Among Wolves

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“I told Bridgette at Christmas,” Devin explained.

Gaspard snorted. “Whoa, that’s cold, Devin. Haven’t you seen her since then?”

Devin avoided their eyes. “No, there hasn’t been time. I’ve been too busy with my studies.”

From the time he was seven, Devin had been engaged to Bridgette Delacey, the daughter of a prominent Councilman. They had exchanged tokens, carefully chosen by their mothers, at birthdays and Christmas. For the past few years, they had been paired for dancing at summer soirées and winter galas. There had never been anything remotely romantic between them, at least, not on Devin’s part.

Devin turned to leave, hoping to avoid further discussion. Marcus sighed behind him.

“Well, I also need to register our route with the local authorities in the morning.”

Devin wheeled to look at him, afraid of another setback. “I want to get an early start tomorrow,” he reminded him.

Marcus pointed a finger. “Our departure still depends on the weather, Devin. An ice storm is far worse to deal with than a snowstorm.”

“We can’t afford any more delays…” Devin began.

Gaspard finished off the last of Devin’s brandy and laid a hand on his shoulder, the glass still dangling from his finger.

“Don’t worry,” he predicted, his words slightly slurred, “tomorrow will be beautiful.”

Devin wakened to the sound of water dripping off the eaves outside his window. The sky was cloudless and the slushy accumulation of snow had melted overnight. He was surprised to find Marcus already dressed.

“The snow is all but gone and the cold weather seems to have cleared off to the east,” Marcus said. “I’ll go now and deliver your letters and register our itinerary at the same time. You and Gaspard can have breakfast. Be ready to leave when I get back.”

“You’re leaving me alone?” Devin asked in surprise.

“I’m leaving you with Gaspard,” Marcus clarified. “See that you don’t get into trouble while I’m gone.” He held out his hand. “Where are your letters?”

Devin rummaged through his knapsack and pulled out two envelopes. One was still unsealed. He’d been reluctant to include everything that had occurred since he left but there was every possibility that Marcus was filing his own report. Late last night, he’d included the details of LeBeau’s note. This morning, he regretted adding it to his father’s worries.

He glanced up at Marcus. “Have you written to him as well?”

Marcus raised his eyebrows. “Do I need to?”

Devin shook his head and sealed the envelope. “No, I just hate to worry him.”

Marcus slipped on his jacket. “You’ll worry him more if you don’t report all the information available to you. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Devin and Gaspard had a leisurely breakfast and packed their few belongings, but it was nearly noon before Marcus returned.

“The wheels of our government grind very slowly here,” he said, in answer to their questions. “We’ll be lucky to reach Briseé by nightfall. Let’s get going.”

The air had warmed considerably by midday and the sun was welcome on their backs as they left the city. Soon, cobbled streets gave way to unpaved country roads. Wooded areas still sheltered remnants of snow, and deep hollows and valleys harbored pockets of air so cold they could see their breath. Before long, the dirt roads deteriorated into little more than beaten paths threading their way between cow pastures.

They stopped to rest on a high knoll, surveying miles of dry stone walls snaking off into the distance. Clouds raced across the sky casting constantly changing shadows that chased each other across the fields. Grass along the stream beds was already vibrantly green as spring stubbornly advanced, despite yesterday’s weather. Coffee-colored cows dotted the landscape.

“Cheese,” Gaspard remarked suddenly.

Devin turned to look at him. “Cheese?”

“That’s what Ombria is famous for,” Gaspard explained. “I was trying to remember last night after I went to bed. Every province has its own food specialty; I just couldn’t remember Ombria’s.”

“You could have asked,” Devin said.

“I’d rather have figured it out for myself,” Gaspard replied. “When I admit my stupidity, it only makes you look smug.”

“That’s not true!” Devin protested.

Gaspard grinned. “I’m not holding it against you. I’m just trying not to give you any more opportunities to prove your superior intellect.”

Devin ignored him, sliding from his perch on the top of the stone wall to the pasture on the other side. He walked a few feet forward and bent to unearth a rectangular stone pillar covered by grass and ivy.

“Do you think this could be a monolith, Gaspard?”

Gaspard dropped down beside him. Together they pulled away the vegetation, revealing a cut stone, about eighteen inches square and nearly nine feet in length. Inscribed halfway up on the two visible sides was a solid circle surrounded by four consecutively larger rings.

“What does it mean?” Gaspard asked.

Devin shrugged “I don’t think anyone knows for certain. I’ve read about these. There are supposed to be hundreds of them from Ombria clear to the western coast of Perouse. In the southern part of Arcadia, dozens are still standing, two by two, in perfect alignment, from east to west.”

Gaspard traced the circular symbol with his finger. “Surely, there must be some legend or folktale that explains their origins?”

“I hope the Chronicles will shed some light on them,” Devin replied. “Viénne’s archeologists have traditionally ignored any contribution they might add to their historic data.”

Marcus scowled down on them from the wall. “If you two are done excavating, we need to move on. By my calculations, we’re only halfway to Briseé.”

Devin stood up and dusted his hands off on his trousers. “Give me a minute. I just want to take a rubbing of this design.” He scrambled back over the wall and retrieved paper and a piece of charcoal from his knapsack.

Marcus glowered. “Just be quick about it. Do I need to remind you that the symbol of Ombria is a wolf? Unless you relish being eaten tonight, we need to be on our way!”

It was dusk by the time they sighted the first lights of Briseé. The town was built around a community garden with common grazing land around it. Cottages, constructed of the same limestone as the familiar stone walls, stood snug and cozy in the fading light. Some windows were already shuttered against the night but the tavern windows were still bright. Devin didn’t miss the furtive look Marcus threw back along the road as he shepherded them inside.

It was there in the public room that Devin saw the first storyteller’s cloak. It had been thrown carelessly across the back of a bench and its owner had gathered his audience close by the hearth. He stood with his arms flung wide, his face reddened by the light from the flames. But it was the light in his eyes and the pitch of his voice that attracted Devin. He was inexorably drawn to him, though the story was already in progress. Discarding his knapsack and his jacket on the nearest chair, he fell in with the group gathered in spellbound silence at the storyteller’s feet.

CHAPTER 9 (#ulink_09ee69d9-7538-54e8-9f4e-346fabf62605)

Night in Briseé (#ulink_09ee69d9-7538-54e8-9f4e-346fabf62605)

Devin listened as the mesmerizing voice continued:

“And so, Gaêtan stood alone in the village square. All around him the windows of the cottages were dark and shuttered. The chimneys stood stark against the forest, not a puff of smoke emerged from their tops. He realized then that the people of Rameau were gone. Not one man, woman, or child remained to welcome him home. He fell to his knees in the overgrown gardens and wept.”

For a moment no one spoke and then appreciative whispers rippled through the crowd. Devin joined in the enthusiastic clapping that followed. Unfortunately, he had arrived at the end of the recitation. The storyteller smiled and bowed, accepting both congratulations and monetary tributes, and made his way to the bar. Devin ducked in and out of the crowd to reach him. He saw Gaspard and Marcus seated farther down the battered wooden counter finishing their first drink of the evening.

Devin secured a stool next to the storyteller.

“I’m sorry I missed the beginning of that tale. What happened to the people of Rameau?”

The man turned to face him. Dark curly hair framed a face that was young and unlined.

“No one knows,” he answered. “An entire village of people disappeared and the only one left to tell the story was Gaêtan.”

Devin felt a thrill of excitement shoot through him. “Really?” he asked. “And no one has ever solved the mystery?”

The storyteller inclined his head. “If they have, monsieur, it has never been added to the Chronicle of Ombria. Do I know you?”

“I’m sorry,” Devin apologized, extending his hand. “I’m Devin Roché.”

“Adrian Devereux,” he replied. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“We arrived in Pireé yesterday,” he explained. “I had expected to spend last night in Briseé but we were delayed by a snowstorm.”

Adrian nodded sympathetically. “Spring has been late in coming this year. Our cows were calving in deep snow. We lost a lot of little ones.”

“You live close by?” Devin asked.

Adrian smiled. “Does a bard ever really have a place to call home? My parents are from Briseé but I spend most of my time traveling. I’m back in town for a family wedding. It seems I’m always expected to put in a few local performances while I’m here.”

Marcus interrupted their conversation, placing a heavy hand on Devin’s shoulder.

“There are no rooms available here,” he growled. “Perhaps, if you invoke your father’s name…”

Devin gave a quick shake of his head. The last thing he wished to do was drag his father’s position into this situation. Any progress he’d made toward ingratiating himself with the village residents would be lost in a veil of suspicion and contempt.

“I’ll take care of it,” he murmured, dismissing Marcus with a handful of coins. “Go order something to eat for yourself and Gaspard.”