Page 22 of Wolves’ Witch

Chapter Eleven

Aubert took the rear as they weaved their way through the trees, staying off the marked trails and moving as fast as they dared. Faucher a sensitive? L’enfer. As if they had need of more challenges.

“We should lay some false trails,” said Edmond. “Though whether it will slow Faucher down is yet to be seen.”

“Agreed.” It took Aubert every ounce of discipline to halt his horse and let Edmond continue on with Isobella, but he did. “Remi, with me.”

As Edmond and Isobella disappeared amongst the trees, he pointed toward soft ground. “Remi, go that way. Circle around but stay in front of House Allard. Do not let them get too close.” He kept his voice low, reaching for a dagger in his belt. Remi took the knife as though he had handed him the royal crown. It was but a dagger. Far from his favorite one, but it had a good, sharp blade on it. It would serve the boy well should he need to use it. “Deep thrust, right into the kidneys.” He pointed to a spot below his ribcage. “In front or from behind, you will do damage. Watch your back.”

He liked the boy, thief or no. He had proved useful on more than one occasion, and Aubert did not want to be the one responsible for getting him killed. The stain on his soul was big enough without adding to it.

He nudged his horse toward the rockier ground. His tracks would be harder to follow, but he did not wish to make them too difficult. With three sets of tracks leading away, Faucher would have no choice but to split his forces between him, Remi and Edmond. If he were the one tracking them, he would choose the tracks where there was some attempt at concealment. A smart tracker would too. Faucher, being a sensitive, would most likely want to follow Edmond or him, but would not be able to discount any of the paths. Could he confuse them in the forest by leading them off in different directions, crisscrossing Remi’s and Edmond’s trails? Could he lead them away from Edmond and Isobella? They were about to find out.

* * * *

The late afternoon chill had settled on the air when Remi rejoined Aubert, and still Faucher remained unerringly on Edmond’s trail.

“It is not working,” muttered Remi, his eyes scanning the forest in a constant arc. “No matter what we do, it is like Faucher knows which paths to follow and which to ignore.” He frowned. “Do you think it is possible God is guiding him?”

Aubert snorted. What was guiding Faucher had nothing to do with the Christian God. But Remi was right about one thing—their false trails were not working. He dismounted and handed his reins to Remi.

“What are you doing? They are right behind us!”

Aubert ignored him, unbuckling his sword and stripping off his surcoat, his mail and his gambeson.

Remi’s grin was fiendish. “You are going wolf.”

Aubert removed his boots, his greaves and his vambraces, before stripping off his tunic and breeches. Getting close enough to do what he had in mind was a risk, but if it worked, it would buy them time. Time enough to get away? To lose them in the forest? He hoped so.

Aubert shook out his limbs and called forth his wolf. Bones cracked and his spine contorted. Coarse brown fur sprouted across his skin as his nose elongated into a muzzle. He sank onto all fours, shaking out his fur. Aubert itched to sink his teeth into Faucher’s neck, but he would settle for creating havoc and stalling their pursuit.

“Merde.” Remi’s eyes were wide. “You are a huge wolf. Far bigger than D’Artagnon.”

Their horses stirred, then settled. The d’Louncrais had trained them well. Faucher and all his borrowed chevaliers did not have that luxury. He peeled his lips back from his teeth. He would use that against them.

* * * *

Isobella patted Edmond on the arm, and he reined in the horse so she could slide to the ground. She scooped up a few pine needles to add to her collection of herbs.

Edmond hoisted her back onto the horse. “These herbs will create a barrier, you said?”

“Yes. A ward.” One more herb, mugwort, and she would have everything she needed for a spell. “Herbs aren’t only useful for healing. Not to people like me.”

Edmond spurred the horse on. “To witches?”

There was no accusation in his tone, only curiosity. Given Constance was a witch, and they were werewolves, it was no surprise the tenth-century wolves were as comfortable with witches as the modern-day ones. “Yes, and no. I’m a green witch.” Like her mamá had been. Her papá, too. “I work with the natural elements—plants, animals, the earth, things like that.”

She leaned against Edmond’s back, her ingredients for her spell clutched in her fist. Fatigue dragged at every limb, every muscle in her body. If she’d not already shifted into a wolf, Isobella would wonder if they’d turned her at all. If she weren’t still dying from cancer.

Annabelle had mentioned she’d slept a lot in the first week after Gabriel had claimed and turned her. She’d also mentioned shifting had taken a toll on her body for the first month or so. That had to be it. She was fatigued, not in pain.

“And something as simple as pine needles can stop a man? A score of men?”

She’d never used her magic against someone, or a score of someones before. “It’s more of a warning ward. Something I can set down around us should we stop for a break. Or some sleep.” She could only hope. “Four ingredients for the four elements and four directions. Air, earth, fire and water. North, east, south and west. It’s a common spell. It won’t keep anyone out, but it will warn us—warn me—if someone crosses it with ill intent in their hearts. I’ll get a tingling across my body.”

Riding like this, her body pressed against Edmond’s, her body was tingling now.

“And this is how you came here from this”—Edmond cleared his throat—“this twenty-first century you speak of? Using natural elements like herbs to cast a spell?”