The Hidden Witch

by A C Rae

  Quinn paused, uncertain. “How?” He eventually asked.

  “Just try.” Pryce grinned.

  Quinn charged forward and pointed the blade forwards. Before he could he point it at Pryce's chest it was knocked out of his hand with a clatter and his legs were kicked out from under him. He lay sprawled out on the grass for a moment before Pryce offered him a hand to pull him up.

  “You learned that from the brutes who charge around your village, that kind of attack usually only works on the unarmed.

  “Aren't most people sat in the carriage with a pistol aimed at them when we hold it up anyway?” asked Quinn. Pryce frowned deeply at him. Quinn held his hands up. “I was just asking.”

  “Just pick up your wooden waster.” Pryce gestured to where his make-shift sword lay nested in a patch of grass. “Right, show me how you hold your sword.” Quinn brandished the sword with the tip pointing directly at Pryce.

  Pryce shook his head. “That might work in a knife fight. Hold it like this.” He guided Quinn's arm and the sword, placing it in an upright defensive position. “Hold it steady.” He warned as Quinn's arm started shaking. “Today we are doing wards only. Defence is most important. Carefulness, prudence; these are the qualities that you will be using today. Right, now place your feet like this,” Pryce leaned into a defensive stance, which Quinn copied.

  Pryce then moved in front of Quinn, bringing his sword down slowly onto Quinn's. “Now block.” Quinn brought his sword up to block Pryce's. “Block,” he called, moving his sword to attack from Quinn's right. “Block, block, block.”

  They continued, the clack of wooden swords ringing out across the field as Quinn began to sweat profusely.

  Pryce was relentless; when Quinn's guard slipped, he pushed forward and pushed Quinn to the ground. When Quinn began to block more attacks, he started feinting. The sun had moved round, lengthening their shadows deeply before Pryce let up.

  Quinn dropped his practice sword in relief and dropped down next to his bag. He pulled out his flask and drank deeply before looking up at Pryce, who was smirking.

  “It was harder than you thought, wasn't it?”

  Quinn groaned. “If there is a part of me that doesn't ache, the rest of me aches so much I can't feel the difference.” He pushed himself up off the floor with effort, his arms shaking.

  “Well if it's any consolation, a few more weeks of this and you'll build up the muscles needed to hold up your sword without it wiggling all over the place.” He laughed. “Come on then, let's get you to the tavern.”

  Quinn winced at the effort of pulling himself up on Bessie.

  “I'll race you!” Pryce called as he pulled on his horse's reins.

  “Please ignore him Bessie.” Quinn pleaded, “My arms can't take any more today. I would like a nice quiet ride back.”

  They left the field gently. The only sign that they had been there was the shattered crates and pressed grass where Pryce and Quinn had bruised the ground with their sword practise.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Ah, you should see the noblemen move in their sword dance of death as they practise their sword play. Once a year, as per ancient tradition, the noblemen of Avarria display their art in front of the King and the court, and the winner gains much favour.”

  Book II, A Guide to Avarria

  T he days melded and blurred into one. The mornings Pryce and Quinn would spend playing cards with Abershaw while he discussed his approaching wedding, along with his fiancée’s plans for afterwards. Pryce was to be the best man so was also spending time with Abershaw, pretending to be a wealthy businessman when Lady Elizabeth's relatives would see him. In order to hide his highwayman past, Lady Elizabeth had arranged for Abershaw to be a wealthy shipping merchant, and had bribed the Merchant's Guild into accepting him as a full member. They would sell anything; for the right price.

  The afternoons were spent practising, mainly with the wooden wasters, but also with the pistols. Quinn would often ask Pryce when he would finally be able to go on a hold up, but Pryce refused to answer. He was only going to let Quinn hold up a coach once he was absolutely certain he was ready. He had that much responsibility towards Quinn's father, his once best friend.

  So Quinn kept quiet, and channelled his frustration into determination. He doubled his efforts at training, pushing himself so hard that he collapsed into bed early every night.

  Yet Pryce still refused to let him come with him on a hold up, so, considering it a failure on his part, Quinn withdrew from their morning card games to go to the field early, and practise alone. He found an old withered tree, and practised parrying against it all morning. Finally, he hit the tree so hard that his wooden waster broke in two.

  He rode back to the house in grim silence. He handed Bessie to a stable boy and stalked back to the house.

  Pryce and Abershaw were sitting at the table, playing cards. Quinn burst in through the front door. He dropped the broken shards of the wooden waster onto the table, knocking a few stray cards onto the floor as he spun round and walked out of the room without a word.

  Abershaw looked at Pryce meaningfully. “You know he's been ready for weeks.”

  Pryce glared at him. “You think I don't know that?” He slammed his fist onto the table. “I can't get the image of his father out of my mind. If he could see what I'm doing, what I'm getting his son into...”

  Abershaw squeezed Pryce's arm gently. “You need to let it go. It would not have been his decision even if he is alive. If you don't let Quinn go with you on a hold up, he's going to do something incredibly stupid, like going it alone.”

  Pryce put his head in his hands and groaned. “Do you always have to be right?”

  Abershaw grinned. “Of course.” He pulled out his pipe, filled it, and lit it as Pryce watched. “You could watch me light my pipe, or you could go speak to the boy.”

  Pryce cleared his throat. “Right. Great.” He hesitated. “Uh, what do I say?”

  Abershaw shrugged. “Depends on if you want to admit you were wrong.”

  Pryce shuddered. “No way. If I do that he might get big headed!”

  “Then start with admonishing him for breaking his waster.”

  Pryce nodded, picked up half of the broken waster and stormed up the stairs. He flung open Quinn's door, only to find him lying on his bed face down fast asleep. He softened as he finally really saw the tired rings under Quinn's eyes and the drawn expression on his face, even in sleep.

  “For the Ancestors' sake boy, I didn't mean for you to push yourself this hard trying to prove yourself.” He sighed as he pulled a spare blanket off a chair and placed it over Quinn. He closed the door softly behind him and went back down to Abershaw.

  “Fast asleep. Worked myself up for nothing.” He flung himself into his chair. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I'm going to have to set a date for his first hold up. The irony! I'm going to worry about him if I take him with me, but he manages to make me worry about him even when I don't!”

  Abershaw smiled.

  When Quinn woke up, he was surprised to find that the sun was setting and his room was already half in darkness.

  He stepped out of bed, and walked downstairs slowly. It was silent. He supposed that Pryce and Abershaw had already gone to the tavern.

  “You know, your temper broke a perfectly good waster.” Quinn jumped. Pryce leaned forward, his face emerging from the shadows. “But I understand.” He pulled out a pack of matches and lit a candle.

  Quinn looked at him. “I'm sorry. I'm just so frustrated. I just want to be ready.”

  Pryce nodded. “You are.”

  “I'm sure you think-- hang on, what did you just say?”

  “I said that you are ready.” When Quinn looked at him disbelievingly, he smiled. “How would you like to go on your first hold up, the day after Abershaw's wedding? I'm sure there are a few wedding guests who will be making their way back to their respective mansions afterwards.”

  Quinn looked at him closely. “A
re you sure?”

  Pryce cleared his throat. “Just agree with me before I change my mind.”

  Quinn nodded, grinning, “Tavern then?”

  “You bet.”

  “You can finish off your wedding speech.” Quinn teased.

  Pryce gave him a black look. “Remind me again, and you will find yourself with a bloody nose.” He growled.

  The day of the wedding came and went. Pryce's best man speech was completely made up; apparently the two of them had known each other since they were young boys. They had decided to go into business together at the age of fifteen, amassing an impressive fortune rapidly. He even went as far to say that they had taken a year out to explore other countries, even going close to the end of the world. According to Pryce’s speech, the ocean spilled over the ends of the earth like a massive waterfall. Quinn narrowed his eyes at Pryce's 'artistic licence' but everyone else in the room looked like they were buying it. Quinn strongly suspected Pryce was drunk. Abershaw swallowed uncomfortably when Pryce alleged said that he had ridden on a massive beast known as an elephant- he was going to have requests from relatives of Elizabeth to regale them with these tales of travel and adventure for years. Finally, Pryce just about remembered to toast the bride and groom at the end of the speech.

  There was a lot of drinking after that, as was the custom. Due to Lady Elizabeth's rank there was a lot more alcohol on offer than Quinn had ever seen in his life. He moved up to congratulate the happy couple. Abershaw grabbed his arm.

  “I am going to kill Pryce.” He forced out. “I've already had Elizabeth's sister asking what an elephant looks like. I had no clue! I told her it was a big, hairy thing with huge feet. I swear she did not believe me!”

  Quinn nodded. “I'll warn him.”

  He walked over to Pryce, who had a circle of people around him. He held them enthralled, as he mentioned a land him and Abershaw had 'visited' where fire was sent up into the sky. The fire would burst and fall like falling stars, into many colours. Quinn snatched him. “What are you thinking! Where are you getting these stories from?”

  Pryce hiccuped. “Some pamphlets I picked up for a penny from the street.”

  “Abershaw wants you to shut up now. He can't keep up with all these stories you're making up.”

  “Oh.” Pryce staggered over to Abershaw. “Sorry mate; tell them I got drunk and started making stuff up.”

  Abershaw grinned. “That's exactly what's happening.” He squeezed Pryce's arm. “I'm going to miss you, you crazy old man.”

  Pryce swayed slightly, and made an expression that made it evident he was trying to decide what Abershaw to speak to. He settled for the one on the left, which was completely wrong. “I'll miss you too.” He hiccuped and fell down straight on his rear. Abershaw roared with laughter, picked him up under the arms and sat him in a chair in the corner, where he sat quietly for the rest of the evening.

  Abershaw moved in with Elizabeth that day. Quinn supposed that it was fortunate that he and Pryce were going on a hold up; otherwise he thought that Pryce might be lonely. Instead, on their way back to the house (sounding miraculously sober after his drunken shenanigans) Pryce drilled into Quinn the importance of keeping his mask on, his head down and of following his lead tomorrow, before announcing he was off to bed. Quinn resisted the temptation to point out Pryce's mishap with his own mask, and instead agreed meekly.

  Quinn thought he would struggle to sleep, but the few drinks he had had at the wedding helped him drift off quickly. He had been careful not to drink too much; he'd rather not try Jacob's 'remedy' again.

  It was midday before Quinn woke up.

  He came down to find Pryce cleaning his sword. The pistols were lying on the table, already cleaned.

  Pryce looked up from his polishing to acknowledge Quinn's presence. “Glad to see you've finally woken up. Thought I'd let you have a lie in, I want your wits about you this evening.”

  Quinn sat down and poured himself some weak mead. “Thanks.”

  Pryce held up the sword to the light, satisfied. “Okay. Tactics.” Quinn nodded, taking a bite out of a piece of bread that was on the table. Pryce, after making sure he had his full attention, began. “Actually, it's quite simple.” He admitted. “We hide in the woods keeping a look out for a coach. You can usually hear one coming from ages away. But we have to be careful. We don't hold up coaches with armed guards and we certainly do not hold up the King's coach. You remember what his coats of arms look like?”

  Quinn nodded, draining the rest of his mead. “You can't miss it, it's a green shield with a stag on it.”

  Pryce agreed. “And we never, never attack a coach holding anyone from the Priestess or Witches Guild, for obvious reasons. When we have decided which coach to hold up, we ride up alongside it, draw our guns, and ask them to hand over their money. Nine times out of ten we don't have any trouble, but if I tell you to ride away and abandon the hold up, you do so. Got it?”

  Quinn nodded firmly. “So, what do we do until this evening?”

  Pryce grinned. “How about some cards?”

  After going to the stables to collect Bessie and Pryce's horse, Quinn followed Pryce as they rode out of Aelin towards the main road.

  They diverted off the road and rode gently out into the woods. “Keep noise to a minimum,” Pryce whispered. “There are a few bandits in the area who like to hide out here.”

  Pryce stopped at the base of a tree, and tethered his horse. Quinn dismounted. “What now?” He whispered.

  “You climb that tree and keep a lookout for any coaches, while I sit here and read this book.”

  Quinn groaned as he climbed the tree, cursing as he hauled himself up over a particularly thick branch.

  He almost thought it was worth the climb when he saw the view. He could see the road stretching back for miles, and could even see the city gates of Aelin in the distance. He settled against the trunk of the tree trying to get comfortable, which proved difficult as Pryce had chosen a particularly spiky tree for him to act as look out in.

  Two hours later, the light was already starting to fail and Quinn was in danger of falling asleep, a rather dangerous situation to be in when sat several feet up in a tree. He hissed at Pryce down below. “Can I come down now? I haven't seen a single coach all the time I've been sat here.”

  “Patience.” A calm voice floated up to him. “The wedding guests are bound to come back soon.”

  Quinn grunted. “I wish I was down there reading a book and you were sat here with a tree sticking in you.”

  He perked up as he noticed a coach rolling down the road in the distance. “Finally!”

  Quinn climbed down the tree swiftly, taking a small jump down from the last branch. Pryce looked up from his almost finished book. “Coach?”

  “Yes, probably less than five minutes away.”

  “Excellent.” Pryce reached in his bag and took out their masks. He handed Quinn his. “There you go.”

  Quinn tied his mask on with a double knot, and whistled for Bessie.

  She came trotting out of the trees towards him. “Hey.” He patted her nervously. “Our first hold up.” He swung onto her back, checking his pistols were still in their holsters on the sides of the saddle. Pryce beckoned him towards where he was, behind some large rocks on the edge of the road.

  “Timing is important.” He whispered. “Wait until the last possible minute to reveal ourselves, best to have the element of surprise. I'll hold out my hand when we need to go forward.”

  Quinn held onto the rock and peered round the side. He could see the coach running towards them. Pryce gestured for them to move forward.

  Quinn moved Bessie into the middle of the road next to Pryce.

  The coach driver soon noticed them in the road and pulled hard on the reins. The coach came to an abrupt stop, mere feet away from the two men.

  Pryce had insisted on doing the talking. Quinn was to remain silent and look as menacing as possible. He pulled out his pistols, covering the dri
ver as Pryce delivered the immortal words; “Stand and deliver!”

  Maybe one day Pryce would let him say those words, Quinn mused. He refocused on the carriage.

  Pryce leaned into the carriage. After silencing their indignation with a show of his pistols, the two gentlemen inside quietly handed over their valuables.

  Quinn tossed a coin at the driver. After his treatment at the hands of Wilkins, he wanted to make sure no coach driver suffered from their heists. “For your troubles.” He lowered the tone of his voice so he sounded different, following Pryce's lead. The driver took the coin and tucked it into his boot.

  “Thanks.” He mouthed gratefully. Quinn nodded his acceptance.

  Pryce moved back from the coach. “Thank you kind sirs.” He tipped his pistol. “Now, kindly close the door.” Pryce waited for the door to close before nodding at Quinn to move.

  They waved at the driver to move the coach on. Quinn watched as the coach started rolling away, and finally let out the breath he had been holding.

  “Come on.” Pryce moved back into the woods, bouncing a bag of coins up and down in his hand. Quinn followed quickly. They had to get off the road swiftly and disappear before anyone else appeared.

  They rode hard through the trees and it was several minutes before Pryce let up. He waited for Quinn to catch up, then dismounted for a drink. “Good job.” He complimented, as Quinn downed a healthy quantity of cider.

  Quinn smiled. “I guess that was a pretty routine hold up; it was easier than I expected.”

  Pryce was about to agree however a whistling sound shot past his ear.

  Quinn ducked. “What was that?!”

  “Trouble.” Pryce shouted. “Bandits. Sometimes they hang around hoping to catch the spoils of a highwayman but they usually don't do that so close to Aelin. I thought we had ridden far enough to stop.”

  Three men of questionable hygiene charged out from the trees, one holding out his crudely made yet loaded bow to cover Pryce. “Hand over the money. Now.”

  Pryce sighed. “Why can't you steal your own money?” The man with the bow laughed. “Why, when we can let you do the dirty work?” One of his partners came up to Pryce to take the money.