“Get back!”
Wilhelm’s eyes locked with Frau Geruscha’s. She pressed her lips together. Her whole body sank straight down in one swift movement, startling Moncore. He grabbed for her and missed.
The knife cut her neck when she went down. Blood appeared under her chin and dripped onto her dress. She darted to her left and Wilhelm lunged forward, taking Moncore’s attention away from Frau Geruscha, allowing her to run out of his reach.
“Give up!” Wilhelm yelled.
“You will have to kill me!”
He guessed what Moncore was about to do—launch a dagger at his heart. As it flew through the air, Wilhelm leapt to his right, and the dagger sliced through his shirt sleeve. He landed hard on his hip. He felt the cut on his arm but ignored it.
Georg and Christoff drove forward with their drawn swords. But instead of running away as expected, Moncore stood his ground. Wilhelm watched as the conjurer began babbling, “Fight and live or fight and die. Fight and live or fight and die.” As he spoke, he reached inside his cloak, surely reaching for another weapon.
Christoff reached the evil man first, his sword poised for the kill. Moncore, eyes wild, drew out a flask and flung powder in Christoff’s face. Christoff lunged forward blindly, striking the conjurer in the chest.
Moncore sank to his knees, gurgling and coughing. He fell to his side, clutching the sword, which stuck out through his chest and back. “They’re coming for me!” he cried. “No, no, don’t take me!” Blood gushed out of his nose and mouth. He held his hands up before his face, as though to ward off an attacker.
Wilhelm and his knights stared in silence at the man dying before them. They all crossed themselves at the same time.
A strange mist began swirling above Moncore as he lay on the hard-packed dirt of the courtyard. The mist congealed into several ethereal heads, shoulders and arms, all reaching out toward the bleeding, gasping man. Wilhelm raised his sword. He focused his eyes on the evil spirits, for that was all he could think to call them. Their faces contorted, they looked only at Moncore. They seemed to claw at him while he screamed. Wilhelm held his breath, chills racing over his arms and down his back as he watched, half-disbelieving his own eyes.
Moncore continued to scream as the demons hovered above him. Finally, his voice gave out. His head fell back, his eyes closed. And the spirits disappeared.
Wilhelm shot a look at his men. They glanced back at him, their faces as gray and sickly as newly shorn sheep.
“Holy Jesus, save us,” Georg whispered hoarsely.
Christoff’s throat bobbed convulsively, and both knights crossed themselves again.
Rose. Wilhelm sheathed his sword and ran back to the healer’s chamber.
When he entered the room, Geruscha was kneeling at Rose’s side, supporting her head. Black liquid dribbled out of the corner of her mouth.
O God, let her not be dead.
Wilhelm crossed the floor and dropped to his knees by her side. “What did he do to her?”
“Some kind of potion.” She swept her finger over Rose’s tongue, continuing to remove any of the poison that had not gone down her throat.
Rose moaned. Then her arms and legs began to thrash around weakly.
“Rose.” Wilhelm leaned over her. Please don’t die. Please open your eyes.
“Get her up on the bed,” Geruscha said. The cut under the healer’s chin looked like it had stopped bleeding, although red drops stained her dress front.
Wilhelm picked Rose up and placed her on the bed. He gently brushed back the long strands of hair that had fallen across her face. She stopped moving.
Frau Geruscha went into the storage room and came back with an empty bucket and a cup of some liquid. “Lift her up.”
He slid his arm beneath her and held her in a sitting position. Her head lolled on his shoulder. Frau Geruscha tried to get her to drink the cup of liquid, but most of it spilled out of her mouth and onto her chest. Finally, Rose moaned softly and parted her lips. She took a big gulp. As soon as she did, she leaned over and vomited. Frau Geruscha was ready with the bucket.
Rose’s eyes were wide open now, but she didn’t seem to see either Frau Geruscha or Wilhelm as Geruscha wiped her face with a wet cloth. Instead, her eyes were wild and searching, darting from one end of the room to the other, her mouth twisted in a look of absolute terror and horror.
“Rose, what’s wrong?” Wilhelm asked.
She began babbling incoherently, cringing and staring at something over Wilhelm’s shoulder. “What?” He turned and tried to see what she was looking at, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Certainly they were the only three people in the room. So what was she staring at?
Wilhelm leaned over her. “Rose? Look at me! What is it? Do you see something?”