The Hidden Witch

by A C Rae

  The Chronicles of Avarria

  Book One

  The Hidden Witch

  © 2019 A C Rae. All rights reserved.

  A C Rae has asserted their right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art by Mibl Art

  CHAPTER ONE

  “As for the main road leading to Aelin, travel fast and travel without riches. The trees lining the road whisper with warnings of danger and death. The rocks hide many bandits, highwaymen, and, on occasion, even a rogue witch.”

  Book IV, A Guide to Avarria

  Quinn coaxed the horses faster against the wind, struggling to keep on the driver seat as the wheels of the coach bumped ungraciously across the bumpy dirt road. You did not dally on this route.

  Coughing at the dust clouds encouraged by the strong winds, he wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve, and pulled his cloak tighter around his chin. He deliberately ignored the menacing shadows of the trees and gloomy rocks that always crouched along the sides of the road, and focused ahead, his lips moving by rote in a silent prayer to his Ancestors for protection.

  Branches whipped and snarled as the wind gathered strength. Squinting between clouds of dust, Quinn attempted to peer into the murky distance.

  He spotted the outline of two men on horseback just in time. “Whoa!” Quinn yelled. He pulled hard on the reins, forcing the horses to an abrupt stop.

  Quinn glanced over his shoulder as the coach door was pushed roughly open. An annoyed voice floated from the gap, becoming clearer as its owner stuck his head out, one hand clamping his wig in place.

  “By the Ancestors, what do you think you are doing? We have to be there by tomorrow, what—”

  Quinn merely pointed towards the two men on horseback, silhouetted against the swirling dust. Both were clad entirely in black, hats low over their eyes and faces masked. The gentleman quickly put his head back through the door, his subsequent cursing abruptly cut off as he slammed it shut. In his hurry his expensive wig caught in the door, flapping cheerily in the wind. No doubt he was too busy stuffing his gold into his wife’s corset to retrieve it.

  The first man steered his horse towards the coach, his cloak a frenzied shadow billowing out behind him. Coming to a halt, he held up two finely made flintlock pistols towards Quinn; who was dismayed to be close enough to see the delicate filigree swirls on the wood were worn smooth in places by heavy use. The other man, cloak whipping as ferociously in the wind as the first, proceeded to open the door of the coach. His gaze sardonically followed the wig drifting to the floor in a cloud of white powder, sadly fated to marinate in a puddle. Tearing his attention from the fate of the wig to the matter at hand, he finally cemented his highwayman status with the traditional call of “Stand and deliver!”

  He seemed delighted to find a lady in the back of the coach. “Beg your pardon mistress.” He tipped his hat and winked at her. She giggled, and started fluttering her fan furiously. The highwayman held out his black gloved hand. “Now, now, we have no wish to cause anyone any harm. If you would be so kind as to hand over the contents of your purse, then we will leave you completely unharmed.”

  The gentleman’s chins quivered as he attempted to speak. “I’m afraid we did not travel with any belongings, we are going to see our beloved family and they are to provide us with any money required.”

  The highwayman shook his head, his voice radiating dangerous calm. “Tsk tsk,” He wagged his finger. “I was hoping that you had no intention of insulting me, sir. A gentleman of your rank, travelling to Aelin with such a beautiful wife,” he tipped his hat to her again, “and you would lead me to believe that you would make such a trip without any money. I am no fool, sir.”

  “What I tell you is the truth, you must believe me!”

  The highwayman sighed. “Well this is a disappointing turn of events. I was hoping that I wouldn’t need to use this.” He tapped the sword that hung from his side, drew it from its sheath with a flourish and pointed it at the gentleman’s face. The gentleman went cross eyed as he contemplated the sharp end of the sword, which was manoeuvred downwards slowly until it pointed at the centre of his chest. “Now, where is your money?”

  “In here!” called the lady. The highwayman waved at his companion. Quinn tried to study him as he drew even closer, and found himself staring directly down the barrel of one of the pistols instead. Raising his eyes, he looked cautiously up at the black mask covering the man’s face and swallowed. He was met with stony silence.

  Despite the roar of the wind Quinn could hear the gentleman in the coach stuttering at being forced to hand over his money. The inevitable tinkling of coins jingled in the air.

  The highwayman tipped his hat in a gesture of mock gratitude before closing the coach door with yet another flourish and, swinging his sword from his side, skewered the gentleman’s wig from its place on the floor. “After a clean this’ll make a pretty penny, I thank’ee!” He waved the dripping wig on his sword, laughing as he joined his companion at the front of the coach.

  His companion put one of the pistols in its holster and beckoned silently for the purse, the other pistol remaining firmly in its position of pointing at Quinn’s face. He weighed it expertly in his palm before nodding contentedly and tucking it away. He finally grabbed hold of his reins, intending to steer his horse back up the road.

  Unfortunately for him, a strong gust of wind blew that moment, whipping around his face, his cloak billowing wildly in all directions as though it meant to attack him.

  Quinn watched as the man’s mask was torn off his face with the gust. It swooped in a mocking arc to make final contact with the road, evading the suddenly stricken man’s attempts to catch it.

  Quinn’s eyes widened as they somehow made eye contact, his blue eyes meeting brown. He managed to stifle his name into an inaudible gasp; “Pryce!”

  Time stood still, etching the image of Pryce’s face frozen in shock forever into Quinn’s memory. Finally, Pryce broke off eye contact and swore, his desperate frustration clearly building as the thundering of hooves echoed from the road behind Quinn. Hearing others coming; his companion grabbed his arm, spurring him away.

  Quinn watched in mute amazement as they disappeared into the swirls of dust.

  Three men on horseback pulled up next to the coach. The gentleman, realising that the highwaymen had left, opened the coach door to reveal his shiny bald head and his wife, furiously fanning herself with her hand. He called out to the men, “Those thieves have taken all my money! Catch them!”

  The men merely coughed and looked pointedly at the furious plumes of dust that swept the road ahead. Realising that they were in no hurry to chase armed men, especially in this weather, the gentleman offered them a fair sum in reward to be paid once his money had been restored.

  With the incentive of money, the men sped up the dirt road. The gentleman called after them, “And make sure that you return to me my wig in one piece!”

  Quinn shook his head in a futile attempt to settle his thoughts and jumped down from his seat to settle the restless horses. He ignored the raised voice of the gentleman whose companion had been, in his opinion, too quick to reveal the hidden place for the money. She informed him that next time she would let the highwayman run him through with his sword for all she cared.

  The men returned from their pursuit empty handed. The highwaymen had disappeared.

  At Dern, Quinn pulled slowly into the coach station near th
e inn and untied the horses. Waving to the village blacksmith and his wife, he led the horses to the water trough. He stroked the nose of his favourite, a black mare called Bessie. She was a particularly beautiful mare, clearly possessing intelligence and wasted on pulling coaches. He often spent many hours talking to her as he brushed her silky coat.

  He waited casually against a wall as the horses drank; musing over the knowledge that Pryce was one of the highwaymen that had apprehended the coach he was driving. He had deprived him of a day’s wages too, since the gentleman had no way of paying for his coach trip. Probably would have refused to pay him anyway.

  He attempted to smooth his brown hair flat with his hands but it kept springing up. Bessie trotted up to him, and started nudging him with her head. Quinn laughed. “Okay Bessie!” Stroking her soft black mane, he proceeded to lead her and the other horses to the stables. After promising Bessie that he would be back with a carrot, he handed care of her over to the stable boy.

  He walked round the corner and promptly stepped through the doors of the tavern.

  Glancing around the dusty interior, Quinn walked up to the busy barmaid pouring ale into a murky brown glass. Silver strands had just begun to weave their way through her mass of auburn curls. “Hello Molly.” He grinned, dusting off a bar stool before sitting on it. She passed the ale over to a whiskered old man before wiping her hands on an apron she had tied around her waist.

  “You can look up at me with those big blue eyes of yours all you like Quinn but I can’t let you have anything until you pay for the rest of the beer you’ve had these past two months. The landlord says so.” She crossed her arms in an outward gesture of defiance, belied by a soft look in her eye. Quinn sighed, pausing to shine his knee length leather boots with his sleeve before looking up to reply.

  “But surely he knows that I can’t pay until I get my wages. If I die of thirst before then, how can I pay him? He won’t get any money at all, will he?” He sighed theatrically before looking dolefully at Molly.

  “Well you can take it up with him. He said I was too easy on you, and any more drinks I give you will be taken out of my wages.”

  Quinn slid mournfully off the stool, her voice drifting towards him calling some advice as he left. “Perhaps if you spent less money on clothes, you’d have more money for—” He slammed the door shut.

  Quinn started trudging back in the direction of the stables but his impeding miserable thoughts were rudely interrupted by the sight of his landlord marching up in a determinedly furious manner towards the tavern, no doubt looking for him. He ducked into an alleyway.

  He held his breath, watching him swing the tavern door open with a bang and disappear inside.

  He let out a low whistle then stepped out, kicking stones across the path and muttering disgruntled curses under his breath. He walked on, his long legs taking deep strides. He stopped only to share his usual cheery smile with the village shop owner and his daughter as he walked by their shop.

  “Quinn!” He turned his head but could see no-one. He paused in the opening of another alleyway. He was certain he had heard someone hiss his name.

  He looked blankly down it. All he could see was the back of some houses.

  A gloved hand shot out, clamped over his mouth and pulled him suddenly into the darkness of the alley. A voice growled, “Do not say a word.”

  Quinn slowly nodded and the hand drew back from his mouth.

  Swiftly, Quinn sharply forced his elbow backwards into the man’s stomach, causing him to double over and moan. He spun round, aiming a swift kick to the man’s shins which caused him to sink to the floor, cursing.

  Quinn drew his hands into fists, ready.

  There was the sharp click of a pistol being cocked. “Not so fast, Quinn.” Stepping back from the man, who was groaning in a heap at his feet, Quinn put his hands above his head.

  “I wondered how long it would be before I saw you again.” Quinn turned round to face the holder of the pistol. “I have to admit that I didn’t think it would be under these circumstances. A highwayman? If my father could see you now… then again he never approved of your idea of fun. Last I heard you started a tavern brawl in Durnac that resulted in you literally being kicked out.”

  Pryce stepped halfway out of the shadows, laughing. “I guess you missed the whole story but I did not come here to justify myself to you anyway.”

  “Well what did you come here for then?” Quinn retorted.

  “By the Ancestors, boy! I know your manners did not come from your father! How is he anyway?”

  Quinn looked at the ground for a moment. “He is dead,” he said from between gritted teeth. “The plague, six months ago. Perhaps you would have known if you had not disappeared! Shows how much you cared about my father.”

  Pryce froze, eyes wild. He lurched forward and shook Quinn by the shoulders, shouting at him. “Your father was my best friend. I cared for him like a brother. I only avoided him because I did not want to implicate him in what I am doing!”

  Quinn looked him bitterly in the eyes. “Well you implicated me the moment you let your mask fall off.”

  Pryce let go of Quinn, breathing hard. “It blew off.”

  “Fell off. You should tie it tighter.”

  Pryce burst into forced laughter. “Take it back, that quick tongue came from your father. I do need to have a word with the tailor who claimed the mask would stay on no matter what. Told me a witch of the inner circle had cast spells on it too, and so cost a pretty penny!” He stepped over to his companion, helping him to his feet. “You have your father’s spirit- although your father wasn’t half so cocky. Or flashy. What are you wearing? Aren’t those boots a little expensive for looking after horses? And the lace sleeves?”

  Quinn grinned. “I have fine tastes.”

  Pryce chortled.

  His companion spoke, “More like your customers do, if that woman in the coach earlier was your normal kind of customer.” He winked, and smiled as Pryce introduced him.

  “Abershaw, this is Quinn. Quinn, Abershaw.”

  Abershaw groaned. “Well Quinn, I think I’ve got no choice other than to congratulate you on the beating you gave me just now. No one else has managed to do that before.”

  Quinn smirked a little, “Sorry about that.” He held out his hand, and Abershaw shook it.

  Pryce continued. “However despite your skills in beating up highwaymen, what I heard from the barmaid just now tells me that you have more fine clothes than good sense. When did you last eat?”

  “I have to wear fine clothes; my employer insists that he wants his coach drivers to look ‘upmarket’, as he puts it. He thinks he attracts more custom that way when it attracts more distaste than anything else. Anyway, I had an apple before.” He paused. “I think it was before I set out on the trip when you two held up the coach I was driving.” His stomach growled at the mention of food.

  “Well we have a proposition to put to you so we might as well discuss it over lunch. We have plenty of money.” Pryce pulled out a couple of coins from his earlier robbery.

  “Are you planning on bribing me?” Quinn asked. Pryce grinned.

  “You’ll find out.” He replied. He walked towards the tavern, and then looked back at Quinn. “Are you coming or not?” He asked. Quinn hesitated.

  Hunger won. Abershaw hobbled after him.

  “Just as well,” Quinn called out. “You're the reason I didn’t get paid earlier.”

  They walked into the tavern. Pryce sat down at a table and waved to gain Molly's attention. She was busy wiping a glass with a cloth that did more to add dirt to the glass than dispel it. His smile wavered momentarily in disgust but returned as Molly walked to their table. “Three beers please. And some food for Quinn, whatever he has when he actually eats something.”

  The three of them took their hats off. Quinn ran a hand through his brown hair, and tightened the black ribbon that kept it tied back.

  Molly cleared her throat awkwardly. “Sorry, but a
re you paying sir? Uh, the landlord has forbidden me to let Quinn put anything else on his tab until he’s paid it off.”

  Pryce raised an eyebrow at Quinn. “Yes, I’m paying. I’ve had some luck recently and have acquired some money.” He winked at Quinn. “Let me know what Quinn owes. I’ll pay it.”

  Molly nodded. “Are you sure? It’s quite a sum.” She went over to the bar and pulled a piece of paper from behind the beer kegs. She passed it to Pryce. He looked at it and whistled through his teeth.

  “Good grief Quinn! When did you last pay for any of this?” He pulled some coins out of his pocket. “Never mind. I think these will cover it.” Molly counted the coins and nodded her satisfaction. She promptly returned with the beers and placed them in front of the three men.

  “So what made you turn to the life of a highwayman?” Quinn asked in a low voice.

  “It’s a long story,” Pryce responded firmly, crossing his arms. “Now is not the time or the place for me to recount it.”

  Quinn nodded, taking a large gulp of his beer. “Aren’t you going to drink yours?” he asked Pryce. Pryce responded by looking pointedly at the fly that was bobbing up and down in his drink. “You just pull it out,” Quinn continued, “It’s fine to drink.”

  Pryce snorted. “I prefer my beer without added extras.”

  “Suit yourself.” Quinn leaned over, took his beer and put it next to his. Abershaw sat contentedly in the corner, downing his beer rapidly before lighting his pipe.

  Molly came over with a plate of bread and meat and put it in front of Quinn, along with an apple. “That’s for Bessie.” She winked. She leaned over to his ear and whispered. “Your landlord was looking for you earlier. He was in a bad mood to say the least. I’d avoid him until you have your rent money ready.”

  “Thanks Molly.” Quinn said in a low tone. Molly left with a swishing of her skirts.

  “That one’s sweet on you.” Abershaw commented.

  “She’s kept an eye on me. Been in trouble for me a couple of times for adding drinks to my tab when she was told not to. She was a great friend of my father.” Quinn tore a large hunk of bread off with his teeth and started chewing it down at an alarming rate.