“You’ve never touched powder?” Norrine asked skeptically.
Erika smiled at the girl but didn’t answer. It was possible to be kind without being overly trustful.
The carriage suddenly slowed and there was a sharp rap at the door. Santiole ducked inside without waiting for an answer. She shut the door behind her and rubbed her hands together. Her hair and shoulders were dusted with snow. “Pit, it’s cold out there.”
“Are we making good time?”
“Better than I expected. Not as well as I’d hoped,” Santiole answered. “We’ll change horses at a wayhouse in about three hours, and then ride through the night.”
“You can’t ride for so long,” Erika said. “Not in this weather.”
“I think it’s best we not stop. Dominik will rest in here with you and I’ll drive for the first half of the night.” She seemed about to say more but fell silent. “We’ll make good time.”
Erika snatched Santiole by the jacket as she made to leave the carriage. “What is it?”
“Nothing, my lady.”
“Santiole.” Erika tried to inject the same authority into her voice that grandfather used when the servants weren’t being forthright.
Santiole pursed her lips. “I think we’re being followed.”
“Do you know for sure?”
“No. Just a feeling.” Santiole spread her hands. “It could just be other travelers on the road. It could be nothing. You shouldn’t worry.”
Erika chewed on the inside of her cheek. She had long ago learned to trust Santiole’s instincts. “All right. We go through the night.”
The snow stopped the next afternoon and they were able to return to a steady pace though the roads were slick with wet snow. Dominik, Tirel, and Santiole traded places driving and sleeping in the carriage with Erika.
The next day Santiole returned to scouting. She was gone for only a few hours, early in the afternoon, when the carriage suddenly slid to a jarring stop.
Erika opened the door and stepped out onto the snow-covered road. “Everything all right?” she asked.
Dominik sat atop the driver’s seat with the reins in his hands. He huddled with his sealskin cloak pulled tight around his shoulders. He turned to look at her with a puzzled scowl.
“Dominik?” she asked.
Tirel caught up to the carriage on his own horse and frowned. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Dominik. What’s going on?”
Dominik suddenly toppled from the driver’s seat. Erika rushed forward to catch him, nearly losing her balance on the snow, and Tirel leapt from his horse to help. They both lowered the driver gently to the ground.
“Is he having some kind of attack?” Tirel asked.
The old man opened his mouth several times before he managed to say, “I think I’ve been shot.”
“I didn’t hear a shot,” Tirel said.
Erika heard the sound of splintering wood and looked up to see a bullet lodged in the frame of the carriage not far from her head. She dove into the carriage and snatched her small sword. “Stay here,” she said to Norrine. She was back outside a moment later and Tirel had already fetched his musket. He clutched it in both hands, peering into the mountains for an unseen attacker.
“Has anyone passed us?” Erika drew her sword and tossed the sheath back into the carriage.
“No,” Tirel said.
“Then they’re behind us.” She faced the mountain road and eyed a spot fifty yards back where a boulder jutted out into the road. “You going to shoot from the shadows like a coward, or will you come out and fight?” she shouted.
She waited for another shot to hit her dead in the chest, her breath coming shallow, the cold numbing her hands. The mountain pass remained silent and snowflakes began to fall gently. It seemed like an eternity before a figure suddenly emerged from behind the boulder.
Erika recognized the master mage hunter from his height alone. Duglas wore a brown felt jacket beneath a canvas overcoat and a side-to-side bicorn hat. A woolen scarf concealed his features, but there was no mistaking the peculiar musket he held in his hands. It was the very weapon that Nikslaus had displayed so proudly on the hotel dining room table.
Two more figures joined Duglas in the road, their small swords drawn. Erika didn’t recognize them. It seemed Nikslaus had sent others to do his dirty work. Only one of them held an air musket-some small relief, at least.
Duglas advanced cautiously, flanked by his companions. “Lower your weapon,” he shouted at Tirel.
“By whose authority?” Tirel asked.
“Master of the king’s mage hunters.”
Tirel began to tremble, the tip of his musket wavering. “Don’t listen to him,” Erika said. “He’s just a common bandit.”
Tirel scowled at the man. “Do you have proof of who you are?”
Duglas took his air musket in one hand long enough to pull a white sash from his jacket and hold it fluttering in the air.
Tirel’s scowl deepened. “He’s a Longdog. That one from the hotel.”
“If we surrender, he’ll kill both of us,” Erika said.
“Do you guarantee our safety if we surrender?” Tirel asked.
“Of course. Lower your weapons.”
“I’m sorry, my lady,” Tirel said.
“Tirel!”
Tirel lowered his musket and then let it drop into the snow. Erika let out a soft hiss as he did.
Duglas raised the air musket and pulled the trigger. There was a low popping sound and Tirel inhaled sharply as he jerked backward. There was another pop, and Tirel went down in a spray of crimson, crying out in pain.
Duglas turned the weapon toward Erika. She willed herself to leap away, to snatch up Tirel’s musket…to do something! Her muscles wouldn’t listen to her. The Longdog pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He frowned, slapped the side of the musket, and tried again. Still nothing.
“Not very reliable, are they,” she called. The words seemed to free Erika’s muscles and she jumped to the side, grasping for Tirel’s musket. She brought it to her shoulder and sighted along the barrel as she’d seen Santiole do so many times. The three men were already running toward her, their swords drawn. She pulled the trigger.
The blast jerked the stock back into her shoulder harder than she’d expected. Smoke briefly obscured her vision, but she could tell that none of the men had fallen from the shot. She had missed. She dropped the useless weapon and leapt backward, scooping up her sword with one hand. The acrid smoke stung her eyes and she felt a surge of energy as she breathed in the sulfuric smell.
The cowards. They would not find her so easy to kill at close range. She could not-would not-allow them to take Norrine. She whirled to face the charging Longdogs when the escarpment on her right suddenly exploded in a flurry of snow.
Santiole emerged from the snow to hit the three Longdogs from the side. The first of them whirled to defend himself, parrying desperately. Erika didn’t have time to watch the fight progress. The second mage hunter was already upon her, his sword darting forward. Behind him, Duglas seemed to waver between Erika and Santiole.
Erika found herself instantly on the defense against the Longdog. He was about her height, but he had the longer sword and was clearly stronger. He pressed forward confidently as she shrank back, trying to be mindful of her footing on the slick road.
She countered the man’s disengage, and then caught a quick slash from the side. Her back was almost to the carriage and she would soon run out of room.
The man saw her hesitation and lunged. She parried as she stepped to one side and recognized the opening in his attack, countering with her own solid thrust. Her blade entered above his heart, just beneath his clavicle. She drew back, parried a weak attack, and put her blade through his heart.
The fight must have lasted less than a dozen seconds. Her mind buzzed from the smell of the black powder smoke and the adrenaline coursing through her body. She turned to Santiole.
The first of the Longdogs lay face-down in the road, the snow beneath him stained with crimson. Santiole and Duglas appeared to have already engaged and separated, their swords up, their breath coming in bursts of steam. It wasn’t until they engaged once more that Erika noticed the dark stain on the front of Santiole’s jacket and the off way that she held her sword.