The Hidden Witch

by A C Rae

  “My Lord!” Eira ran onstage. Her sword rang throughout the room as she blocked the death blow that Dick was about to deal Quinn. Quinn sprang forward to deliver a final blow to his enemy as the audience cheered.

  “My lady. My Queen.” Quinn held Eira's hand out, wedding ring blazing on her finger as the audience roared with delight. The King and Queen on stage beamed as King Soren smiled towards his wife. She smiled back behind her fan.

  Dick came back on stage to deliver the final lines. At the play's close, the King stood to applaud loudly, the audience following suit. The play had been a resounding success.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Lord Cassian. His place at the King’s side was assured at birth, his bloodline so pure he has the full support of the Witches Guild. Many a whisper at court suggests they hope he will produce the heir to their Grand Witch, although this author has not been able to confirm this for truth.

  Book VII, A Guide to Avarria

  P ryce paced. “I'm afraid we can't stay. We must leave for Aelin soon- we need to get back to our accommodation before we get squatters.”

  Dick sighed. “As always, it's been a pleasure.” They shared a manly embrace before breaking off and shaking hands. He turned to Quinn. “Can I not persuade you to stay? You made an excellent leading man- and you were excellent too, my lady.” He kissed Eira's hand.

  “It was fun,” Quinn admitted. “I may take you up on your offer. One day. But I find I miss Aelin, and I would like to support Pryce for a little longer- the old man needs my help.”

  Pryce elbowed him heavily in the ribs. He turned to Eira. “We need to make sure our house is safe. We will come back for you. Once in Aelin I have some friends who may be able to help us find you a more permanent solution to your... problems.”

  Eira nodded gratefully. “I cannot thank you enough.” She leaned forward, pulling Quinn into a sudden tight embrace. “Be careful.” She whispered.

  Quinn grinned. “Careful is my middle name!” He tugged sharply on the buckle on Bessie's saddle. Satisfied it was on securely, he pulled himself onto her back. “We will be back before you know it!”

  Pryce and Quinn trotted smoothly away into the distance.

  When she could no longer see them, Eira walked away into the trees a small distance after declaring she needed a moment alone. When she was sure there was no-one around, she pulled open her purse, and drew out a silken bag she had kept hidden. Inside were several runestones, the runes carved into red gemstones. She closed her eyes. “What does the future hold for me and Quinn?” Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she drew out three stones into her palm and mumbled, “Onhlidan.” Her hand shook as the runes glowed and revealed their prediction.

  They fell through her fingers to the ground as she ran.

  Quinn laughed as he raced Pryce up the dirt track, Bessie's hooves kicking up clouds of dust behind them. Pryce reined his horse in, and directed them between the trees.

  “Fancy a hold up on our way up to Aelin?” Pryce grinned.

  Quinn groaned. “Does this mean I'm on tree watch?”

  “Of course. This old man's creaking knees can't climb trees.”

  Four hours later, there was no sign of a coach and Quinn had started to lose all feeling in his hindquarters. He shot a penetrating glare at Pryce, who was hidden from his view by the numerous leafy boughs.

  It was then that he started to see the signs of a coach approaching. “Coach ahoy!” He called down the tree.

  “At last!” Pryce called back. “Rich one?”

  Quinn peered into the distance. “No markings but looks rich enough, certainly a private one.”

  Pryce sighed. “It will do. I'm starting to get hungry.”

  Becoming well versed in the art of navigating trees, Quinn made his way down the tree rapidly.

  The heat was fast becoming oppressive and muggy. There would be rain soon.

  Pryce already had on his mask. Quinn tied his on securely. “Ready?” Pryce asked. “This time I'm opening the coach door- I don't want any more renegade women to look after!”

  Quinn nodded firmly, pulling himself onto Bessie as Pryce untethered his horse.

  The coach rumbled into view rapidly. When the driver saw Pryce and Quinn waiting in the road, he pulled so sharply on the reins the coach rocked to a standstill.

  Quinn made his way to the front of the coach. “Stand and deliver!” He smirked at Pryce, having cheekily said the words first before Pryce had had the chance. The ashen faced driver sat stock still.

  Pryce moved to open the door but as he touched the handle, the door swung open. A loud bang and a plume of smoke emanated from the open door. Pryce slid off his horse, and landed on the floor in a heap.

  Steps were kicked out of the coach with a highly polished boot.

  The boots descended the ladder. A smoking pistol was thrown casually on the ground.

  The man was richly dressed in red velvet, tall, with his blonde hair impeccably styled. The first drops of rain fell, sprinkling the ground and the coach before the clouds burst, the rain becoming a deluge.

  Quinn jumped off Bessie but was unable to reach Pryce before the man bent down and pulled off Pryce's mask. Pryce did not move as the ground began to puddle around him.

  “So, this is the face of one of the men who thought they would be stupid enough to hold up the coach of Lord Cassian.”

  Quinn shook off his momentary horror to fling himself at Lord Cassian with an unearthly scream, sword drawn and held in both hands. “You killed him!”

  Lord Cassian turned, and pulled out his sword in time to parry the blow and knock the sword clear out of Quinn's hands. It swung to the ground several feet away, useless. He ducked the errant shot that Quinn fired with his pistol and directed his coachman to deal with Bessie, who was wildly stamping her hooves and clearly intent on running him down.

  He laughed. “Yes, I killed him. And it will not be long before you join him.” He stepped forward, circling Quinn with his sword pointing towards his chest.

  Quinn spat at his feet. Enraged, Lord Cassian dived forwards to strike Quinn down. Quinn ducked under the blade, and ran forward, his momentum throwing them both to the floor. The sword clattered out of his hand.

  Unbeaten, Lord Cassian crouched and pulled a dagger from one of his boots. Quinn found himself grabbing his arm with both hands to keep the dagger from being planted in his chest. Pressing his advantage, Lord Cassian used his free arm to place his hand round Quinn's throat.

  Choking, Quinn let go of Lord Cassian' arm with one hand to try and bat away the hand that was cutting off his air supply.

  His arm holding back the dagger faltered. The blade sunk into his shoulder.

  White hot pain burst into his shoulder as he somehow managed to get free from Lord Cassian, shuffling backwards before managing to pull the blade free from his shoulder. Gasping, rain mingling with tears, Quinn could only watch as Lord Cassian advanced, smirking. He had retrieved his sword, and used it to press Quinn back further, before he pushed him down to the floor with his foot.

  Quinn screamed as Lord Cassian pressed harder on the knife wound on his shoulder with his foot. Lord Cassian laughed wildly, rain dripping from his finger as he jabbed it at Quinn. “What did you expect, scum? Did you think you could hold up my coach, point a gun at me, and have no consequences?” He pointed at the lifeless body of Pryce. “Now for me to see your face before you die like your friend over there.” He leaned forward, his fingertips brushing the mask covering Quinn's face.

  Quinn threw his head forward and head butted him in the face. “You bastard!” he spat. Lord Cassian wiped away the blood that was now trickling from his nose.

  “And I thought highwaymen were supposed to have manners.” He taunted.

  A gun shot rang out. He glanced around the clearing, suddenly annoyed as another gunshot whistled past his head. “Three of you! How unsporting.”

  His coachman, still holding Bessie at bay with wild swings of his sword, barely mad
e it onto the back step of the coach as Lord Cassian ducked the third shot. He swung up onto one of his horses and rode the coach hard out of the clearing.

  Quinn dragged himself towards Pryce, ignoring the pain sparking in his shoulder with every movement he made. He grabbed Pryce, hands shaking. “I'm so sorry,” he whispered. “This is all my fault.” His fingers clenched tight into Pryce's overcoat. He shuddered violently with heavy sobs before suddenly collapsing on top of him.

  Eira came running towards them from behind the trees, holding a shotgun and shouting Quinn's name. She ground to a halt, her mouth moving in a continuous silent no as she took in the prone form of Quinn draped unmoving across Pryce. She raced to them, and turned Quinn over.

  He was pale, yet his brow was already beginning to burn with an unnatural fever. Blood was still pouring from the open wound in his shoulder, his hand limp in hers as she called for Bessie. She brought his hand to her lips, and kissed it gently. “Don't you dare die on me.” She grabbed him under his arms, and proceeded to drag him across the road to the other side, where she summoned every ounce of her power. Her eyes glowed as she fiercely summoned the will to heal. “Gehaelen.” She shouted, heedless of any desire to hide her magic. His back arched as he let out an unearthly scream. The wound on his shoulder glowed a sickly green before turning an ominous black.

  Bessie trotted quickly up to Eira and Quinn. She nudged his head gently with her nose. Unresponsive, his head rolled and fell slack onto his other side. Eira looked at Bessie. “Please, we must get Quinn to the actors, they may know a healer in these parts.” Bessie seemed to nod, and knelt so Eira was able to manoeuvre Quinn across her back.

  “Pryce. I need to... to hide his...Wait.” As Bessie watched, Eira ran over to Pryce's body and started dragging him across off the road.

  Pryce shuddered and then coughed. Eira dropped him in surprise. “Thank the Ancestors! You're alive!”

  “It seems that way. No idea how.” He shakily pulled his shirt away from his body to examine the bullet hole in it. A quick inspection proved his skin miraculously unmarked. “What happened?”

  Eira interrupted him. “Never mind that. Quinn needs help. Now.” She pointed over to where he was draped over Bessie.

  Pryce wasted no time in getting up and running to Quinn. He had started shivering violently as his fever spiked. As Pryce felt his forehead, a soft moan escaped Quinn's throat, sweat racing down his face. Only then, did Pryce notice the blood dripping from his shoulder. “He was stabbed!” Eira nodded helplessly. “We must get him to Jacob, a healer I know. He is only twenty minutes away. Quickly.”

  Bessie gently carried Quinn deeper into the woods, his moans hitching in his throat with each movement. Eira’s stomach clenched as her and Pryce ran deeper into the forest, yelling for Jacob.

  Jacob came running out before Pryce could locate the bell rope in the bushes. Bessie brought Quinn to him.

  He held his hand over the wound, frowning in concentration. “The blade that did this was poisoned. We must hurry.” He gently took Quinn off the horse and carried him in his arms. Eira swallowed as Quinn's arms and legs swung limply with the movement of Jacob's steps towards his hut. He was now deathly pale, and his hair was plastered to his forehead, which shone with beads of sweat.

  Jacob supported his head as he lay him down on the bed, and immediately set to work.

  At his request, Eira went running to fetch the bandages and Pryce went to bring in fresh water from the well outside. The room was warm; a fire was already burning fiercely in the fireplace.

  Jacob furiously mixed together some herbs in a bowl before tearing off Quinn's shirt. The rush of blood from his shoulder had slowed but around the angry red gash of the wound, the poison had settled in angry black lines. He poured the herbal mixture onto a bandage and pressed it firmly against the wound. Quinn did not move.

  Pryce came in with the fresh water. Eira kneeled next to Quinn, and began to mop his fevered brow with cool water.

  Pryce sat in a corner, his brown eyes staring at Quinn intently, monitoring each struggled rise and fall of his chest.

  Eira pulled back as Jacob preceded to pour a bright blue concoction into a drinking bowl. He gently lifted Quinn's head and poured it slowly down his throat. Quinn shifted slightly as he reflexively swallowed. Jacob placed his hand on Quinn's forehead and closed his eyes. Eira stared. When he opened them, they were a vibrant green, before settling back to their leafy green colour.

  “This is no ordinary poison. It will take great strength on Quinn's part to defeat it and great vigilance from us.” He looked down at Quinn, who had gained some colour, but it was burning fiercely in his cheeks. He was muttering incoherently as he began twisting in his sheets.

  Eira squeezed his hand tightly, as though she could anchor him to life through her own. Pryce put his head in his hands.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “The Witches Guild, shrouded in secrecy for so many hundreds of years, is a topic on which this author attempted to shed some light, but some secrets even I am unable to penetrate. They guard their secrets fiercely, so fiercely that they do not allow the practise of magic in the open, lest the secrets of it are learned by the Uninitiated and used outside their jurisdiction.”

  Book VII, A Guide to Avarria

  They took it in turns to tend to Quinn, who despite all their efforts still did not wake. Eira spent so long by his bedside she was often woken by Pryce, her back stiff from where she had fallen asleep across Quinn in her fatigue. He would look at her with a haunted look, and she would leave to attend to Bessie without a word, as it hurt her to speak without breaking down in despair. Surely Quinn would wake soon, and laugh at them both for being so dramatic about it all?

  Days passed, and Eira spent them all by Quinn's bedside, often mopping his brow with cool water. His fever continued to rage. At times he mumbled incoherently, clearly caught in dark nightmares as he screamed Pryce's name over and over.

  At times she swore she heard him whisper her name.

  When his breath hitched in his throat, she would grasp his hand tight, and hold her breath. When he breathed again she would draw in a nervous draught of air, and release his hand, smoothing down his blanket with her shaking hands.

  Jacob smiled to himself as he set about mixing one of his concoctions. It was obvious to him that she cared for Quinn, and he had great hopes for the pair, especially as he listened to Eira fondly telling him stories from her childhood. He walked into the room that had become Quinn's sick room. Sweet smelling herbs were hung over the fire, where their fragrance cleansed the room.

  Quinn lay still on the bed. Eira sat back from telling Quinn her favourite story as a child, as Jacob walked towards the bedside with a drinking bowl.

  He brought it to Quinn's lips, and was surprised when he coughed, his eyes fluttering open. Quinn groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as his forehead furrowed in pain.

  Eira dared not hope as his eyes fluttered open again. The hope rose in her chest as it became apparent that Quinn was trying to focus on the room. He turned his head weakly, and smiled softly as he saw Eira. “Eira?” He muttered, before his eyes fell gently shut.

  She looked at Jacob in horror before noticing that he was smiling. “Don't worry. He is exhausted from fighting the poison even though he has been asleep nearly a week. Go, tell Pryce.”

  She raced to Pryce, so the next time Quinn woke they would both be there. Pryce pulled her into a bear hug, tears of happiness making his eyes glow with sheer joy. He spun her in a circle, and raced to Quinn's bedside.

  Quinn felt like he was floating. He tried to think, but his thoughts drifted away from him. With great effort, he chased them, and then was overwhelmed as they then gathered together in a cacophony, flooding his senses. As he relived the memory of Pryce falling in a lifeless heap to the ground, the sharp pain of the dagger and the burning, the never ceasing burning, he sank back into the darkness, seeking oblivion.

  Eira watched as a myriad of emotions flitt
ed across Quinn's face, his eyelashes fluttering as he seemed to almost wake. Pryce sat anxiously on the other side of the bed, hands twitching restlessly.

  Quinn's forehead creased in pain, and then his face slackened as he fell back into a faint.

  Jacob walked into the room. Pryce jumped up, and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Why does he not wake!”

  Jacob frowned. “Give him time. His body and mind has been through a lot.”

  This time, awareness came to Quinn in snatches. A fire. A sweet smell of herbs. Warmth. A soft blanket yielded to his touch as he flexed his fingers.

  He turned his head. Something cooling slipped from his forehead. He ached, inside and out.

  Slowly, he became aware of a weight on his legs. He opened his eyes. Too bright. He closed them again.

  A few seconds later, he opened his eyes more resolutely, and squinted until the brightness lessened.

  Eira was draped across his legs, fast asleep. He smiled, and then frowned, comprehension out of his reach. Where was he?

  His shoulder felt tight. Pulling up a shaking hand, he pulled the blanket back. His shoulder was bandaged.

  Comprehension came in a blinding flash. Quinn shook with unfallen tears, then, no longer able to hold them back, they flowed down his cheeks as he heaved with sobs.

  Eira shifted with the movement, and jerked awake.

  “Quinn!” Her heart twisted at the anguish on his face. He did not respond, staring blankly as he quivered in between deep and gasping sobs.

  She grabbed his hands. “Quinn!” This time she saw some recognition flicker in his eyes before they drowned in his sorrow again.

  She let his hands fall back down to the blanket, and ran out of the room.

  Quinn knew only grief and guilt. It washed over him in waves, mingling with the pain that lanced through his shoulder with each gasping sob. It was him who had forced Pryce to train him as a highwayman, and he had failed him.