by G. A. Aiken
Now, why did he doubt that?
This wasn’t what she expected. Never, in her wildest dreams.
This…this was the Blood Queen of Garbhán Isle? Scourge of the Madron lands? Destroyer of Villages? Demon Killer of Women and Children? She who had blood pacts with the darkest of gods?
This was Annwyl the Bloody?
Talaith watched, fascinated, as Annwyl held onto Morfyd the Witch’s wrists. Morfyd—the Black Witch of Despair, Killer of the Innocent, Annihilator of Souls, and all around Mad Witch of Garbhán Isle or so she was called on the Madron lands—had actually tried to sneak up on Annwyl to put ointment on the nasty wound the queen had across her face. But as soon as the warrior saw her, she squealed and grabbed hold of her. Now Annwyl lay on her back, Morfyd over her, trying her best to get Annwyl to stop being a ten year old.
“If you just let me—”
“No! Get that centaur shit away from me, you demon bitch!”
“Annwyl, I’m not letting you go home to my brother looking like that. You look horrific.”
“He’ll have to love me in spite of it. Now get off!” She shoved and Morfyd tumbled back right into Brastias’ arms. And he looked damn pleased to have her right there.
“That’s it.” Morfyd stood, straightened her robes and glared at Annwyl. “You’ve asked for this.”
“Don’t you dare‑“
But the spell was unleashed, flying across the small campsite, lifting Annwyl and slamming her back against the tree behind her. Then it pinned her there.
Now Morfyd sauntered over to her. “If you’d given me two seconds, we could have been done with this, but you had to be difficult.”
“I hate you.”
“Join the queue.”
“Vicious cow.”
“Argumentative harpy.”
Morfyd carefully rubbed the cream over Annwyl’s fresh scar. Once done, she spit a counter-spell and Annwyl hit the ground.
“Ow!”
“Crybaby.”
No, this isn’t what Talaith expected. Annwyl the Blood Queen was supposed to be a vicious, uncaring warrior bent on revenge and power. She let her elite guard rape and pillage wherever they went, and she used babies as target practice while their mothers watched in horror.
That’s what she was supposed to be and that’s what Talaith expected to find. Instead, she found Annwyl. Just Annwyl. A warrior who spent most of her resting time reading or mooning over her consort. She was silly, charming, very funny, and fiercely protective of everyone. Her elite guard, all handpicked by Annwyl, were sweet, vicious fighters and blindingly loyal to their queen.
And then there was Morfyd. A taller woman she’d never met, with a power Talaith envied. She had monumental control, the kind Talaith had only seen with the older, more powerful Nolwenn witches. Morfyd’s beautiful face spoke of many young years. Perhaps no more than thirty winters. If that.
With a sigh, Morfyd sat beside her on the tree stump. “She makes me insane.”
“Like family.”
Morfyd smiled. “Exactly.”
Wiping off the ointment she’d used on Annwyl with a dry cloth, Morfyd asked, “Are you cold, sister?” Morfyd had been calling her sister since she met her. She seemed to know she was a witch. Though not a very powerful one.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because you haven’t taken off those gloves in two days.”
Of course she hadn’t. A witch of Morfyd’s power only need take her bare hand and she’d know all there was to know about Talaith’s past, from her first breath at birth to her last gasp with Briec. Because she hadn’t had any training in the witch arts for the last sixteen years, Talaith had no idea how to keep her out.
“I am very chilled, sister,” she lied.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“No worries.”
“No worries about what?” Annwyl sat on the other side of Talaith, handing each some dried beef and a large chunk of bread. The battle she’d just waged with Morfyd already forgotten.
“Talaith is chilled.”
Annwyl sighed. “I’m sorry, Talaith. I know we’ve been living rough these few days, but we’ll be home soon enough. All the rooms in the castle have a built-in pitfire. It’s nice.”
Good gods. The woman wasn’t merely taking her back to Dark Plains, she was planning to put her up at Garbhán Isle as well.
“I’m fine, Annwyl. Really.”
“When we stop for the night, you can sleep in my tent.”
Panic swept through Talaith like wildfire. “That’s not nec—”
Annwyl waved her argument away with a scarred hand. The woman had many scars. “It’s nothing, Talaith. Really. But, of course, it’s up to you.”
“She snores,” Morfyd warned.
“I do no such thing!” Annwyl yelled back.
“Like a bull in rutting season.”
“When we get back to Garbhán Isle…don’t speak to me.”
“Trust me, Annwyl, that will be a pleasure.”
Talaith would have loved to enjoy their argument, but she couldn’t. Not when it took all her strength not to start shaking.
Talaith stood outside the back of Annwyl’s tent. Again, she swallowed down her nausea and thought only of her daughter. At the moment, that was all that kept her moving forward. With another quick glance around, Talaith crouched low and burrowed her way between the tent and the ground until she was inside.
She stood and walked over to Annwyl. The woman slept soundly. One arm thrown over her head, the other laying near the floor. Barefoot, she still wore her leggings. And her bindings all she wore on top. Several large blade wounds covered her upper torso and lots of tiny ones covered those. All old and long-ago healed.
The strangest thing was the markings over her collarbone. These marks were of an ancient and intricate design and were light brown against her sun-darkened skin. They resembled a faint tattoo or old brand and Magick radiated off it. Some kind of protection. Perfect.
Her long brown hair lay loose around her and she’d kicked the covers off so that they rested on the floor.
She looked peaceful.
Again Talaith closed her eyes, shutting out everything but the thought of her daughter. This sacrifice would save her daughter and that’s all that mattered.
Keeping that in her mind, she raised the dagger—tightly gripped in both her hands—over Annwyl’s chest. Right over the protective brand on her chest. With a prayer to any god but Arzhela to save whatever may be left of her soul, she brought it down with all the force she could muster.
When it stopped short of its mark, she realized she’d closed her eyes. Otherwise, she would have seen Annwyl’s arms come up, crossed, blocking her from completing the move. Talaith let out a relieved breath and that’s when those cold green eyes snapped open to focus on her.
“I have to admit, I thought you’d be a tad stealthier than this.” Annwyl gripped her hands and turned the blade toward Talaith’s throat.
Annwyl watched closely as the blade inched closer and closer to Talaith’s throat…and Talaith let it. In fact, she lifted her chin in preparation for the cut. Annwyl pushed it so far, the blade actually pierced the skin and all Talaith did was wince a bit. Then nothing. She’d already resigned herself to it; she could see it in the woman’s eyes. She’d seen it before during her brother’s reign, when Annwyl still lived with him. That resignation when you knew death was imminent and there was no way out. She witnessed it often with those condemned to his dungeons.
Worse, she’d seen it in Talaith’s eyes from when they first met her at that lake. So it wasn’t that she’d given up because Annwyl had a blade to her throat. The woman was dead when she’d walked into the tent.
With an annoyed sniff, Annwyl pushed the woman away and stood, pacing beside her.
“What…what are you doing?”
“Not what you want me to.”
“Dammit.” Talaith grabbed her arm in a vicious grip. Vicious enough to hold its own in a fight
and yet hadn’t. “Finish it, Annwyl. Finish it now!”
Annwyl saw the desperation in those dark brown eyes. Knew no amount of rationalizing would help. So Annwyl backhanded her, sending her flying across the tent.
Without another word, Annwyl calmly walked to the tent flap, pulling it back a bit. “Brastias,” she called out. “Fetch me Morfyd, would you?”
“Aye.”
Annwyl stepped back inside, studying the dagger in her hands. It was plain but sturdy and sharp.
Talaith was just rousing herself from the floor when Morfyd walked in. She frowned at Talaith and turned to Annwyl, but her confusion stopped and she stared at the dagger in her hand. “Where did you get that?”
“What? This?” Annwyl waved it at her battle mage and Morfyd jumped back from her.
“Keep that thing away from me.”
“Has everyone lost their mind? I’ve got her trying to kill me in my sleep and you’re suddenly frightened of daggers.”
The dagger quickly forgotten, Morfyd placed her hands on her hips. “I told you it was her.”
“Yes, but you didn’t tell me she’d practically beg me to kill her, now did you?”
Morfyd glanced at Talaith still pulling herself up off the floor. “I’m surprised you didn’t.”
“Does she look insane to you, Morfyd?” Annwyl asked calmly. “Does she look like she doesn’t have control of all her senses?”
“No, but—”
“Then why would she come at me with a blade? She’s not a fool. And only a fool would risk facing me in hand-to-hand combat. We’ve both watched her—she’s a well-trained assassin. She could have poisoned my food or water. She could have killed us all and then slipped away without anyone ever knowing. She could have used the poison-covered pins she has stuck in this hilt.” Annwyl was pretty impressed with herself for catching sight of the extra dangers that lay in the simple and plain dagger. “Instead she puts a dagger to my throat.”
Annwyl shook her head. “No. She’s merely the sword, Morfyd. I want the hand that wields her.”
“Easy enough.”
Morfyd walked over to the woman who still looked a little dazed. Of course, Annwyl had made sure to hit her hard. Taking firm hold of her hand, Morfyd ripped off the leather glove Talaith had been wearing since they met her and took the woman’s hand in her own.
“No!” Talaith, suddenly quite alert, tried to pull her hand from Morfyd’s grasp, but the dragonwitch merely gripped Talaith’s throat with her free hand and squeezed.
“Fight me, sister, and I’ll tear your throat out.”
Morfyd closed her eyes and everything became quiet. Annwyl knew if she were dragon or had any Magick skill whatsoever, she’d be able to see all the colors and flames and whatever else those magically inclined could see. But Annwyl was just a warrior with a dragon for a consort. All she could see were two women standing there like two statues. She found it a little odd.
Sighing from boredom, she walked over to her saddlebags and pulled out a flask of water. She took a long drink, but was startled when Morfyd suddenly said, “Oh. Oh.”
She turned to look at her and Morfyd was absolutely beaming while Talaith scowled at her intently. Morfyd always wore that expression when she knew an absolutely divine piece of gossip.
“What?”
Clearly trying not to laugh, Morfyd shook her head. “Nothing.”
“You lying cow. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” She coughed, and released Talaith’s hand. “Except you have some powerful enemies.”
“Tell me what I don’t know, witch.”
“Powerful enemies who are gods.”
For a moment, Annwyl was shocked beyond all reason…then she shrugged. “Now that I think of it—I don’t know why I would be surprised.”
Talaith sat impassively on Annwyl’s bed while Morfyd told of all she’d seen. She spoke of Talaith’s first love and how she lost the young soldier before their child had even been born. She told of how her mother and the other Nolwenn witches, blindingly angry at her relationship with the soldier and her soon-to-be-born child, tossed her out of the temple so she would learn a lesson. She knew they’d take her back as soon as the baby was born. What none of them saw was Arzhela. Her priestesses came for her the night of Talaith’s daughter’s birth. They tore the child from her arms and then dragged Talaith, bleeding and cursing, to their temple. Because Arzhela, goddess of light, love and fertility was their patron, most of the priestesses were midwives. They cleaned off the blood, healed her, and then told her quite plainly she’d never see her daughter again unless she did what they told her.
Three months later, they took her to the little village outside of Madron and handed her over to a man, telling her he would now be her husband. She would take care of his house, clean his clothes, feed him well and, in return, he wouldn’t question where she went every day. Because at those times, she would be in the local temple dedicated to Arzhela. There the head priestess would bring in the best of the best among the local assassins. For sixteen years they’d trained her until the moment when she would have to face a monarch so demonic, so evil, so contemptible in every sense of the word, she would thank the goddess for the chance to be the one to destroy her.
Talaith looked over at that “demonic, evil, contemptible” monarch who, at the moment, was busy blowing her nose into a cloth she’d picked up off the floor. Seemed the constant change in weather was making the evil demoness sneeze.
“So what do you want to do?”
The two women looked at her and Annwyl shrugged. “Well I can’t kill her now. I’m not that big a bitch.”
Morfyd raised an eyebrow. “It really depends on who you ask.”
“I hate you.”
The two women smiled at each other and Talaith briefly hated them for having such a close relationship. For having each other for friends.
Annwyl stared at Talaith for a moment, then asked, “You wanted me to kill you. Why?”
Talaith looked away from Annwyl’s direct, steady gaze. She heard Annwyl’s strong voice. “She won’t answer me.”
“She thinks she can’t. Because of Arzhela.”
She thinks she can’t? Talaith repeated in her head. What did this heifer know anyway?
“She can’t touch you here, you know.” Morfyd walked over and sat beside Talaith on the bed. “She’ll never get past me. Past my defenses.”
Talaith snorted in disbelief.
“It’s true. Stretch out for her. Feel for her.”
So Talaith did, and the witch spoke true. She couldn’t feel Arzhela within a league. It was like they were in a protective bubble. She hadn’t felt like this since she’d left the dragon’s protection.
“Arzhela hurt her before,” Morfyd explained to Annwyl. “When she tried to tell. But now…now Talaith only fears for her daughter. That’s why she wanted you to kill her. If she was killed in battle or while trying to kill you, her daughter would be taken to safety. But if she killed herself or told someone to kill her, Arzhela would make the girl pay.”
Annwyl sighed as she sat on the other side of her. Two tall, scary bitches surrounding her. Hell, Talaith, it could be so much worse. “I’m concerned for her daughter. Especially if she’s with Hamish.”
“Well, we all know your feelings on that man.”
“And you all forget I do know the man. I know what he can do. What he’s willing to do. And if he thinks Arzhela will bring him power—”
“Which is exactly what I’m sure she’s promised him.”
“Then we can’t leave her there. Not for another second.”
Talaith sat between the two women completely confused. Were they talking about getting her daughter back? Why?
“Well, I’m sure Brastias and a few of the—” Morfyd began.
“No.” Annwyl stood. “We’ll go.”
Talaith and Morfyd froze. They immediately looked at each other, then turned back to Annwyl.
“What?” Morfyd asked.
“You heard me. Get off your asses.”
“Annwyl, have you lost your mind?”
“Hardly.” She walked to the tent flap and motioned to someone. A young boy, her squire perhaps, ran to her. She spoke to him briefly and he ran off.
“You want us to go into Madron territory to retrieve a girl we’ve never met and have no idea what she looks like?”
“Well, I’m assuming she looks like her.” She pointed at Talaith. “Exactly how many desert people do you think Hamish has in his kingdom? It’s doubtful there are many because they usually have more sense than to go there.”
“Oi,” Talaith finally objected.
“You don’t count. You didn’t have a choice.”
Annwyl pulled on a sleeveless chainmail shirt. “Morfyd, you’ll need to wear something other than your witch’s robes. Leggings would be good.”
“Annwyl, wait—”
“What?” Annwyl turned on them both so fast, the witches leaned back a bit. “What are you going to say, Morfyd? That we should leave that girl there? That girl who had nothing to do with this and was merely a pawn? Leave her there for Hamish?” The queen’s obvious horror at Morfyd’s suggestion spoke volumes. “You know I won’t let that happen. So get off your asses, you lazy sows, we leave in quarter hour.”
She handed the dagger to a stunned Talaith, grabbed her own two swords, and stormed out. Confused, Talaith looked at Morfyd, who merely shrugged. “Her brother handed her off to Hamish years ago. As a bride, no less. If it hadn’t been for Brastias and the others, she’d be his wife instead of queen. Although knowing Annwyl as I do now, more likely she’d be dead after taking half the wedding party with her.”
“So she really plans to—”
Morfyd placed her hand on Talaith’s shoulder and that’s when Talaith felt burning tears flowing down her cheeks. She had no idea when she started crying or why she couldn’t stop. “If you were looking for a mindless killer, only concerned with blood and pain, you’ll be sorely disappointed. I know that’s what they told you. But they lied Talaith. She lied.” Long fingers wiped the tears from Talaith’s cheeks. “Now, no more crying. We’ll need you armed and ready. You’ll finally get to properly use those skills of yours.”