others cobbled together a stretcher and bound Ian into it. Linking together every cinch-strap they could find, they fashioned another harness and bound the bed tightly to Mugwump’s lower back. Then they found a small saddle, which they padded well and affixed to the rear of Vlad’s saddle. They fitted the girl with a safety harness and swathed her in blankets. They provided more of the same for the Prince, and added a satchel full of Owen’s journals and as many of the sheets containing the odd sigils as they could find.
Vlad mounted up. “You’re back to Prince Haven by June seven, or I’m backtracking you on the route you took getting here.”
Nathaniel nodded. “Godspeed and good luck. We’ll come back as fast as we can and make sure ain’t nothings following us.”
On the return flight, Mugwump followed every command perfectly, and seemed to be contrite for his earlier rebellion. He flew lower, keeping above the treetops but not much higher, which meant they remained warmer. The sun was rising by the time they returned, and Mugwump landed gently in the yard, between Peregrine’s pen and the house.
Becca had fallen asleep and even the landing failed to rouse her. Vlad freed himself from the saddle, then undid her buckles. By the time he could pull her from the saddle, Baker, Madeline, and the rest of the household had been roused and poured out to help.
Vlad passed the girl down into Madeline’s arms. “Baker, don’t worry about Mugwump. Send someone over to the Strake house. Get Owen’s men over here. We have to get Colonel Rathfield inside.”
Baker ran off toward the stables to dispatch one of the stable boys.
Vlad slid to the ground and again his legs buckled. He would have fallen but his wife caught him. “Gisella, I am so…”
She shoved him back against the dragon’s flank and kissed him mightily, then hugged him and sobbed within the circle of his arms. “If you ever do that again…”
“Darling, I had no intention…”
She pulled back and thrust a finger at Mugwump’s golden eye. “I was speaking to him!”
Vlad slumped against the dragon, and had he not caught hold of a stirrup, he’d have slid down to the ground. “I don’t think it will happen again. It’s a good thing it did.”
“What did you find?”
“Postsylvania and Ezekiel Fire.” Vlad stood and tugged the satchel free of the saddle. “And much more. If what we knew before was enough to change the world, what this might reveal could possibly end it.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
16 May 1767 Happy Valley Postsylvania, Mystria
Nathaniel watched after the Prince for as long as he could. The black fog had lifted, so he could see stars and the dragon silhouetted against them as he flew. He took great delight in being able to see the stars, but wished the dragon would be around to protect them. He didn’t know what the things were that they fought, but Mugwump didn’t seem to like them, and took great delight in dispatching them.
Kamiskwa ran in from the shadows. “It’s too dark to track Rufus. He crawled a ways, but I lost him.”
“I reckon he’s gonna lay up, rest up. He used a powerful lot of magick.”
Owen handed Nathaniel his rifle. “How about us? Do we wait until light to move out?”
“My druthers is to be shed of this place, but the Steward’s in serious need of rest, too.” Nathaniel pointed off toward one of the many bubbling grey puddles that used to be a demon. “I am thinking we needs to find us some pots or something and scoop up some of that stuff. Smells bad, but might keep them at bay. Take some bones, too, if you can find any.”
“Will do.” Owen nodded toward the nearest house. “We can barricade it up until daybreak, take one last look, then head out.”
“’Bout what I was thinking.”
Rummaging around in houses they found a number of pots, pans, and bowls into which they collected the partially digested demon soup. They set them around the small cabin’s perimeter. Makepeace dabbed some on the doorpost, citing Scripture, then they closed the door and moved a small chest to block it. Two men stayed on watch and two slept-they let the Steward sleep throughout.
Nathaniel had the first watch along with Makepeace, but didn’t strike up a conversation. He and Makepeace silently agreed it was so the others would have quiet, but both knew the truth. They didn’t want to be discussing what they’d seen. The less it got talked about, the faster the memories would fade and that was fine as far as the both of them were concerned.
Goosebumps rose on Nathaniel’s arms as he ripped a dress into strips and tended to his wounds. He’d been torn up worse running through thorny bushes a time or two-or so he told himself-and none of the wounds ran very deep. The demons had attacked in swarms and seemed bent on just smothering their prey. He’d been hit from all sides and when they got dragging on his legs, he couldn’t move fast, then he tripped and banged down against the workshop.
Iffen Mugwump hadn’t come along, that woulda been the end of me.
The thought of dying wasn’t what sent a shiver through him. It was the memory of being unable to move, of being smothered by the demons. They clawed and bit and tore at him. They just overwhelmed him and yet left him in a position where he could watch Owen and Kamiskwa and Makepeace going down as well. That might not have been deliberate, but if they were acting at Rufus’ command, it would have been. He would have known how much that would pain Nathaniel.
The scout snorted.
Makepeace looked over. “You found something by way of amusement?”
“Just hope that we got at least a piece of Rufus in one of them buckets outside. Tain’t a bad thing that being true.”
“Bit of a silver lining, that is.” Makepeace nodded. “Iffen I was a writing man like Owen, I’d be using up a whole page just for that.”
They both chuckled, then fell silent again. Their watch remained uneventful. When Owen and Kamiskwa took over, Nathaniel fell asleep quickly. He woke with the dawn, not particularly feeling rested, but he couldn’t remember any nightmares. Owen had boiled up some root tea in the hearth and Fire served it out. It warmed Nathaniel’s insides and slowly sharpened his focus.
Kamiskwa came in and accepted a cup from the Steward. “Fire’s died down. No tracks. No one survived. I cut Rufus’ trail again. You’ll want to see this.”
The expedition followed Kamiskwa back outside. In daylight they picked up Rufus’ trail easily enough. He’d gone down and crawled away. The chain had slipped off him a dozen yards to the workshop’s north side. A bit further along they found one of the golden tablets glinting in the sun. Makepeace gathered it up. Their course took them to another of the small houses and Kamiskwa pushed the door open with his musket.
The floorboards had been torn up with enough force that the wood around the nails had splintered. Beneath lay bare earth, but it had been freshly turned. One of the iron nails had snagged a piece of the robe they’d last seen Rufus wearing.
Nathaniel crouched at the hole’s edge, but didn’t reach down into it. “Ain’t no shovels hereabouts. He tunneled using magick?”
Both Kamiskwa and the Steward nodded.
He stood up, then sighted back toward the workshop. “The Colonel done hurt him. He weren’t thinking straight. Probably didn’t notice he’d dropped a tablet. Like a wild animal, he gets in here, burrows away.”
“Yes, but a wild animal capable of using magick.” Owen frowned. “I made notes while on watch, trying to get every detail down. Rufus, there toward the end, was saying things that didn’t really sound like him saying them.”
“It was the demons in him.”
Nathaniel looked the Steward up and down. “How is you meaning that remark?”
“Mr. Woods, I know you did not like Rufus Branch, and had good reasons not to. When he came here, he was
