From his front door, Michaux, the miller, discreetly watched as more shifty-eyed soldiers from Bellux-Abry made their way southward through the village. For a time, they had gathered at Francis Gariglio’s house, but had recently moved on, leaving behind a gruesome scene. Francis and his wife and son had been murdered, slaughtered like animals, and left to rot in the cellar. Outraged villagers had sent up a hue and cry, but no town official would investigate because they were too frightened.
One of the soldiers abruptly turned and scowled at him, and Michaux jerked back and slammed the door shut. He could have sworn the soldier’s eyes were glowing an unnatural yellow. Holding his breath, he lowered the latch, locking the door.
“More men have arrived, sir,” Jaer Pinnix reported.
“How many?” Nafino Zephyr asked without looking up from his work.
“Four.”
Zino nodded. “We’ll have a ceremony tonight.”
A scream split the air from a short distance away. Some of the men were toying with an unlucky young man who’d happened by. Zephyr had allowed it because it amused the men and kept their blood up, but his screams were making his head ache. He looked up. “Tell them to muffle that noise,” he snapped.
“Yes, sir.”
“And see to it that the new arrivals are prepared.”
Pinnix nodded and hurried off.
Zino sat back and massaged at the ache between his brows. Women, that’s what he needed. His men needed outlets for their lust and aggression until they were called upon to war. “You,” he said, pointing to one of his guards. “Take some men into Bellux-Abry, find some whores and bring them back. If possible, get one called Eskarne.” If she’s still alive.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “Will they be paid?”
“Mention my name and assure them they’ll be taken care of. But be discreet!”
He nodded and left.
Zino thought of Eskarne. She had been present when an emissary from the people’s army had informed Marko Corin that Jade was still alive. Naturally, Zino doubted the validity of that particular report. How could it be possible? But other claims made were true—specifically, that he and Salvo Voreskae had been behind Jade’s abduction in the first place. Fortunately for him, Eskarne had come directly to him and revealed what she had heard. He’d sent her on to warn Voreskae and departed camp at once. If she had any sense, she had left as well.
Zino went back to the battle plan he was formulating, but the now muffled screams were so repetitive, he couldn’t concentrate. He had already made a good start on reclaiming his rightful place and authority, but there was much more work ahead. He’d begun with a few recruits snagged as they made their way back home. Those men had gone back out and recruited others, and he now had a total of thirty-eight men under his command. Soon, they would double that number, and then double it again and again, until he had his army. He sat back and tossed his quill pen upon the table, then drew himself up to see what was happening. A diversion might do him some good. He needed to keep his blood up, too.
At midnight, the new recruits were made to stand in front of Zephyr, who, in his black hooded robe, looked particularly foreboding. “Kneel,” Zephyr ordered.
The men knelt, although the largest of them, Franco De Medeiros, was so rigid with apprehension, it was difficult. They had been told there was a blood oath to swear. Franco had no problem with pain, receiving or delivering it, but something about the sight of blood made him queasy. He had to get through this initiation or the mob would turn on him. His size and strength would make no difference against this number of men. They would enjoy breaking him. It would be him screaming for as many days as they could keep him alive.
No! He could not think that way. He had undergone training and been through a number of missions and battles. He’d earned his marking. At the time, he’d simply held his head high and refused to see or admit that it was warm blood that seeped from the wound the sharp bone instrument made. When the ink solution was finally ground into his arm he’d laughed, welcoming the pain. He’d known he was beyond humiliation at that point.
“To join us, you must swear allegiance to me,” Zephyr spoke softly but quite clearly. “And pledge your soul to Abaddon,” he finished in a deeper voice. Zephyr handed the first man a dagger.
“I so swear,” the man declared before slicing his palm open. “My allegiance to Nafino Zephyr, my soul to the almighty Abaddon.”
Zephyr handed him a small vial, and the man filled it with his blood. One of Zephyr’s men stepped in to take and cap the vial.
The dagger was handed to the next man. Franco silently cursed that he was in last position. His knees ached from the stone floor, but worse than that was the cramping in his gut. If the initiation did not go quickly, he would foul himself.
Finally, he was handed the wet dagger. It was shiny with dark blood, and he suffered a moment of sickening lightheadedness. “I swear,” he bit out. He rammed the dagger into his palm and the pain helped sustain him. He had to finish the statement. They’d learned it earlier and he’d just heard it three times in a row. What was it? What had he already said? “Ah—allegiance to Nafino Zephyr and my soul to the Abannon.”
“Abaddon, you idiot,” the man next to him hissed.
“Sorry,” Franco said, glancing up at Zephyr. “Abaddon.” The vial handed him was suddenly more valuable than a bar of gold. It was better than being handed his enemy’s decapitated head. It meant he’d made it through. Once again, he was among the elite. His cut was deep, so he only had to hold the vial to the pulsing stream for a moment. He lifted it and felt it being removed from his fingers. Covered in cold sweat, he silently begged the gods to bring the ceremony to a fast close so he could relieve his spasming bowels.
Zephyr looked over the new recruits. “You were part of a wolf pack before. Now you will be true wolfmen. You will thrive on terror and feast on the blood, flesh and marrow of our enemies.”
An ungodly howl went up around them, more beast-like than human, and Franco felt a cold, wrenching pain inside him. To his horror, his bowels cut loose from the shock. He was mortified one moment and then wildly relieved as deafening laugher erupted around him.
Zephyr stepped back with a wry expression on his face. “Welcome,” he said, before turning and walking off to get away from the stench.