim and recoiled. Beneath the sweetness, an herbal aroma lingered, sharp, sweet, and medicinal.


    Felix collapsed onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. The cobblestones seemed to grow and shrink as the castle breathed in and out.


    Looking to a dark corner, Felix saw what appeared first as a shadow and then a silhouette. In the dark a man took shape. He was tall, naked, and his skin was jet-black. At the top of his neck was the unmistakable head of a goat. Was it a ghost?


    ¡°Caesar, can you say something?¡± mumbled Felix.


    Caesar, in its lithe goat-man form, emerged from the shadows and walked slowly, silently from the corner of the room, save the soft tap of his bare feet on the stone floor. Then stood over Felix.


    ¡°Rest. You must recover your strength,¡± said Caesar. Its voice was deep and smooth, with an eerie, ethereal resonance reserved only for the domain of demons.


    ¡°I knew it¡­¡± said Felix proudly, his eyes closed, suppressing a laugh.


    Caesar arched its back and looked out the window, a beam of moonlight striking its yellow eyes.


    Felix swallowed, his voice hoarse. "What are you?"


    "Nothing," Caesar replied.


    Felix spoke to the ceiling, forced to close his eyes to avoid motion sickness from a world bobbing side to side and expanding in and out. "What does God ask of me?"


    "You can fit all I care for God in a thimble. You can fight, or you can be food for the worms."


    ¡°Worms?¡±


    ¡°The old word for serpent is wurm,¡± said Caesar, calmly. ¡°The serpent is not a dragon, it is a worm.¡±


    The goat-man, crowned in spiraling horns, looked down to Felix, who was nodding his head side to side, fading from consciousness.


    ¡°Sleep now, Hexenjager, for you have many more tests to take.¡±

 Oracles and Oleander

    Felix awoke in his armor. There was no sign of Caesar. His stomach hurt and he had a great thirst. As his mind cleared, he had but one mission¡ªfind the honey witch.


    Felix knew that Lorenzo was on his way, and that could lead to a conflict Felix was not prepared for. Between his muddled head and pierced lung, he was not in fighting shape. Felix did have one advantage, though. The pistol, which he had fired back in Rome, was still at his hip. To arm the weapons he would need saltpeter, charcoal, and sulfur.


    Felix knew that Haddie, the honey witch so rich with lotions and potions, may have the ingredients he needed. She was his only option.


    Felix stormed into the scullery. Haddie was not there¡ªperhaps fortunate for her sake. The kitchen was in disarray, pots and pans in need of washing and all manner of half-finished projects were spread across its counters. A large glass jar gained Felix¡¯s interest. Within it was a large wax honeycomb from a beehive and what looked like two liters of fresh golden honey¡ªnot that honey need be fresh.


    Beside the jar were bouquets of wilting flowers, some crushed into a paste in a stone mortar. The flowers were as Haddie said¡ªyarrow, lavender, and chrysanthemums.


    Felix lifted the pots and pans looking for a different plant. A source of the madness. He could not find a single petal of any plant that may have been the adulterating source of their spiked honey. A fungus, maybe, or a spore, Felix thought.


    He also could not find the saltpeter he needed. But he was able to pilfer a small glass vial of sulfur, which he slipped up his sleeve. The charcoal would be simple to find, as it could be created in any hearth. Felix had another plan to source his saltpeter, but it would take time.


    The castle gate was left open and Felix walked through. The guards were not at their stations, and likely slept in on quiet mornings. It was best to leave guards to their leisure when not needed, as you do not want the men protecting you to grow overworked and bitter.


    Felix walked around the castle and found what he was looking for, a stream. He followed it through the high grasses, swatting away buzzing insects and avoiding the scratching limbs of downed branches. There were flowering plants here, too, fragrant pink orchids and the alien-looking edelweiss that harbored six spiked florets within a wooly star. Both flourished at these high altitudes.


    Felix was nearly ready to give up, but then he found it. Beautiful, he thought, and he allowed himself a quiet gasp. The oleander, also called rosebay, was a delicate, bright pink flower with five petals that rolled inward at their edges


    Their smell was sweet. Sweeter than anything he had ever smelled. But these flowers held a secret. Felix carefully plucked a flower and smelled it. The aroma matched the jar of honey from the night before. He then collected a few of the flowers and their stems as evidence.


    On reaching the rear of the castle he saw rows of upturned straw baskets that harbored the bees. And, beside them, stood Haddie. She wore a loose fitting white outfit that covered her completely. On her head was a shoulder cowl with a long-tailed hood stuffed with a circular wicker mask.


    Felix was furious, and marched towards her holding out the flowers in his hand. It wasn¡¯t until he was a few feet from her that he had learned his error.


    First, he did not look like a powerful prosecutor laying down the most damning of evidence. He looked like a boy smitten with a girl, offering her flowers. That was embarrassing, but not his worst mistake.


    His worst mistake was marching up to a beekeeper who had yet to smoke the bees to calm them down. They were angry, and while Haddie was wearing protection, Felix was ripe for their wrath.


    ¡°I¡¯m flattered. But you really should go or you¡¯ll be stung,¡± said Haddie behind her flat wicker mask.


    ¡°As I have already been stung by your treachery?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be dramatic.¡±


    ¡°You poisoned me, and your lord.¡±


    ¡°I did no such thing. I saved you.¡±


    Felix batted away a bee, while another stung him on the cheek. ¡°Blast it!¡±


    Felix grabbed Haddie by the wrist, and marched her around the castle to the front gate.


    ¡°Witch hunter, release me!¡± cried Haddie as she was ushered along. The wicker mask fell from her hood and she attempted to grab it, but Felix yanked her away.


    ¡°Be silent, woman!¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re doing.¡±


    ¡°I know what I am doing, I am conducting a witch trial, and you!¡± said Felix pausing to turn to Haddie, to make his point clear, ¡°are most assuredly, a witch!¡±


    The men at the gates were gone when Felix led Haddie by the wrist into the castle. But the courtyard was not empty. Lorenzo and his men were there, mounted on their horses.


    Lorenzo leaned down on his saddle with crossed arms. ¡°Well, we meet again, DeWinter.¡±


    Felix and Haddie were led into the banquet hall. Felix thought it prudent not to resist. In this instance, they were on the same side. God¡¯s judgement would be exacted on this witch, and Felix had no objections.


    It pained him, though, deep down. Haddie had rendered aid to him without his asking. There was hope for her, he believed. If she begged forgiveness with conviction, maybe she could be saved and receive salvation.


    The two were sat side by side on a long table, and the men in Lorenzo¡¯s charge lit the candles in the dark hall, rekindling the memory of what the great hall once was in better days when men and minstrels may have danced beneath its trusses.


    One of his men returned with bread and jars of honey from the kitchen. He placed it on the table in front of Lorenzo, who kicked his feet up onto the table.


    ¡°Where is my lord?¡± asked Haddie.


    ¡°He¡¯s proven inadequate for our purposes, especially in the state you¡¯ve put him in. He will be replaced with a more temperate lord. But first, what do we do with the Canis Dei?¡±


    Felix shot Lorenzo a scolding look. ¡°I have no quarrel here. Get on with your trial of this witch.¡±


    Lorenzo and his men laughed. ¡°You¡¯re mistaken. We have two witch trials to conduct.¡±


    Felix looked around, confused.


    ¡°Come here boy,¡± said Lorenzo, motioning a beckoning arm.


    Ollie appeared shuffling in with a limp. Grimmand held the boy by the shoulders, ushering him towards Lorenzo.


    ¡°Tell everyone what you told me.¡±


    Ollie looked scared, rifling his hands. ¡°She bewitched our lord. And I asked this man for help. And I saw him in the courtyard, bewitched himself. He was stumbling in an unholy stupor, and I heard him in the tower, communing with a devil.¡±


    Lorenzo opened his mouth in a mock gasp. ¡°The favorite of the Holy See, communing with a devil!¡±Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    The men around Felix shared the same mocking gasps. They meant to kill him this time. And, in truth, had a solid case to burn them both alive. But Felix was a step ahead.


    Felix placed the flowers he had collected down onto the table for all the men to see. ¡°This is oleander. It is poisonous, and can be deadly, but in low doses can drive men to madness. The bees have been harvesting its nectar and adulterating the honey. The oracles at Delphi have used the same herb for centuries to gain their visions. This is no work of witches. This woman did not know, and is innocent. Its cause is natural.¡±


    Lorenzo leaned over the table and retrieved the flowers. He studied them halfheartedly, then tossed them over his shoulder.


    ¡°You think this will protect you? Flowers?¡± Lorenzo¡¯s eyes sharpened. ¡°I sentence you both to death, along with your bewitched lord.¡±


    One of Lorenzo¡¯s men, the squire turned knight Finoldo, entered the banquet hall from a rear archway, dragging a cackling Siegfried Von Reichter, still in his sleeping gown, across the floor, kicking his legs and protesting in gibberish.


    ¡°Retrieve the serpent from him,¡± said Lorenzo. ¡°He is of no use to us.¡±


    Finoldo withdrew a knife.


    Ollie cried out, ¡°No, stop!¡± But Grimmund placed a hand over the boy¡¯s mouth to silence him.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Haddie said, her eyes wide.


    Finoldo made a wicked grin, meeting Felix¡¯s eyes, then slit the lord¡¯s throat.


    The mad Siegfried Von Reichter clutched at his throat, blood pouring in a waterfall over his white gown. He gargled and spat up blood, then fell to his belly. He tried to crawl, gasping for air, smearing a red swathe across the floor as he did.


    Felix tried to rise, but two men shoved him back down into his seat by the shoulders.


    Finoldo took a knee over the dying lord and plunged his hand into his neck, probing within. The lord shivered and convulsed, gagging and unable to scream. Then, he stopped moving, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head.


    Finoldo stood, shaking a bloody hand he wiped with a cloth from his pocket, then looked back to Lorenzo and shook his head.


    Lorenzo slammed his hands on the table. ¡°What did you do, witch?¡±


    ¡°I cured him,¡± said Haddie.


    ¡°Impossible!¡± spat Lorenzo. ¡°Then why keep him like that?¡±


    ¡°The lord was a bastard. He tormented us. Beat us. Threatened us. We liked him better this way.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve made an expensive mistake. Where is the serpent?¡±


    ¡°Dead. It fled from him and I burned it.¡±


    Lorenzo fumed, then leaned back in his chair.


    ¡°We¡¯ve invested much in bringing these border lords into our court. Doing it without fanfare or undue attention,¡± Lorenzo looked to Felix, these next words were for him, ¡°working our way inwards, towards Rome¡ªuntil we could be sure we had the necessary numbers to overwhelm the Papal loyalists.¡±


    ¡°What are you speaking of, Lorenzo? What is this?¡± asked Felix.


    ¡°It is a gift, DeWinter. It bestows ancient knowledge, forgotten secrets. If you knew what we knew, you wouldn¡¯t protest. But, you are not the temperament for our ilk, and you will not be blessed with the enlightenment of the serpent.¡±


    ¡°Devilry,¡± Felix spat under his breath.


    ¡°But this one!¡± said Lorenzo, rising from his chair and pacing over to Ollie. ¡°How would you like to be the new lord of Schloss Reichter?¡±


    The boy, still held fast by Grimmand, squirmed. Lorenzo laid his hand on the boy¡¯s head and tousled his hair.


    ¡°Are you of noble birth?¡±


    The boy shook his head.


    ¡°And crippled, I see¡­ No, mayhaps not.¡±


    Lorenzo shoved a dagger into the boy¡¯s belly, drawing the knife up until the boy was on the tips of his toes. Ollie was released and fell. He gasped only for a moment before he went still.


    ¡°We will find a new lord, new servants, and new criminals to man it,¡± said Lorenzo. He pointed the bloody dagger to Felix and Haddie. ¡°Fetch a post. We will burn these two.¡±


    Felix had enough. He tried to rise to his feet again, but was pinned in place. He looked to Haddie, who the men had woefully underestimated. She moved like lightning, drawing the honey knife hidden beneath her dress, and stabbed one of the men holding Felix in the groin. He cupped his manhood and fell to his knees.


    Felix elbowed the other, then with all his strength, flipped the long table, sending the men across the table backpedaling.


    Felix reached to draw his sword, but Grimmand came up from his flank and landed a heavy blow across his face. Right in the bee sting. Felix winced. Haddie moved to stab him, but he backhanded her with such ferocity that she fell to the ground and dropped her dagger, which clattered as it skid across the stone floor.


    ¡°Fuck it, kill them now,¡± ordered Lorenzo, whipping his riding cloak around his back and circling the table towards Felix.


    Finoldo and another man made their way around the left side of the upturned table towards Haddie, who lay on the ground, while Grimmand, Lorenzo, and a compatriot approached from his right. They could not overcome these odds.


    Felix thought fast. He had one chance.


    Retrieving the pistol from the pouch on his belt, he held the gun aloft and pointed it at Lorenzo.


    ¡°Tell your men to step back,¡± commanded Felix.


    Lorenzo looked shocked, and beset with a fear Felix had never seen from him. For a man who had always oozed with an unearned confidence, this was a transformation.


    ¡°Where did you get that?¡± said Lorenzo, raising his hands in front of him.


    ¡°I took it from Ruprecht,¡± said Felix.


    The men paused. They looked to Lorenzo. They all knew the name, and they knew to fear the weapon. This conspiracy had deep roots.


    Felix withdrew his sword with his free hand, and held the two weapons out, directing the point of each at the men around him and moving towards Haddie. She rose behind him, and held his arm. They began to back up together, heading for the exit to the courtyard.


    Lorenzo spoke, ¡°we can''t let you leave. Not knowing what you know.¡± Lorenzo¡¯s sneer turned into a smirk. ¡°And that weapon isn¡¯t even loaded, is it, DeWinter?¡±


    Grimmand was the first to act. He lunged at Felix, aiming to bat away the blade with his own long sword. Felix countered, and instead of allowing the blades to clash, threw the pistol at his face, staggering him. Felix spun and drove his sword into the other, the blade erupting from his back, and kicking him off the blade with his foot.


    Haddie scrambled backwards as Felix ducked just in time to avoid a sweeping strike from Grimmand¡¯s sword. Felix doubled his hands on the hilt of his smallsword, and using all his strength, met Grimmand¡¯s blade as their hilts locked and forced the oversized veteran back.


    Lorenzo stepped forward to attack Felix¡¯s exposed back with his own blade. Haddie crawled to her knife and retrieved it just in time, hurling it at Lorenzo where it dug deep into his side. Lorenzo spun in shock, and reached uselessly to pull the knife out.


    ¡°Honey bitch!¡± spat Lorenzo.


    Finoldo, true to form, awkwardly launched himself at Haddie. She grabbed him in return and flipped him onto his back. Green in combat, and fumbling in his own armor, Haddie had no trouble grabbing Finoldo by the hair and smashing the back of his head into the hard stone floor. There was a loud crack. The other soldier grabbed at her shoulder to tear her off, and she bit deep into his skin, drawing blood. The man howled in pain.


    Felix was still locked with Grimmand, and was swiftly being overpowered. He was a larger man, thick and heavy, a scarred veteran of countless wars. In every way a match for Felix. Grimmand pushed his head forward and bared his teeth, spittle erupting between each rotten tooth. Behind him, Lorenzo pulled back his sword for a powerful thrust. Although this time Felix had no recourse, he could not defend himself locked with Grimmand. He would be skewered.


    And then, like an avenging angel erupting from God knows where, Caesar the goat headbutted Lorenzo and sent him crashing to the ground, his sword falling from his hands. Caesar kicked up onto its back legs and shook its head, displaying its mighty set of spiraling horns.


    ¡°Caesar!¡± cried Felix. Then he turned to Grimmand, who was momentarily distracted by the scene. Kicking Grimmand in the knee, causing him to stagger, Felix broke from their clash and pierced the veteran in the shoulder near the neck, pushing his sword down through his chest. Grimmand only exhaled in a deep breath as he fell to his knees, and began punching at Felix, refusing to die.


    Felix pulled the sword from the man in a streak of blood, and let him fall. Training the blade on Lorenzo, who had just recovered from Caesar¡¯s attack, Felix moved towards the man.


    Felix shot a glance at Caesar. ¡°Protect Haddie.¡± And as if it understood, it clopped away in glee to go gore the Italian screaming in pain, still caught in Haddie¡¯s jaw.


    Lorenzo sat back, bleeding from the arm where Haddie¡¯s honey knife had hit its mark.


    ¡°Go on, kill me. It won¡¯t make a difference.¡±


    ¡°What is the serpent?¡± Said Felix, his sword held out.


    ¡°Come closer and I¡¯ll tell you¡­.¡±


    Felix, in a moment of pity for the wounded man on the ground, let his sword drop. Lorenzo took full advantage, and pulling the honey knife from his side, lunged at Felix. But he didn¡¯t have the angle, and he was too slow for Felix. With one sure swing of his sword, Felix sliced the man¡¯s neck, nearly severing his head from his shoulders.


    Lorenzo¡¯s nearly headless body paused for a moment on its knees. In the bloody, bubbling wreckage of his neck slithered a white worm. It was slender and long, the size of a garfish. Its head was flat like an arrowhead, and it had a gasping mouth like a sucking leech. It squirmed in the air, looking for the missing head which flopped back over the shoulders.


    Felix swung his sword, slicing off the worm¡¯s arrow-like head. The creature recoiled, and the rest slithered back into the bloody neck.


    Haddie rushed over to Felix, her mouth bloody¡ªalthough not her blood. ¡°You have to burn it.¡±


    Felix looked over to the men Haddie had dispatched. Caesar was still jumping on top of a mangled face, the gored man now a soup of bone and teeth. Beside him, poor Finoldo had succumbed to the first blow. The other man, who Haddie had stabbed in the groin, was dead in a sea of blood. She must have hit an artery. Not bad, thought Felix.


    Haddie retrieved a jar from the floor and captured the head of the white worm, which was still alive. ¡°They grow. Cut them into a million pieces, and you will only have a million more.¡±


    ¡°What are they?¡± asked Felix.


    ¡°The hell should I know? They only came and put one in my lord¡¯s head three months ago. They hate the honey, and I was able to expel it. But he would not do it willingly. Hence, the madness.¡±


    ¡°I knew it was you.¡±


    ¡°How so?¡±


    ¡°Oleander has no nectar. Bees do not harvest from them.¡±


    ¡°So what now? You burn me as a witch?¡±


    ¡°No. You¡¯re free to go wherever you please.¡±


    ¡°I told you, already. There is no place for me to go.¡±


    Caesar walked up behind Haddie, bleating loudly.


    Haddie smiled, the blood still pooling from her lips. ¡°Caesar said I can come with you.¡±


    ¡°Is that right?¡± Felix looked to Caesar, its hooves slick with blood.


    Felix smirked. They made quite the pair.


    ¡°Fine,¡± said Felix, lifting an accusing finger, ¡°but I warn you, betray or poison me again, and I will not stay my hand.¡±


    Haddie beamed with excitement.


    ¡°But first,¡± said Haddie. She retrieved her knife from the dead Lorenzo and walked over to the rope holding the corona aloft, and cut it, sending it crashing onto the overturned table and catching fire to the hall, then tossed the glass jar into the flames. ¡°I never liked this place.¡±


    Felix laughed.


    Haddie chose a horse from among those left in the courtyard by Lorenzo and his men. It was a strong choice, a white Arabian.


    ¡°Where are we going?¡± asked Haddie.


    ¡°I still have a mission. I¡¯m heading to Normandy.¡±


    ¡°I hear Paris is beautiful this time of year. Maybe we can visit.¡±


    ¡°If I can help it,¡± said Felix, ¡°we will go nowhere near Paris.¡±


    ¡°A true romantic,¡± said Haddie with a smile.


    They descended down the mountain path, a curious trio, as the castle blazed.

 Need and Kneading

    Felix lifted a hand to signal that they should stop. A stream lay ahead, and they needed to water the horses. The water was cool and crystal clear¡ªsnowmelt running down from the snow-capped peaks of the Alps above them.


    Felix dismounted first, leading his horse by the reins. Haddie followed in turn, her feet sinking into the damp moss of the embankment. Caesar trotted beside her, its horns bobbing as it sniffed at the air.


    It had been days since they had left behind Schloss Reichter, and exhaustion was creeping upon them. They had taken what they could, stale bread and some supplies, but did not have all they needed for an extended journey. They would need to find a town.


    The horses lowered their heads and drank greedily from the stream, their flanks heaving from the strain of the journey. Haddie knelt, cupping her hands to scoop water to her lips. Felix could not help but stare. Her hair was full and wild, dipping over her long, pale neck in ringlets.


    Felix shook his head back to sense and nodded, setting down a sack. He pulled a jar from it and held it to the light, examining its contents. The thick, golden honey swirled sluggishly inside. Without hesitation, he uncorked the jar and tilted it, letting the honey flow into the stream.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Haddie¡¯s voice cut through the peaceful clearing, sharp and accusing. She shot to her feet, storming toward him.


    Felix didn¡¯t answer immediately, focused on draining the last remnants from the jar.


    ¡°That¡¯s my honey!¡± said Haddie, reaching to reclaim the jar.


    Felix raised an eyebrow. ¡°Calm yourself, witch. You have more.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare tell me to calm myself,¡± she snapped. ¡°What could you possibly need it for, huh? Are you just that bored, or is this some pious act of defiance against things that be sweet?¡±


    Felix exhaled slowly, his patience fraying. ¡°I need it,¡± he said flatly.


    ¡°For what?¡±


    Instead of answering, Felix rinsed the jar thoroughly, and set it on the ground beside him. With a glance at Haddie¡ªwho stood with arms crossed and lips pressed thin¡ªhe began undoing his belt.


    ¡°What are you¡ª¡± she began, but her words faltered as he turned his back to her.


    A soft hissing sound followed.


    Haddie¡¯s expression shifted from disbelief to outrage. ¡°You¡¯re pissing in it? That¡¯s¡ªthat¡¯s foul!¡±


    He bobbed up and down briefly as he finished. Then he pulled dry grass from the ground and stuffed it into the jar along with his urine, and replaced the lid on the jar. ¡°It¡¯s a necessity,¡± he said simply, wiping his hands on his cloak.


    ¡°Necessity? You¡¯ve ruined perfectly good honey for¡ª¡±


    ¡°Saltpeter,¡± Felix interrupted. He held the jar aloft as if the act were self-explanatory. ¡°Bottled hate. A weapon.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re making powder?¡± Haddie asked, her voice tinged with curiosity. This was her domain, potions and powders, but even Felix had a few tricks to teach.


    Felix nodded, placing the jar carefully back into his pack. ¡°It¡¯s a long process. It will need time to ferment. But, yes, for the battles ahead. I need to make explosive powder. Or, as some call it, serpentine.¡±


    Haddie shook her head, muttering to herself as she walked back to the stream. ¡°Men and their wars.¡± She knelt again, but the fire in her eyes hadn¡¯t dimmed.


    Caesar ambled over, nudging her arm with its snout. ¡°Yes, I agree,¡± Haddie said aloud, scratching the goat behind the ear.


    Felix glanced up sharply. ¡°Agree with what?¡±


    Haddie grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes. ¡°Caesar says you¡¯re insufferable.¡±


    Felix groaned, rubbing his temples. ¡°Not this again.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡± she teased. ¡°Afraid the goat¡¯s smarter than you?¡±


    ¡°The goat doesn¡¯t talk,¡± Felix growled.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t he?¡± Haddie countered. ¡°Maybe you¡¯re just not listening.¡±


    Felix shot Caesar a glare. The goat stared back, unblinking, then let out a low bleat.


    ¡°See?¡± Haddie said triumphantly. ¡°He says you¡¯re outnumbered.¡±


    Felix threw up his hands. ¡°I¡¯ve survived wars, assassins, and witches, but now I¡¯m outwitted by a goat. God help me.¡± Felix thought to the assassins in Rome. Did they, too, have worms wriggling in their throats?


    Haddie¡¯s laughter rang out, lightening the tension. She settled by the stream again, this time washing her face. ¡°You know,¡± she began, her tone softer, ¡°I didn¡¯t always live like this.¡±


    Felix sat down across from her, his back against a tree. ¡°No one does,¡± he said.


    She hesitated, then continued. ¡°I grew up in a village. Small place. My mother was a healer¡ªor that¡¯s what she called herself. Others called her a witch. She taught me her craft¡ªhow to read the signs, mix the tinctures, sing the chants.¡±


    Felix¡¯s gaze remained steady. ¡°And then they took you.¡±


    Haddie nodded, her expression clouding. ¡°Men came one night. Said she was dangerous, that her magic was unnatural. They took her away, and sent me to work in a lord¡¯s kitchen.¡±


    ¡°How old?¡±


    ¡°Ten,¡± she said quietly.


    Felix leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. ¡°And yet here you are, still practicing her craft.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s all I have left of her,¡± Haddie said, her voice trembling slightly. ¡°And if it means surviving, I¡¯ll use it. Even if people like you hate me for it.¡±


    Felix¡¯s jaw tightened, but he didn¡¯t reply immediately. ¡°Hate is too strong a word,¡± he said finally. ¡°Distrust, maybe. Fear. But not hate. I seek only for peace among men, to keep order in a troubled world.¡±


    Haddie studied him, her head tilted. ¡°What about you, Felix DeWinter? Who are you?¡±


    Felix looked away, his gaze fixed on the horizon. ¡°I was raised by peasants,¡± he said, his voice low. ¡°Good people, kind people. They found me abandoned and took me in. Couldn¡¯t have children of their own, or so they thought. A year later, they did. A girl.¡±Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    ¡°You have a sister?¡± Haddie asked.


    He nodded, a shadow crossing his face. ¡°She¡¯s with God now.¡±


    Haddie waited, sensing the weight of his words. ¡°What about your parents?¡±


    Felix shook his head, a shadow growing across his face. ¡°That¡¯s enough.¡±


    The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken grief. Caesar broke it with a loud bleat, nudging Felix this time.


    Haddie smiled faintly. ¡°He says you carry too much.¡±


    Felix snorted. ¡°And what does the goat suggest I do?¡±


    ¡°Let someone else carry it for a while,¡± she said, meeting his eyes.


    Felix¡¯s expression softened, if only slightly. ¡°Easier said than done.¡±


    They rested for an hour before continuing their journey. The path wound through granite outcroppings, the air growing colder as they went. Snow dusted the ground in places, and the scent of pine mingled with the crisp mountain breeze.


    Felix rode ahead, his eyes scanning the terrain for threats. Haddie followed, her thoughts occupied by their earlier conversation.


    ¡°Felix,¡± she called, breaking the silence.


    He glanced back. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said simply.


    ¡°For what?¡±


    ¡°For freeing me.¡±


    ¡°It was the last wish of your lord.¡±


    Haddie tilted her head inquisitively.


    ¡°He was quite mad, but he said it to me. I swear it.¡± Felix chuckled. ¡°Don¡¯t thank me yet. We¡¯ve still got miles to go, and France is not a safe place.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never been.¡±


    ¡°English control Paris and Normandy, and patrol much of the country. The French still put up a resistance, but they¡¯ve grown disheartened after the death of Joan. They fight with less vigor.¡±


    Haddie perked up at the mention of the name. ¡°Do you know of her? They say she could speak to God.¡±


    ¡°A step up from speaking to goats, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    Haddie fumed.


    ¡°We are exposed here. We must move somewhere safer before nightfall. It would be nice to find an inn.¡±


    ¡°I know of one. A town. It¡¯s not too far. I think we can make it if we hurry.¡±


    ¡°French?¡±


    ¡°No, Swiss. Just on the border.¡±


    ¡°That will work. The Swiss Confederacy has remained natural. We may not have our throats slit in our sleep.¡±


    Leaping from the stirrup onto her horse, Haddie smiled. She glanced at Caesar, who trotted beside her.


    ¡°What now?¡± Felix asked, noticing her grin.


    ¡°Caesar says you¡¯re starting to grow on him,¡± she replied.


    Felix rolled his eyes. ¡°Fantastic. The goat and I are becoming friends. Truly, I¡¯ve experienced it all.¡±


    The town appeared as the sun dipped just above the tips of the mountains scattering what remained of its warm light. Felix, Haddie, and Caesar moved quickly through the narrow streets of the small village, their horses clopping against cobblestones slick with recent rain. Felix glanced around, his eyes scanning for threats, but the town seemed quiet, its citizens already tucked away in their homes.


    ¡°We¡¯ll find an inn and leave at first light,¡± Felix said, his voice low but firm.


    Haddie nodded, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders. Caesar let out a contented bleat, seemingly unbothered by the chill in the air.


    The inn was a modest building with a wooden sign creaking in the wind. The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread wafted from the doorway, making Haddie¡¯s stomach growl audibly. Inside, the atmosphere was lively¡ªmen laughing and shouting over mugs of ale.


    A stout woman with rosy cheeks and gray hair tucked into a bun approached them, wiping her hands on her apron. ¡°Travelers, are you?¡±


    Felix nodded curtly. ¡°We¡¯re looking for a room, if you¡¯ve got one.¡±


    The woman hesitated, glancing over her shoulder at the packed common room. ¡°I¡¯m afraid we¡¯re full up tonight. Got a dozen mercenaries passing through, and they¡¯ve taken every bed.¡±


    Haddie¡¯s face fell, but she quickly rallied. ¡°We don¡¯t need much. Even a corner of the barn would do. I can help in the kitchen if it¡¯s too much trouble.¡±


    The woman¡¯s eyes softened at Haddie¡¯s offer. ¡°You¡¯d do that? We could use an extra pair of hands tonight. You can stay in the barn, aye, there¡¯s space there. No charge.¡±


    Felix opened his mouth to protest, but Haddie shot him a warning look. He shut it again, muttering something under his breath.


    The kitchen was bustling, the heat from the oven warming the small space as Haddie rolled up her sleeves and joined the old woman in her work. Felix stood awkwardly near the doorway, his tall frame seeming out of place among the low counters and shelves.


    ¡°You,¡± Haddie said, pointing to him with a dusting of flour on her finger. ¡°Come here.¡±


    Felix raised an eyebrow but obeyed, stepping closer. Haddie handed him a lump of dough, her hands already working a second one.


    ¡°Flatten it first,¡± she instructed, demonstrating with quick, efficient movements. ¡°Then fold and press. Like this.¡±


    Felix copied her movements, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he kneaded the dough. The dough was soft and milk-white, like her skin, and as he pressed into it his fingers made indentations in its malleable surface.


    ¡°You¡¯re not bad at this,¡± Haddie said, a teasing lilt in her voice.


    ¡°I¡¯m better with a blade,¡± Felix muttered, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.


    Haddie chuckled. ¡°Well, bread¡¯s less likely to stab back.¡±


    They worked in amicable silence, the rhythm of their movements starting to fall in sync. Felix found himself glancing at Haddie more than he intended, noting the way her brow furrowed in concentration, the light dusting of flour on her cheeks, the way she hummed softly under her breath. Years of her work in a scullery were clear to him. It was a skill he never thought much of, something he once thought of as women¡¯s work, but he admired the skill involved. He had underestimated her¡ªagain.


    When the bread rolls were ready, Haddie and the old woman removed them from the oven and placed them on a wooden slab. Haddie carried the loaves into the parlor, her steps light despite the weight of the tray. Felix watched her, staying near the doorway.


    The mercenaries, loud and boisterous, turned their attention to Haddie as she set the bread on the tables. The men grabbed at the rolls with their hands and dipped them into bowls of broth in front of them, gulping them down in large chunks.


    ¡°Well, look at this,¡± one of them drawled with his mouth full, a burly man with a scar across his cheek. ¡°The kitchen¡¯s sent us a little angel.¡±


    The others hooted and hollered, their laughter filling the room. Haddie forced a smile, ignoring their comments as she placed the last few rolls of bread.


    But the scarred man wasn¡¯t content with just words. He grabbed Haddie by the wrist, pulling her onto his lap. ¡°Stay a while, sweetheart. We could use some entertainment.¡±


    Haddie tensed, her smile vanishing. Before she could react, Felix was there, his hand clamping down on the man¡¯s wrist with a grip that made the mercenary wince.


    ¡°Let her go,¡± Felix growled, his voice low¡ªserious.


    The room went quiet, the other mercenaries rising to their feet. Tension crackled in the air like a storm about to break.


    ¡°Easy now,¡± the innkeeper said, stepping forward with her hands raised. ¡°No need for trouble. Let¡¯s all calm down.¡±


    Haddie placed a hand on Felix¡¯s arm, her touch gentle but firm. ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± she said quietly. ¡°Let it go.¡±


    Felix¡¯s jaw clenched, but he released the man¡¯s wrist and stepped back. The mercenary glared at him, rubbing his arm, but didn¡¯t push further.


    ¡°You should go,¡± said Haddie. ¡°I can handle this.¡±


    Felix went purple, ready to protest. But with her soft hand on his, he melted into submission. Felix looked around the room. Twelve drunk Swiss Reisl?ufer, still in their armor. The Swiss were dangerous soldiers, and had been a terror in the war between England and France, selling their swords¡ªor more often pikes¡ªto the highest bidder. Their tight, trained formations had changed the tide of battle at Morgarten and Laupen, defeating heavily armored knights. They were skilled fighters. Haddie was right. His presence was making things worse. Dejected, angry, and defeated, he stormed away towards the barn.


    Felix paced near a small fire he¡¯d built, his frustration simmering just below the surface. Caesar watched him with what Felix swore was a knowing look, the goat¡¯s presence as comforting as it was irritating.


    ¡°I¡¯m a man of God,¡± Felix muttered, running a hand through his hair. ¡°She¡¯s getting under my skin. It¡¯s dangerous. She¡¯s dangerous.¡±


    Caesar bleated softly, settling down near the fire.


    Felix sighed, sinking onto a blanket beside the goat. ¡°You think I don¡¯t know? She¡¯s not just some girl. There¡¯s something about her¡­ something that makes me forget why I¡¯m here. Makes me think of things I have no right to want.¡±


    He leaned back, staring at the barn¡¯s wooden beams, the flickering firelight casting shadows that danced like specters.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got a mission,¡± he said, as if trying to convince himself. ¡°That¡¯s all that matters.¡±


    The sound of soft footsteps made him sit up, his hand instinctively reaching for the sword at his belt.


    ¡°It¡¯s just me,¡± Haddie said, her voice quiet.


    Felix relaxed, though his scowl remained. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you be back in the inn?¡±


    ¡°I thought you could use some company.¡±


    Felix opened his mouth to argue, but Haddie knelt beside him, her expression unreadable.


    ¡°I wanted to thank you,¡± she said, her voice barely above a whisper.


    ¡°For what?¡±


    ¡°For what you did back there. Standing up for me.¡±


    Felix shook his head. ¡°I didn¡¯t do enough.¡±


    Haddie smiled softly, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. ¡°Anything at all is more than most have done for me.¡±


    She settled beside him, wrapping her arms around him from behind. Caesar shifted closer, his warmth joining theirs as the fire burned low.


    For the first time in years, Felix allowed himself to relax, the weight of his guilt, his pain, and his penance lifting just enough for him to breathe.

 Norwegian Jazz

    Haddie awoke to an unsettling silence. The barn was empty, save for Caesar, who stood chewing a clump of hay with an indifferent gaze. Sometimes it seemed so intelligent, as if touched by a divine force, and sometimes it seemed so disappointingly ordinary. In this moment it was the latter.


    She lifted herself from the blanket and headed to the exit, the faint glow of the early sun seeping through the slats of the barn and casting long, pale streaks across her form.


    She used one hand to pull her cloak tight to stay warm and the other to push open the barn door. She emerged into an empty street.


    She paced the inn, moving through the halls and doorways inspecting every room. The inn was bereft of a single soul. Everyone was gone. Haddie then walked outside to search the shops across the street. They too were empty. Their windows shuttered and doors latched.


    The town was quite beautiful in the daylight. Fresh flowers rested in planters beneath each window. White walls were sandwiched between the dark timber framing of each building. Many were painted with murals. Some were simple designs like ribbons and vines, while others were story-tall figures of animals, knights, and creatures from mythology¡ªwinged gryphons and prancing statyrs.


    She followed the cobblestone street to a fountain at the center of the village. It was in the shape of an octagon with eight equal-length sides. A dark mold crept up at its base, giving it a dark blue-green patina. At its top was a full-breasted mermaid¡ªthe water poured from her nipples. Her sculpted hair trellised down her shoulders and back, and her scaled fish tail wrapped around her pedestal and descended into the water. She was all the vision of vanity, as all mermaids were.


    Haddie perked up as a familiar sound came to her. The breeze carried muffled voices, a humming. No, Haddie thought, a hymn.


    A stone chapel stood across from her. The chapel was modest but beautiful in its simplicity. Its walls were crafted from gray granite, weathered and pitted by centuries of Alpine winds. A pair of wooden doors, carved with depictions of saints and angels, shined from beneath a recent application of clear lacquer. Above them, a circular stained-glass window depicted Christ surrounded by lambs, glowing softly in the morning light.


    Haddie pushed one of the heavy doors open, just a crack, so she could slip inside. The interior was dim, illuminated by shafts of light filtering through the stained glass. Rows of wooden pews faced an altar of simple yet striking design¡ªpolished oak adorned with a single brass crucifix. Candles flickered along the walls, their flames casting dancing shadows that seemed to animate the carved figures of saints.


    At the center of the gathering was Felix, his head bowed, kneeling before a priest clad in a simple habit. Haddie¡¯s breath caught at the sight of him, his usually stoic form now radiating humility. Around him, the townsfolk and mercenaries were gathered, even the innkeeper woman, standing and leaning against misericords carved into the back of their folding seats.


    The priest placed a hand on Felix¡¯s head, murmuring a benediction. The words were inaudible to her, but the ritual was unmistakable¡ªan affirmation of purpose and a vow of obedience. When the priest stepped back, Felix rose and crossed himself before turning to face the crowd. His gaze briefly caught Haddie¡¯s, and she felt a flicker of awkward trepidation. She was an outsider. An apostate. She did not belong here.


    Thankfully, their mass had come to an end. As the congregation began to disperse, Haddie found herself approached by the captain of the Swiss mercenaries. He was a blond, broad-shouldered man with a neatly trimmed beard and eyes that glinted with a sharp intelligence.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    ¡°My lady,¡± he began, bowing his head slightly. ¡°I am Oswald, captain of this miserable lot. I must apologize for the behavior of my men last night. They are good fighters but often too quick to indulge their baser instincts, especially after a drink.¡±


    Haddie inclined her head, unsure how to respond. Before she could find words, Felix joined them.


    ¡°I must also offer my apologies,¡± Felix said. ¡°My temper often outpaces my judgment.¡±


    Oswald nodded, his posture softening. ¡°All is forgiven. It¡¯s what Christ would want. You carry yourself like a true warrior. A knight? A soldier?¡±


    Felix hesitated but then spoke plainly. ¡°I am Felix DeWinter, a witch hunter in service of the Pope and the Holy See.¡±


    The captain¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly, not in suspicion but in thought. ¡°A witch hunter, you say? I commend your work, though it must be a difficult calling.¡± Then he looked to Haddie. ¡°You did not attend mass, m¡¯lady. A late night?¡± And he smirked at Felix.


    Felix laughed and Haddie shot him daggers.


    Felix abruptly ended his laughter and cleared his throat. ¡°Speaking of work, may I ask who you and your men serve?¡±


    ¡°We are pledged to the French,¡± Oswald replied. ¡°But our enemy is not the English, but the Burgundians. They were the ones who delivered Jeanne d¡¯Arc to the English, and their alliance has made this war far bloodier than it might have been. The French are beset on both sides.¡±


    Felix¡¯s expression darkened at the mention of Joan of Arc, but he said nothing. Instead, he pressed on. ¡°Do you know of Mont Saint-Michel?¡±


    ¡°Of course. A small island that was turned into a church that was turned into a fortress. It¡¯s the only French holding in Normandy¡ªthe English can¡¯t force the bastards out. But its days may be numbered. The Baron of Scales has been tasked with its siege. It¡¯s been a thorn in their side for too long¡ªa symbol of resistance. Scales is a formidable foe, though his appointment was as much political as it was strategic. He commands loyalty through coin more than charisma, yet his results are undeniable. The Baron has a reputation for persistence¡ªhe will not rest until Mont Saint-Michel is ground to dust and every man and every thing there is destroyed.¡±


    Felix¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°Thank you for the information. It may yet prove invaluable.¡±


    The captain extended a hand, which Felix clasped firmly. ¡°Safe travels, witch hunter. May God guide your path.¡±


    As the mercenaries began to depart, Haddie and Felix stood side by side in the chapel¡¯s shadowed doorway. Haddie glanced at him, her expression one of concern. Not for him, and not for her, but for them.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you wake me?¡± she asked softly.


    Felix hesitated, his gaze fixed on the horizon. ¡°I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d want to join me here. Faith is a personal matter¡ªfor me, and for you.¡±


    ¡°You could have told me,¡± said Haddie. ¡°I thought you vanished.¡±


    Felix turned to her, his eyes softening. ¡°I won¡¯t vanish, Haddie. Not without a word.¡±


    She nodded, though her heart felt far from settled. Together, they left the chapel, and with Caesar in tow, they left the small Swiss town.


    Felix was set on reaching Normandy as fast as possible, which would mean less diversions. But fate loves providing good people with endless obstacles. In this instance, the road stopped.


    ¡°Christ in Heaven,¡± said Felix.


    ¡°What does it say?¡± asked Haddie.


    Felix raised an eyebrow. Then he pointed at a sign. ¡°Can you read that?¡± asked Felix.


    ¡°No,¡± replied Haddie. She squirmed on her saddle, uncomfortable with the question.


    Felix pointed at another sign posted to the felled trees that blocked the road. ¡°What about that one? Can you read that one?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Haddie. ¡°I cannot read the signs.¡±


    ¡°You cannot read the signs, or you cannot read?¡±


    ¡°I cannot read.¡±


    Felix drew a heavy, contemplative breath. Could his mission bear to take on another task? He looked back to the road, and how far they¡¯d come, and decided that she was not truly free from the shackles of her upbringing until she had the freedom to read. ¡°I¡¯ll teach you, then. This is your first lesson. Would you like to learn German or French?¡±


    ¡°Why German or French?¡±


    Felix motioned to the signs, ¡°Because that sign is in German, and that sign is in French.¡±


    ¡°German¡­ But we are heading to France, so maybe French is more appropriate.¡±


    ¡°They say the same thing,¡± said Felix. ¡°Sound out each letter, then put them together.¡±


    Haddie did her best, pursing her lips and puffing out air and then flicking her tongue. ¡°P¡ªp¡­¡±


    Felix nodded approvingly. The word was nearly the same in both languages. It mattered not which sign she read.


    Haddie did her best, and Felix waited patiently. Her champion, her companion, and now her teacher. Eventually, she put the sounds together and it formed a word.


    ¡°Plague.¡±

 Grave Goods

    Navigating their horses through the forest was only an inconvenience, although Caesar made its distaste for the thick underbrush painfully apparent through incessant wines.


    Felix made sure to move slowly. Horses, for all their speed and power, were much like Achilles¡ªsuffering a fragility of the ankles. He would not have his trek cut short if Castigar, his black stallion, suffered an injury. Just as he served the Church, Castigar served him. And he would not betray its loyalty.


    French knights would have many horses, and their care was delegated to their attendants and squires. Felix disliked the carelessness for which the French treated their horses. A knight may have five or more of them on campaign. For transport, they would have a few palfrey which they would ride on their march to the battlefield. They were a lighter, dependable stock. When it was time to don their armor, they would use a destrier like Castigar, a tall muscular breed that could bear the added weight and use its bulk to charge in with ferocious force during a lance formation. Then, if things didn¡¯t go well, they¡¯d have a courser, the swiftest breed, safely behind their lines waiting with a squire. Enemy forces may not kill the squires and armorers, but the knight was a noble, and was worth capturing for a ransom. They¡¯d flee back to their attendants after a rout, leap from their war horse, mount that courser, then ride like their life depended on it¡ªbecause it often did.


    This was how cavalry often operated. The word for cavalry came from the Vulgar Latin, caballus. It meant nag, a good for nothing horse only good for pulling a wagon, and then came to refer to all horses. The late Latin had a habit of diminishing things, just as the Roman Empire diminished with it. The common people relished in dismantling all things proper, all things sacred. The old Latin word for horse was equus. It meant noble steed. It was the proper description, one befitting Castigar.


    ¡°There,¡± called out Haddie. She had rediscovered the road. They could continue their journey.


    ¡°We do not stop,¡± said Felix, wary of contact with plague beggars. The sooner they were through this village, the better.


    A town appeared just ahead. It was small, and sparse. Only a few buildings, all of them shuttered. It was eerily silent, the sound of their horses hooves on the ancient cobblestone road was all there was to hear.


    Then, something did break the silence.


    ¡°Ho, there! You must be mad or desperate to come here.¡±


    The voice, low and gruff, seemed to come from all around them and nowhere.


    ¡°Down here!¡±


    Felix rode up to the voice, making sure to keep some distance. There, in a ditch that they did not see on their approach, was a filthy man in a black hood¡ªshovel in his hand.


    Felix¡¯s fingers found their way to the hilt of his sword, more out of habit than mistrust.¡±I could say the same for you.¡±


    ¡°Oh, me? I had it as a boy," he said, then pulled down the neck of his shirt and revealing a latticework of pop-mark scars, a constellation of pain. ¡°Recovered somehow. Saints or luck, I don¡¯t know. Now I dig. Always digging. Besides, these fine people have already paid for my services.¡± He held up a dirty hand and pointed to a stack of bodies wrapped in white linen at the bottom of his ditch. ¡°It would be unchristian of me not to give them a proper burial.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a gravedigger, then.¡±


    ¡°Aye, I am. The only profession lower than executioner, I believe. People hate being reminded of death. But it comes to us all the same, and someone¡¯s gotta do it. Grave digger¡¯s work doesn¡¯t stop, not even for the plague.¡±


    The man began scratching at his wiry beard, his clothes and face stained with the same earth as the pit around him, his form nearly indistinguishable from the mud.


    ¡°How long has the town been quarantined?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d say nearly a month. That¡¯s what quarantine mean, don¡¯t it? Four weeks. That¡¯s how long it takes for the sickness to reap an entire town¡ªleast until there¡¯s no one left to get it.¡±


    Caesar let out a low bleat, and the man chuckled, seemingly amused by the goat¡¯s presence. Haddie turned to Felix, uneasy. "We should go back.¡±


    The man shrugged, and returned to his digging, kicking the shovel into the soft earth with his foot.


    Felix¡¯s eyes swept over the crow-pecked town. "No. We press on. The dead are no danger to us.¡±Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    Haddie grimaced, but did not protest.


    A faint, high-pitched sound of a baby¡¯s cry broke the silence. Haddie stiffened. "Do you hear that?"


    Felix frowned. "Leave it. It¡¯s not our concern."


    Haddie ignored him, heading toward the sound, and Felix followed with an exasperated sigh. Caesar trotted after them, his hooves clicking against the stones of the street. They stopped at a small house with its door slightly ajar. Haddie pushed it open, and the smell hit them immediately¡ªrotting flesh, excrement, death.


    Inside, the air was stifling. Caesar refused to enter. A man lay sprawled across a straw-stuffed mattress, his face blue-gray, his hands caught in a rigor mortis prayer. His insides had turned to liquid, soaking into his linen mattress and pooling onto the floor in a viscous black-green ichor. In a chair beside him, a woman slumped lifelessly, pop marks on her face, her breast exposed. A baby, not a year old, writhed weakly in her arms, crying in a hoarse, pitiful wail.


    Haddie gasped and moved toward the child, but Felix grabbed her arm. "Don¡¯t touch it."


    "It¡¯s still alive!" she snapped, wrenching free.


    Felix unsheathed his sword and used the tip to gently nudge the baby¡¯s head. Its tiny face turned toward him, revealing the telltale red blotches of the plague spreading across its fragile skin. Felix grimaced. "It¡¯s already marked. It¡¯ll die. Probably by tomorrow. I can make it quick," said Felix, raising his blade.


    "No!" Haddie stepped between him and the child.


    Felix¡¯s eyes narrowed. "It¡¯s a mercy. You want it to suffer, to choke on its own breath? The plague is no kinder than a sword."


    Haddie bent down, picking up the baby despite Felix¡¯s protests. She swaddled it in the remnants of the mother¡¯s dress and rocked it gently against her chest. The baby¡¯s cries softened to a weak whimper.


    ¡°Damnit, Haddie,¡± shouted Felix. ¡°Do you want to kill us both?¡±


    The baby grew quieter, its breathing shallow. Felix watched, his jaw tight, as the child slowly grew still in Haddie¡¯s arms. It died there, cradled against her warmth. Haddie¡¯s shoulders shook as she clutched the lifeless body. "There is no mercy in this world," she whispered.


    Felix knelt beside her, his expression cold. ¡°Put it down.¡±


    Haddie placed the baby back in the mother¡¯s arms, arranging them as though they had passed peacefully in each other¡¯s embrace. She stared at the scene for a long moment, her face pale. "There¡¯s no heaven waiting for them," she said. "They¡¯ll rot here like everything else, until they¡¯re nothing but dust."


    Felix looked at her sharply. "Do you really believe there¡¯s nothing after death?"


    "Yes," Haddie said, her voice flat.


    "Then we believe the same thing."


    She turned to him, confused. "What do you mean?"


    Felix rose, sliding his sword back into its sheath. "I believe God made the universe. And, when I die, I¡¯ll return to Him. If you believe nothing made the universe, then nothing is what you¡¯ll return to. Hope is what God offers, hope that the world can¡¯t be suffering and nothing else.¡±


    Haddie stared at him, her expression unreadable. "Maybe," she said softly, standing and brushing off her dress. "But I¡¯ll never believe in a God who lets children die like this. I didn''t even know its name.¡±


    Felix didn¡¯t reply. He merely glanced at the bodies one last time, then turned to leave. "We need to move," he said. "The longer we stay, the more we tempt our own fate. Your heart may well have doomed us.¡±


    Felix moved to the door, but Haddie lingered. Felix looked back from the doorway. He could feel an anger boiling. They were risking too much being here.


    ¡°Is this how you were found, Hexenjager? When that peasant couple took you in¡­¡±


    Now he was angry.


    ¡°You swaddle all the plague babies you want, and when the buboes grow in your armpits and your tongue swells so large you choke, you remember that I warned you, and your gentle heart didn¡¯t listen.¡± Then he stormed out.


    Haddie wouldn¡¯t have it, and she rushed after him. ¡°Do you have love for nothing? No heart at all? Do you even know what it is to love? To lose someone?¡±


    Felix whirled around, ¡°Aye!¡± he shouted. ¡°I have lost much. I have lost all that I cared for, and then I lost myself. I have sins to pay for. More than most. And I will burn in hell for eternity if I do not make amends. Do not deny me of that chance.¡±


    ¡°Who was it?¡±


    Felix made a steely expression, but his quivering lip betrayed him.


    ¡°I will tell you. But first we must leave this place and linger no longer, or we will be party to that gravedigger¡¯s pit.¡±


    ¡°Her name was Elsebeth,¡± said the gravedigger. He was standing nearby, leaning on his shovel. ¡°She was born just before it started. They were a kind couple, and she was loved¡ªall the way to the end.¡±


    Felix and Haddie stood in shocked silence.


    ¡°I¡¯ll collect them. Don¡¯t worry. They¡¯ll have a Christian burial, and they will be reunited again in heaven.¡±


    Felix took a gold florin from his belt, and tossed it to the man. It was the only one he had left. The old gravedigger caught it, and shivered in excitement, holding it out in his filthy palm in disbelief. It was more than he¡¯d make this year and the next.


    ¡°We are all slaves to our station,¡± said Felix. ¡°But I do not think low of gravediggers. It is a noble profession.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± said the gravedigger, a tear streaked down his cheek, clearing away the mud and muck, and allowing for a single clean spot to radiate his fresh, pink skin beneath.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± said Felix to Haddie.


    Mounting their horses, Felix patted Castigar firmly on the side. Then he looked to Caesar, ambivalent to the situation, and Haddie¡ªa white witch almost ethereal on her white horse. If he could feel love, he felt it in this moment.

 Persian Sails

    The storm came upon them fast, and with a fury. Rain fell in sheets and the sky went dark. Errant lightning spread through the clouds like bioluminescent veins, each one punctuated with thunder that felt so near that it rattled in their teeth.


    It was Haddie that spotted the windmill first. Her eyes seemed more attuned than Felix¡¯s over long distances. It was a sturdy structure made of stacked stones on a barren hill. From the state of its torn and tattered sails, it looked to be abandoned.


    The trio and their horses went inside to take shelter. It was dry and quiet, save the faint sound of raindrops leaking through the roof. The floor was covered in straw, and a nest of rocks sat on the broken millstone, having been used as a hearth by other passers by.


    Windmills were an old technology, like the plow before it. They had taken away much of the effort in turning dirt into food. But with it came complacency. The French liked to play with their food. Nobility would experiment in their kitchens, baking new kinds of sweet bread and tossing out their scraps, while peasants starved.


    Felix worked to prepare a fire in the stones. He was fortunate that there was dry wood inside left unmolested by the pouring rain. He used bits of straw from the floor, but couldn¡¯t manage a flame. Retrieving the pistol from his hip, he held the starting mechanism to the tinder and began dry firing the weapon. It shot out a great sea of sparks, and the kindling finally took.


    ¡°What is that?¡± asked Haddie.


    Felix returned it to the satchel. ¡°A weapon.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what you need the saltpeter for?¡±


    ¡°Aye.¡±


    ¡°It is like a canon, then?¡±


    ¡°It is.¡±


    ¡°Those men feared it.¡±


    ¡°They were right to fear it.¡±


    ¡°It is such a small thing to fear.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s powerful. It can pierce through armor greater than any bodkin.¡±


    ¡°It seems like a weapon for the meek. What injustices could be corrected with that in the hands of women¡­¡±


    ¡°Aye. The Church fears it greatly. They see it disturbing the order of things.¡±


    ¡°Maybe the order of things should be disturbed.¡±


    Felix turned his attention to the fire, lowering his head to breathe into the flames. The fire found his breath agreeable and rose in intensity.


    Haddie removed her cloak and hung it from a post nearby, then rubbed her hands together for warmth.


    ¡°What is in Normandy?¡± she asked.


    Felix furrowed his brow. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Then why do you go there?¡±


    ¡°I was asked.¡±


    ¡°By whom?¡±


    ¡°The College of Cardinals in Rome. They set me to a task, and I complete it. I have done it countless times.¡±


    ¡°Do you tire of it? Being commanded?¡±


    He took a moment to think. ¡°Aye,¡± he replied.


    ¡°Then why do it?¡±


    ¡°To pay a debt.¡±


    Haddie retrieved a blanket from her horse and laid it on the floor. Caesar circled on it first and then laid upon it, wiggling its ears contently. Haddie leaned down to meet it, but then paused. She held out a palm and began knocking on the floor.


    ¡°What is it?¡± asked Felix.


    ¡°There is a cellar here,¡± said Haddie.


    Prying up an old trap door, Felix stuck his head down into the damp hole of a small cellar. When he pulled himself back up he had a dusty bottle of wine in each hand, the glass having frosted with age.


    ¡°A gift for you,¡± said Felix with a rare boyish smile, and handed her one of the bottles.


    The wine was good, thankfully. Like all things, not all wine ages well. Felix could not guess as to the vintage, but it was sweet and dry. And it did its work, letting him clear his mind and think of better things.


    ¡°I wonder who left this behind,¡± Haddie mused, holding her bottle to the firelight and peering through its indigo depths. ¡°Who they were, what they dreamed about.¡±


    ¡°Someone who didn¡¯t come back,¡± Felix said, his voice quiet. ¡°That¡¯s how it goes.¡±


    She turned her head to him. ¡°Is that how it always goes?¡±


    Felix hesitated, taking a long sip from his bottle before answering. ¡°Usually. But not always.¡± He glanced at her. ¡°Sometimes, people find what they¡¯re looking for.¡±


    ¡°And you?¡± she asked, her voice softer now. ¡°Have you?¡±


    His grip on the bottle tightened, and he looked away. ¡°I¡¯ve stopped looking.¡±


    The words hung between them as she uncorked her bottle. Haddie studied him for a moment before taking a long drink. ¡°Maybe you¡¯re just looking in the wrong places.¡±


    Felix gave a low chuckle, although it held no humor. ¡°That¡¯s generous of you.¡±


    ¡°What is it you seek, witch hunter?¡±


    ¡°I have always believed that people just want to go home, they just don¡¯t know where it is.¡±


    Haddie leaned in close to him and raised a finger to his chest, right above his heart, ¡°The journey home is a simple one, for it lies within you.¡±


    They laid there, sharing in each other¡¯s warmth, and drank the wine beside Caesar.


    Haddie polished off her bottle and closed her eyes, her arms wrapped around Caesar who also slept. Felix stared at her. She was so beautiful. She was like the Weisse Frauen, the white woman¡ªan elf goddess. In the stories her hair was wreathed in a laurel made of starlight. Haddie was as a nymph, a creature too pure for the world as men had made it. She belonged in some forbidden glen filled with flowers, dancing with satyrs, rejoicing. But now she was with him, dirty and damp and damned, and he felt pity for her. He felt pity for anyone who came close. But, mostly, he felt pity for himself. And he lowered the bottle of wine to the floor without finishing it.


    A creak from above cut through the din of the storm. It was sharper than the wind or the groan of the old structure settling. Felix¡¯s head snapped up. He paused, then moving slowly so as to not wake Haddie, moved toward the ladder leading to the upper levels.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡± Haddie murmured, half-asleep.


    ¡°Stay here,¡± said Felix. He began to climb, each rotting rung of the ladder sinking beneath his weight. As he ascended, the howl of the wind and stabbing rain seemed to grow distant.


    At the top of the mill, Felix pushed open the hatch to the loft. It was a mess of machinery. Cobwebbed cogs and gears, with the great spur in the center. If the sails of the windmill could be repaired, this place may still have the ability to come to life with whirring efficiency.


    Lightning flashed, illuminating the room. It was empty¡ªat first. Then, in the vanishing light, he saw a figure standing behind the windshaft. A man, tall and bearded, with a weathered face and a patch over his left eye. Felix instinctively gripped his sword.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± Felix demanded, his voice low.


    The man turned, his single eye gleaming like molten gold in the dim light. ¡°A traveler,¡± he said, his voice calm, almost amused. ¡°Seeking shelter, as you are.¡±This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    ¡°I was certain that we were alone,¡± Felix said, stepping closer, his hand still on his weapon. ¡°Why did you not make your presence known? I could have killed you.¡±


    The man chuckled softly. ¡°Oh, I doubt that, hound of God.¡±


    Felix froze. ¡°How do you know me?¡±


    The man ignored the question, laying his hand on the thick windshaft and ducking beneath it and approaching Felix. ¡°Tell me,¡± he said, his tone turning grave. ¡°Do you believe in the cause you serve? Or do you only believe in the sword you wield?¡±


    Felix narrowed his eyes. ¡°I fight for God. For the Church. For order. Without it, the world would fall into chaos.¡±


    The man tilted his head, as though considering his words. ¡°Order, you say. But whose order? The dean cardinal¡¯s? The pope¡¯s? Or the story they tell? Have you ever wondered what would happen if that story ended?¡±


    Felix¡¯s grip tightened on the sword hilt. ¡°Speak plainly.¡±


    The man rose to his full height. He was taller and fuller than Felix, but old. Ancient. His gaze held a weight that made Felix feel as though he were being judged by something far greater than himself. ¡°Humanity craves stories,¡± the man said. ¡°Not gods. Not faith. But the tales that bind them together. Why do you think men gather in churches, in taverns, in courts? It¡¯s not the rituals or the ale or the law¡ªthey crave belonging. They crave the story. A people without shared stories, without shared values, are no people at all. Do you think the institutions you serve care for those values? Or are they merely protecting their own power?¡±


    Lightning flashed again, casting the man¡¯s face in white light¡ªhis singular eye shining like a north star. ¡°You will face three great tests,¡± he said. ¡°Not all will end in triumph. You must choose which battles are worth fighting, and which are not. Then you will have to make a sacrifice.¡±


    Felix took a step forward, his frustration boiling over. ¡°What are you saying?¡±


    The man smiled faintly. ¡°I am saying that you should question what you fight for. Whether the old world you seek to preserve is truly worth saving¡ªor if the new world, however chaotic, might be better.¡±


    ¡°And you would advocate for that? Chaos?¡±


    ¡°A new forest cannot grow unless the old is burned away. Sometimes a fire is how nature renews itself. It just needs a spark.¡±


    ¡°Is that what I am? The old forest?¡±


    ¡°No, Felix DeWinter, you are the spark.¡±


    Before Felix could respond, the man turned away, stepping back into the shadows.


    And then he was gone.


    Felix searched the cramped space. There was no man. Maybe, he wondered, there never was.


    Felix descended the ladder and made sure the hatch was closed tight. When he returned to the fire, Haddie was asleep, her breathing even and soft. Caesar, however, sat upright, his unblinking gaze fixed on Felix.


    ¡°Friend of yours?¡± asked Felix.


    The goat did not respond. Then lowered its head into Haddie¡¯s lap, and closed its eyes.


    Felix went to tend the fire, and did not go to bed.


    He awoke standing. Leaning on the center post, he had nodded off beside the fire, which had burned down to embers.


    Haddie and Caesar were gone, but her Arabian remained in the corner of the small space, so she had not gone far. Felix burst from the windmill and was met with a bright morning sun reflecting off grass that was still slick from the storm. The air had the earthy smell of fresh rain, and the hint of a rainbow hung above him.


    Haddie was not far off. She sat on her knees beside Caesar, collecting wildflowers. As she plucked each flower they shivered with water droplets, and then she placed them in the white bib of her dress.


    ¡°Wild sage,¡± she said.


    ¡°Is it for medicine?¡±


    ¡°Are you worried we have the plague, Felix?¡±


    ¡°We will not know for two more days.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I think we should wait here. If symptoms do not show, we can continue.¡±


    ¡°And if they do?¡± asked Felix.


    Haddie did not say a word. Instead, she just smiled at him. Her teeth were white, straight, and perfect between a set of equally perfect lips.


    Then she went back to picking flowers.


    Felix walked around the perimeter of the windmill, looking to make himself useful. There were some rusted iron implements half-buried and grown over. But nothing he could make use of. He felt like he was of no use. He marched back to Haddie and Caesar.


    ¡°I am wasting time here,¡± said Felix. ¡°I should be heading north.¡±


    ¡°You are only a slave to time if you choose to be. You are safe here. Rejoice in that,¡± said Haddie.


    ¡°My enemies will not delay.¡±


    ¡°Maybe we can use this time to get to know one another better.¡±


    ¡°And what do I need to know of you, Haddie?¡±


    Haddie stood, collecting the bundle of flowers in the front of her dress, and approached him. ¡°Do you want to know my name? My true name?¡±


    Felix stepped back, confused. ¡°Is it not Haddie?¡±


    ¡°It was Maggie, Haddie is the nickname they used. Rhymes and all that. My name at birth was Magdalene. My mother thought giving us Christian names from the Bible would protect us¡­¡± She paused. ¡°It didn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Do I call you Magdalene, then?¡±


    ¡°No, Haddie is fine. I have grown fond of it.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s for the best, Mary Magdalene was a whore.¡±


    Haddie lashed out with a punch to Felix¡¯s shoulder. Then smiled, and took off running toward the windmill. Her flowers falling from her dress. Felix chased after.


    She stood against the millstone, a bottle of pilfered wine in her hand. ¡°If we do be plagued, then we don¡¯t have much time before we waste away.¡± She took a long pull from the wine bottle.


    Felix walked up to her, and she pressed the bottle to his lips, and lifted it enough to give him an equal sip.


    She lifted a finger to her mouth, pressing down her bottom lip and touching the tip to her teeth. ¡°Maybe, with the time we have left¡­ I can be your whore.¡±


    Feix grabbed Haddie by the waist, pressing her up against the cold millstone. She let out a delighted gasp as her feet lifted from the floor. Then came a delirious bleating from Caesar outside.


    Felix and Haddie, flushed with red in their faces, were met outside by a small band of common folk trying to lasso Caesar with ropes.


    ¡°Stop!¡± shouted Felix, adjusting his pants which were now painfully tight, and reaching for his sword.


    ¡°This your goat?¡± said a man in drab, loosely-fitting brown clothes.


    ¡°Aye.¡±


    ¡°We thought it a wild goat. Didn¡¯t mean anything by it. We¡¯re hungry is all.¡±


    The common folk, maybe six in all, looked dejected and dropped the ropes to their sides. Felix¡¯s hand relaxed, though he did not let go of the hilt of his sword. Haddie loosened her own hand on the wine bottle, which she had sought to use as a makeshift weapon. He looked at Haddie, whose expression had softened.


    ¡°These people are starving,¡± she whispered.


    ¡°I see that,¡± Felix replied. He glanced at Caesar, who stood as imperiously as a goat could manage, his tail flicking as if he were unfazed by the entire ordeal. Felix sighed, running a hand through his hair. ¡°The goat is mine. But¡­¡± He turned back to the group. ¡°Wait here.¡±


    Felix retreated into the windmill, retrieving a small satchel of provisions from his horse. Inside was cheese, salted meat, and a handful of dried figs¡ªrations meant to sustain them on his mission north. He brought them back to the group and thrust the satchel into the man¡¯s hands.


    ¡°Take this. It¡¯s not much, but it will keep you alive.¡±


    The man stared at the offering, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Finally, he managed, ¡°Thank you, sir. God bless you.¡±


    ¡°I pray this is enough before you find your next meal,¡± said Felix. ¡°But avoid the next town. There is plague there.¡±


    ¡°Oh, we¡¯ve all had it. For people like us, plague is a way of life. It is our second baptism.¡±


    ¡°Where are you going?¡±


    ¡°We are pilgrims on our way to Rome. We want to meet the pope.¡±


    Felix grimaced. Such small minds think holiness is something like plague, contagious when exposed to those who are deemed to have it. ¡°I doubt he¡¯ll see you, but good luck to you. Rome can be inhospitable, so keep your expectations measured.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been to Rome then?¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± said Felix.


    ¡°Have you met the pope?¡±


    ¡°I have.¡±


    The man¡¯s expression widened, his eyes opening wide and pushing back his already receding hairline and tightening the skin on his gaunt cheekbones. ¡°This man¡¯s met the pope!¡±


    More people appeared, moving up the hill from some unseen places. Now there was a score of them.


    The man walked up to Felix and placed his hands on his shoulders. Grabbing his hand the man began shaking it. ¡°What a miracle. To meet a man who has met the pope.¡±


    Others began approaching Felix and he began to backpedal. Before he could protest he had a crowd of hands grabbing him from every direction. People began singing and praising the Lord, and asking for forgiveness, favors, miracles, and money from God.


    Haddie stood beside Caesar, her mouth crooked in disgust at Felix¡¯s newfound celebrity.


    ¡°Please,¡± shouted Felix. ¡°I am not the Church.¡±


    The man with the receding hairline called out, ¡°Halt, fine pilgrims. Give the man space.¡± Then he looked to Felix. ¡°What does he look like?¡±


    Felix thought for a moment. ¡°Pope Eugene? He looks like an old man, like every other pope. He was only elected last year.¡±


    ¡°Is he good?¡±


    ¡°I hope he will be.¡±


    That was enough for the crowd, and they thanked Felix, and began dividing the rations amongst themselves, returning to their pilgrimage down the hill.


    When they were gone, Haddie looked up at Felix, her eyes bright with approval. ¡°That was kind of you.¡±


    ¡°They have our food.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll find more.¡±


    Felix turned back to the windmill. ¡°We¡¯ve rested enough. We¡¯ll need to keep moving if we are to feed ourselves. Saddle up. We leave for Normandy before the sun reaches its peak.¡±


    Haddie hesitated. ¡°Do you think they¡¯ll survive?¡± she asked, glancing back at the retreating figures in the distance.


    Felix didn¡¯t answer immediately. He looked out over the horizon and rain-soaked earth. ¡°If they don¡¯t,¡± he said finally, ¡°it won¡¯t be for lack of trying.¡±


    Haddie nodded, her expression solemn, and together they prepared to depart. As they mounted their horses and began their journey north, Felix couldn¡¯t shake the memory of the one-eyed man in the loft. His words lingered in Felix¡¯s mind like a splinter¡ªno, a spark.


    Felix glanced at Haddie, who rode ahead with Caesar trotting beside her. He felt the crushing weight of the man¡¯s prophecy settling on his shoulders, heavy as the sword at his side. Whatever lay ahead in Normandy, Felix knew it would test more than just his faith.


    And, when the time came, what would he sacrifice to do it?

 Curio the Crow

    It was two days before they saw another soul, and to their relief, there was no swelling, no marks on their skin, and they were still alive. The countryside stretched before them, damp and silent, the coiling mist draped across the surface of the earth like heavy ghosts.


    Felix rode ahead, his horse¡¯s hooves sinking in the mud, while Caesar sniffed at every root and puddle. Haddie rode beside them, her eyes scanning the path ahead, watchful for dangers that Felix could not yet see.


    They came upon a shape on the path in front of them, emerging from the mist. It was large, round, and dark, moving with a fluidity that was subtle, yet deliberate¡ªa shadow taken form. Felix froze. He squinted, trying to make sense of the shape, but the fog seemed to conspire against him.


    ¡°It¡¯s a man,¡± Haddie whispered. Her voice was low but certain. ¡°A man in a cloak of feathers.¡±


    The figure turned and stepped closer, and now Felix could see it too¡ªa wiry man wrapped in a bulky cloak of glossy black feathers that shimmered in the faint light. His face was lean and sharp, his eyes glinting with a peculiar cunning.


    ¡°Coo,¡± the man said.


    Felix blinked. ¡°What?¡±


    The man spread his arms, his cloak billowing out like wings. ¡°Coo!¡± he repeated, louder this time, as if it explained everything.


    Haddie raised an eyebrow. ¡°Do you always greet people like pigeons?¡±


    The man tilted his head, studying her. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, he spun on his heel and did a little jig, the bells at his ankles jingling in an erratic rhythm.


    Felix grimaced towards Haddie. ¡°We¡¯re definitely in France.¡±


    The man stopped mid-dance and thrust a finger toward Felix, his expression dramatic and wounded. ¡°Ah, monsieur! Such prejudice against a fine country known for the arts!¡±


    ¡°And what arts be this?¡± Felix muttered.


    ¡°I am a jongleur!¡± the man declared, puffing out his chest. ¡°A wandering minstrel! A purveyor of merriment and wonder! I am known as Curio the Crow.¡± He made a full sweeping bow, his feathered cloak collapsing across his shoulders.


    Haddie crossed her arms. ¡°Why are you out here?¡±


    The jongleur sighed, clutching his chest as if struck by some invisible arrow. ¡°Because I have lost my circus.¡±


    ¡°Where did you last leave it?¡± said Haddie, sarcastically, her upturned lips betraying a hint of amusement.


    The man narrowed his eyes, clearly unamused by her tone. ¡°It was stolen from me. My troupe, my animals, my livelihood¡ªall gone, taken in the dead of night!¡± He cooed again, this time mournfully, and spun in another circle for good measure.


    Felix exchanged a glance with Haddie. ¡°This is a waste of time.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± Haddie said, directing her horse forward. ¡°Who stole your circus?¡±


    The jongleur leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. ¡°A great grabbing beast with many feet.¡±


    Felix frowned. ¡°A beast?¡±


    The jongleur nodded gravely. ¡°Yes, monsieur. It came with thunder. And then¡ªpoof! Everything was gone.¡±


    ¡°Most likely bandits,¡± Haddie said, though her tone was less dismissive now.


    ¡°Bandits, beasts, what¡¯s the difference?¡± the jongleur replied, throwing his hands up. ¡°They are thieves all the same!¡±


    Felix sighed. ¡°It is likely you were passed out drunk and they left without you. We need to keep moving¡ªwe have no time for crows.¡±


    Caesar snorted, pawing its cloven hoof at the ground.


    The jongleur¡¯s eyes lit up. ¡°What a fine goat! A German breed. And you, monsieur and mademoiselle, are you in need of entertainment?¡±


    ¡°Assuredly, no,¡± said Haddie.


    The jongleur cooed one last time. ¡°Everyone is in need of stories. If you be heading north, then as am I. Mayhaps I can regale you with my tales on your journey¡ªuntil at least I am reunited with my circus.¡±


    Stories, thought Felix. The old man¡¯s portent rattled in his mind. He had experienced his fill of ambushes, and this man was the wildest sort of unknown traveling companion. But there was a sincerity in him, Felix could tell. The strange bird-man did not raise alarms of danger.


    ¡°I travel with purpose, not for company,¡± Felix said flatly. ¡°And my road is no place for jesters.¡±


    The jongleur raised the back of his hand to his forehead in mock despair. ¡°No place for jesters? What a bleak road indeed! And yet, it is often such paths that most require levity. A grim soul like yours could do with a laugh or two, I¡¯d wager.¡±


    Haddie stifled a laugh of her own, earning a sharp glance from Felix. She turned to the jongleur, her eyes bright with curiosity. ¡°What tales would you tell?¡±Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    ¡°Oh, the grandest of tales!¡± The jongleur spread his arms wide, as though inviting the whole world to listen. ¡°Of love and loss, of daring escapes and triumphant returns. I¡¯ve danced in the courts of kings and sung for the lowliest of beggars. And should you tire of stories, I can play you a tune.¡± He reached into his patchwork bag and produced a small lute, its strings worn but seemingly well-tuned. He strummed a few cheerful notes, his fingers moving with practiced ease.


    And then he sang.


    Man, from mischief mend your ways,


    And give good heed to what I say.


    From seven sins keep far away;


    The least of these brings dread each day.


    For of the least, I''ll now explain,


    To guard your soul from hellish pain.


    Beware, for God will vengeance claim


    On those who scorn His holy name.


    The first sacrament God did decree


    Was wedlock, formed in purity.


    Believe in this, and let it be,


    For it shall last eternally.


    His word remains, both firm and clear,


    Until death comes, its truth we bear.


    And folds us all in earthly clay,


    On judgment''s dawn, at break of day.


    Felix sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. ¡°Do you ever stop talking?¡±


    The crow¡¯s palm slapped on the lute and the music stopped. ¡°Rarely,¡± the jongleur admitted with a grin. ¡°But I assure you, my company is worth the chatter.¡±


    Haddie tilted her head, studying Felix. ¡°He could be useful,¡± she said softly. ¡°Another pair of eyes, and he may know the roads and towns.¡±


    Felix¡¯s gaze flicked between Haddie and the jongleur.


    ¡°Fine,¡± Felix said at last, begrudgingly. ¡°But if you become a nuisance, you¡¯ll find yourself on a much lonelier road.¡±


    The jongleur¡¯s grin widened, revealing a crooked set of buck teeth. ¡°Splendid! You won¡¯t regret this, I promise.¡± He slung his lute over his shoulder and gave a theatrical bow. ¡°You¡¯ll find me a companion of the highest order. And, I have little need for food, I run solely on wine.¡±


    ¡°France¡­¡± Felix muttered.


    Caesar bleated in agreement.


    They continued for hours along the Roman road, Curio on foot beside Caesar. He, thankfully, did not produce his lute as they travelled.


    ¡°I tell you, there was no finer spectacle than ours in all of France!¡± said Curio. "Kings and bishops, beggars and barons¡ªall would come to see us. In Italy, the Medici themselves clapped for my tumbling and showered me with gold florins at my feet. But here in France?¡± He turned, a hand dramatically to his chest. ¡°Turnips. Always turnips.¡±


    Felix, riding ahead, sighed. ¡°Perhaps they were trying to tell you something.¡±


    Haddie smirked but kept her eyes on the road. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with turnips? Better than rocks.¡±


    Curio ignored them, hurrying his pace to keep up with the horses. ¡°Ah, but the life of a performer! One day you¡¯re showered with gold, the next, you¡¯re a lone jester on a muddy road. Such is the fickleness of fate.¡±


    Before Felix could tell the feathered man to cease, the air shifted. A low, rhythmic rumble vibrated through the ground, faint but distinct. He slowed his horse, raising a hand.


    The noise grew louder¡ªa steady beat, accompanied by the metallic clink of armor and the murmur of distant voices. Men and horses.


    ¡°What is that?¡± said Haddie.


    Felix¡¯s eyes narrowed as a ripple of movement broke through the mist ahead. Then they saw it¡ªa column of soldiers marching in perfect formation, their spears gleaming faintly in the dim light, their colorful banners fluttering above them.


    ¡°An army,¡± said Felix grimly.


    ¡°They look to be French,¡± said Haddie. ¡°I can make out the fleur-de-lis on their banners.¡±


    The army stretched in both directions as far as he could see, disappearing into the grey horizons. They moved perpendicular to their path, and would force them to wait¡ªa day or more.


    Felix grunted. ¡°It is not safe to approach an army on the march, even if they would let us cross.¡±


    Curio, for once, was silent, his gaze fixed on the marching soldiers. A realization seemed to wash over him.


    Felix noted their precision¡ªshoulder to shoulder, four abreast, moving as one. A professional army. They were likely moving from one fortified position to another. To move quickly armies relied on the ancient roads, but it limited their width. They would send out the first men in the morning, four at a time in close order, and march all day, unwinding like a snake and then coiling in the new location. This allowed them to move efficiently by day to avoid attack. By the time the last soldiers reached the new position it would be nightfall and the first men would already be down for the night. They would not halt for Felix to pass, or anyone¡ªthey would not risk losing the time and being left exposed.


    ¡°They¡¯ll be marching all day,¡± Haddie said. ¡°What do we do?¡±


    Before they could decide whether to move or wait, a group of riders broke from the column and galloped toward them. At their head was a man in resplendent armor, black and gold, his tabard emblazoned with the fleur-de-lis. His retainers carried high banners above them fixed to their lances that whipped violently in the wind.


    ¡°Do not move,¡± said Felix. ¡°Do not speak.¡±


    The knights halted in front of them and the man at the front removed his helm, revealing a sharp, hawkish face framed by dark, curling hair. A faint smile played on his lips, one that never quite reached his eyes. It wasn¡¯t a friendly smile¡ªit was the smile of a man who enjoyed watching others squirm, a man who held power and knew exactly how to wield it.


    ¡°I am Gilles de Rais, Marshal of France,¡± he said, his voice smooth. ¡°And you are?¡±


    Felix straightened in his saddle, ¡°Travelers from Rome, on a pilgrimage.¡±


    Gilles raised an eyebrow. ¡°Travelers? On this road, at this time? A curious choice. There is a war about.¡±


    ¡°We seek only to pass through,¡± said Haddie as diplomatically as she could muster.


    Curio, unable to remain silent any longer, pushed forward, his feathered cloak rustling as he did. ¡°Monsieur! Your army is the beast that took my circus!¡±


    Gilles began laughing, motioning to the other knights in his contingent. ¡°We seem to have missed one.¡± The other mounted knights joined in on the laughter.


    ¡°Le ravisseur! Kidnappeur! You stole my troupe!¡± cried Curio.


    Felix spurred his horse forward to block the minstrel, but it was too late.


    Gilles grinned wide. ¡°Clowns, be you? Take them. Take them all.¡±


    And then they did.