They left the château at twilight. A full moon lay huge and orange just above the horizon. Armand limped along beside Devin. He seemed to have aged ten years in the last day. Chastel’s men had found no sign of the people of Lac Dupré, just as so many years before, Rameau had been left totally devoid of life. It was Chastel who had finally persuaded Armand to accompany them. There were no answers to their questions here, and death seemed to lie in wait for all of them in Ombria.
Each of them carried a pistol. Travel during the day was suicide with unknown assassins looking for them. Travel at night seemed just as dangerous. Yet, Chastel had suggested it and assured them of their safety, mapping the route to a neighboring province himself.
They followed the road in the gathering darkness, alert to the slightest sound that might indicate pursuit. The howl of a single wolf echoed across the valley. A chill ran down Devin’s back. Were they destined to die so quickly? A chorus of howls joined the first. Devin’s eyes followed the sound. On the hillside above them, a pack of wolves had gathered, watching their progress. Marcus yanked his gun from his pocket and cocked it.
Armand forced the gun barrel down with his hand. “Don’t,” he said hoarsely, “Don’t you see? That’s how he assured our safety.”
“What?” Marcus asked.
“Chastel’s provided an escort,” Armand replied.
Devin’s eyes were on the huge wolf at the front of the pack. “My God,” he murmured, “he’s leading them himself!”