At the Table of Wolves (Dark Talents Novel, A, Band 1) - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Kay Kenyon is the author of fourteen science fiction and fantasy novels as well as numerous short stories. Her work has been shortlisted for the Philip K. Dick and the John W. Campbell Memorial Awards, the Endeavour Award, and twice for the American Library Association Reading List Awards. Her series The Entire and the Rose was hailed by The Washington Post as “a splendid fantasy quest as compelling as anything by Stephen R. Donaldson, Philip Jose Farmer, or yes, J.R.R. Tolkien.” Her novels include Bright of the Sky, A World Too Near, City Without End, Prince of Storms, Maximum Ice (a 2002 Philip K. Dick Award nominee), and The Braided World. Bright of the Sky was among Publishers Weekly’s top 150 books of 2007. She is a founding member of the Write on the River conference in Wenatchee, Washington, where she lives with her husband.

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At the Table of Wolves

1

WESERMARSCH SUB CAMP, NORTH COAST OF GERMANY

FRIDAY, MARCH 27, 1936. In the distance, across the marshland, a large black car sped under a leaden sky toward the gates of the sub camp. The road led straight across the wild plain with its sere yellow grasses. Beyond lay the immense gray wilderness of the North Sea, stretching all the way to the British Isles.

As Lieutenant Colonel Kurt Stelling stood on the parade ground, his adjutant at his side, the wind blew the scattered rain sideways, driving into his cheek like frozen needles. He clasped his gloved hands behind his back and watched as the car approached. A Mercedes-Benz 770, favored by the Nazi Party. Hitler’s parade car. It bore an SD officer, Colonel von Ritter, whose purpose in coming Stelling did not know.

It was bad enough to have been holed up on this flat and frozen plain for the past ten months, much less to have to wait in the rain for a Sicherheitsdienst officer who must be given “every cooperation” by the sub camp’s commandant. It was common knowledge that Hitler mistrusted his own army, preferring his loyal SS and their intelligence arm, the SD, to keep his secrets and discover others. Stelling had the feeling that this SD visit was to inspect him more than the sub camp. Despite his role in their audacious operation, they didn’t like that Stelling wasn’t a Party member.

He nodded at the guards, who opened the chain-link gate. The gate arms of the guardhouse rose up in a wooden salute as the car roared in, Nazi bumper flags rattling in the wind.

The car stopped, and the driver moved smartly to open the door for his passenger.

The SD officer stepped out. In plain clothes rather than in uniform, he wore a finely tailored camel-hair coat. He looked around him, observing the perimeter of the camp with its guardhouses, massive barracks compound and officers’ quarters. When he had taken in his surroundings, he drew off his gloves and tucked them under his arm.

Stelling stepped forward to greet him, clicking his heels and extending a hand. They would not salute, since von Ritter was in plain clothes. “Colonel Stelling at your service, sir. Welcome.” He introduced his adjutant, Lieutenant Hass.

Von Ritter made a bow and shook Stelling’s hand.

He was smiling, or almost smiling. Stelling noticed how the man was completely at ease here in the work camp, as though he were in charge and not a guest. “A very great pleasure, Colonel.”

The second thing he noticed was von Ritter’s astonishing good looks. Somewhat over six feet tall, lanky in build, dark eyes in a patrician face, black hair combed back and hardly stirring in the wind off the sea. Stelling gestured to the camp headquarters building. “Some refreshment, sir. Please.”

Stelling led the way, leaving Lieutenant Hass to escort the driver.

His adjutant had laid out food: crackers, a plate of herring, black bread and a round of Tilsit cheese with good coffee in an urn. Noting this, von Ritter smiled, as though the bread and cheese were unprofessional, leaving Stelling uncertain as to the impression he had made.

After washing up, von Ritter walked toward the outer door, putting on his gloves. “I don’t mean to be abrupt, Colonel. But I have been eager to see the . . .” Here he paused, spreading his hands in apology. “The fence. You will think me foolish. But I would see the fence without delay.” He gave a self-deprecating smile that left Stelling taken aback. When he smiled, the man could be called—the man was—beautiful.

“Of course. The fence. It is where it all began, after all. I understand.”

As they turned to leave, von Ritter held up a hand and swung by the table, taking a piece of bread. “There. We will not let it go to waste!” His driver had followed them into the building, and now von Ritter waved at him to help himself.

“We will go alone, Colonel. Yes?”

Stelling followed him out, both troubled and excited. It had been a long time since he had felt such a surge of attraction. His tongue felt dry in his mouth, and his chest ached as though a stone pressed on it. The man had a charm that was not forced or manipulative, but almost playful. A man who was not afraid to enjoy himself. Despair hovered at the edges of his consciousness, reminding him that nothing could come of such longing. But to be swept away by five minutes in the man’s presence . . . it was exhilarating.

They passed Barracks Unit 6. “Here are the strongest Talents,” Stelling explained. “They rank from 5.3 to 8.2 on the scale. Naturally, we take the best care of them.”

Von Ritter smiled indulgently. “Naturally.”

“Behind are Units 4 and 5, also assigned to the operation. Lower rankings, but still of the utmost importance.” Beyond the three elite barracks were the brick prisoners’ barracks. On the eastern border, the laborers were constructing the bivouacs to accommodate seventy-five army divisions for the staging phase.

“You yourself are also of the Talent—our special Talent,” von Ritter said as they walked. “A 6.5. Am I correct?”

“Yes, sir. It still seems strange to me. I never guessed that I had a Talent. I was not an adolescent, after all. One forgets that those who were older when the bloom first began can have a Talent burst through for them, no matter the age. So, when it emerged on that day three years ago, it took me quite by surprise. The ice Talent. We were lucky to discover it.”

“There is no such thing as luck, Colonel.”

“You don’t think so? You do not believe in coincidence?”

“There is only deserving.” Von Ritter stopped, forcing Stelling to stop as well. He turned to him. “We cannot blame fortune for what comes our way, that is superstition. We make our destiny. That is why we will win in the coming struggle. Because we have the will and our enemies do not, England does not.” His black gaze held Stelling in a disturbing, compelling lock. “Tell me that you believe this, Colonel.”

“I do.” He had never thought about it, but held in the man’s demanding gaze, he was sure he did believe it.

“Ah, I thought so.” Von Ritter clapped Stelling on the back. “Now, the fence.”

They crossed a broken surface of concrete and approached a section of the perimeter fence between two guard towers. The closest guard could be seen on the tower walkway. He turned to note their approach to the fence, then swung back to survey the unrelenting flat plain, beyond which the North Sea rolled out, deeply etched with foam-tipped waves.

Stelling nodded at the fence to indicate it was the one.

“Tell me,” von Ritter said.

“I stood here as we marshaled the new prisoners into a line for provisioning when they first arrived. Some of us touched the fence.”

Von Ritter murmured, “And then?”

“It froze. Froze solid. It was as though a frigid current ran in a wave down the fence. Our hands tingled, then felt a shock of ice. It had frozen, holding some of us melded to the links.”

“The ice Talent,” von Ritter murmured. “Fascinating.”

“We were all tested to see which of us had such a Talent. I was the only one...