Witch Hunter Trilogy Box Set

by K. S. Marsden

  Hunter led the way to the Council’s makeshift meeting room, where his team settled in. They waited in gloomy silence, nothing to be said.

  Eventually the door opened, and General Hayworth marched in, a look of relief crossing his face when he saw them.

  “Sergeant O’Hara explained what happened. I had hoped only grief delayed you, but I was worried the rest of you had another run in…” The General paused for breath. “You couldn’t have bloody sent word that you were fine, and took a detour, could you?!”

  A delicate hand reached out, cautioning him, as Nadira Shah came in beside him. “Now General, there’s little point berating them over what has already happened. They are back, that’s what matters.”

  As she turned to face the others, her beautiful brown eyes were filled with sincerity and sadness. “I am sorry for your loss. I have never heard anything but high praise for James Bennett.”

  Hunter looked down at the table before him. He knew that Nadira meant well, but every time he lost someone, he knew the words wouldn’t help

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Ian’s voice rang out, speaking for the first time today.

  “Alright.” Hayworth started gruffly. “On with business. I daresay we all need the distraction.”

  Nadira drifted to the meeting table and sat down, indicating that the others should join her. “While you were gone, the Council has been discussing our next step.”

  “I hope it involves killing a lot of witches.” Alannah bitterly interjected.

  Nadira smiled compassionately in the young girl’s direction. “We cannot go on as we are, allowing them to pick us off one by one. We need to face them in a place of our choosing, for once. We need to bring them to battle.”

  “So, they can pick us off en masse.” Ian added darkly.

  General Hayworth shot him a warning look. “Not so. Our intelligence tells us that we have the greater numbers now. With Hunter to block their magic, our numbers will overwhelm theirs, just like Little Hanting.”

  Hunter felt uneasiness knot in his stomach, but he pushed it aside. This was what he wanted, what he needed. An end to it all, and revenge for James, for Anthony Marks, Charlotte King, Brian Lloyd…

  “When and where?” He asked.

  “Three weeks should be enough time to rally the troops, everyone is keen to make this stand.”

  “Three weeks.”

  “We need to hit them before the summer solstice.” Nadira confirmed. “We don’t want to risk them channelling its power for their next offensive.”

  “The ‘where’ is Salisbury Plains. I’ve had men down there for months, salvaging equipment. They’ve even got a tank working.”

  “Will a tank be enough to kill the Shadow?” Alannah asked warily, remembering their last encounter with her.

  Hayworth made a noncommittal gesture. “I really hope so; we’ve got nothing stronger.”

  “Magic isn’t about strength.” Hunter muttered. Magic often manifested in the physical, but that didn’t mean brawn alone could defeat it. On the other hand, Hunter couldn’t imagine anything surviving a few mortar rounds.

  “Fine. So, what are our orders, General?” Hunter eventually asked, doing his best to appear contrite.

  Hayworth exchanged a look with Nadira. “We appreciate everything you’ve done, but in view of your loss, we think you should all take leave until the battle.”

  Hayworth was met with four very disbelieving faces.

  “You want your best team to sit and twiddle their thumbs?” Maria snapped, finally breaking out of her miserable silence.

  “You all need time to recover and come to terms with James’ death. We cannot trust your judgement in the field at this time.” Nadira said firmly.

  Hunter leant back in his chair, observing the two leaders. So, they were worried that he and his team would crack, or act rashly. Huh, they might have a point.

  Hunter pushed back his chair, the legs scraping across the wooden floor. Without a word, he stood up and walked out of the meeting room.

  *****

  Half an hour later, Ian came to find him. Hunter was working out his frustration in the gym, with a punch bag. His feet moved half-heartedly, but he threw his whole weight behind each punch.

  “Hey, want to spar?” Ian called, breaking Hunter’s rhythm.

  Hunter stopped, glancing up at the intruder. “Not really, Ian, no.”

  “I’ll go easy on you.” Ian offered.

  Hunter sighed and backed away, the punch bag having lost its appeal, with Ian providing distraction. Hunter sat down on the closest bench.

  “You ok?” Ian asked.

  Hunter rolled his shoulders to loosen them up. “I’m fine.” He snapped.

  “Uh-huh.” Ian sat down on the bench beside him. “And truthfully?”

  “I’m… I’m good enough, I don’t need the Council thinking I need mollycoddling.” Hunter threw his arm out in the vague direction of the Council’s offices.

  “They’re just worried about you.” Ian replied.

  Hunter snorted. “They’re worried what I might do, I am the freak of nature and breeding, after all.”

  Ian crossed his arms, his patience for the snarky comments from the younger man running lower than normal today. “No, they care for you, and they’re worried because you lost your best friend.”

  Hunter stood up again, feeling restless energy through his limbs again. He paced to the punch bag and back. “Don’t pretend that you know how I’m feeling right now, Ian.”

  Ian stood up so quickly, that Hunter froze mid-step. “Don’t presume you have monopoly on grief right now Hunter. I may not have known James as long as you, but you will not trivialise my friendship with him.”

  Hunter backed off a little, he’d never seen Ian show emotion, nor speak so strongly. It just added to his guilt that waited impatiently to kick in.

  “I’m sorry.” Hunter mumbled, sitting down again.

  They sat in silence for a minute, before Ian finally spoke. “So, are you going to follow orders this time, or did you have some plan concocted?”

  Hunter shrugged. “I hadn’t actually gotten that far yet.”

  Hunter ran over his initial desire to kill as many witches as possible. Was it best to take out their leader, instead? Once they had lost their Shadow Witch, would the rest crumble.

  “It did occur to me that a small team could slip through their defences and overcome the Shadow Witch.” Hunter admitted.

  Ian nodded. “Ok, but what then? We couldn’t kill her last time, what makes you think we could be any more successful this time.”

  Unfortunately, the sergeant had a point. But what if they didn’t kill her, or not immediately so. “We could bind her.”

  “You might want to clarify what you mean by that.” Ian replied with a chuckle.

  “We used to bind witches that surrendered. Using an amulet, you can bind their power from them, rendering them harmless – or at least, as harmless as any human.” Hunter explained. “If we could get to Sophie, distract her and bind her, she’d be powerless.”

  Ian nodded again. “Ok, sounds plausible. We’ve only got to subdue her; that should be… interesting. You know, the best distraction will be an army with tanks.”

  Hunter’s shoulders dropped. “You want me to wait, too.”

  “Whatever you decide, I’ll be there with you. So will Alannah and Maria. But it’s just three more weeks to wait, and we can go in with the army at our backs.”

  “Waiting three weeks is as impossible a task as overcoming the Shadow Witch.” Hunter muttered.

  Ian clapped him on the shoulder. “Good, I knew that you’d see things my way. Now, do you think you can find one of those binding amulet thingies?”

  Hunter was about to remark that that was James’ job. But he settled for a silent nod.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  A fortnight before the summer solstice, Hunter began to transport the troops that had been gathering at Manchester, taking them down to the aba
ndoned village of Imber, which served as a temporary place to regroup.

  Witch-hunters from all over the UK made their own way there, having gotten the message that the MMC was finally making a stand. Hunter watched as the numbers on Salisbury Plain swelled. Most of them were military, the number of surviving witch-hunters was depressingly low – a few hundred, no more.

  Hunter greeted those he knew, seeing the same determination in each face that they would finally put this world right, they would finally get revenge for their lost friends and colleagues. There were a few missing faces that Hunter had yet to see, he hoped they had just been delayed, but there was no one from the Newcastle branch here. But his concern for Toby and the others had to be put aside as the chaos of their army had to be organised.

  Hunter pushed through the crowd to one of the houses that had been set aside for those in command. Recognising him, the soldiers guarding the door let him through.

  Hunter saw the familiar faces of General Hayworth, Nadira Shah and Sergeant Dawkins. There were also the less familiar faces of the regional leaders. They gave Hunter a curious look when he entered, obviously intrigued by the famous 7th gen that had been flitting about the country.

  “Any sign of Jonathan and the wiccans?” Nadira asked.

  “No, ma’am. But it’s still early.” Hunter answered.

  Nadira looked troubled. “They promised they would come.”

  Hunter frowned, he had gradually begun to trust Jonathan, and had started to take him seriously; it would be shame if he let them down now.

  “They’re only wiccans.” One of the other witch-hunters voiced. “Are they really so important, if they cannot fight?”

  Nadira turned her brown eyes in the direction of the one that spoke, until he dropped his gaze, ashamedly. “They have been an important ally to us all. They cannot fight, nor do harm, but they have been trying to emulate the shield Hunter creates, with some success. They might just save your skin tomorrow.”

  Hunter tried to look as though this was not news to him, but he was as shocked as the rest of the room. Was that why Jonathan had quizzed him about his powers, whenever he got chance? Hunter had thought it mere curiosity.

  “That’s ah, very good news.” The witch-hunter replied, sounding much more contrite. “Why did you not share it sooner?”

  “We have kept their attempts secret; we did not want the witches to target the wiccans.” Nadira met the eye of each and every person. “It is still early days and in the experimental stages. But our needs are at their greatest, now.”

  “So, does everyone know their role tomorrow?” General Hayworth asked.

  There was a chorus of confirmation. This would all be over tomorrow, the main body would await the witches in the centre of the Plains; two groups would keep hidden to the east and west, attempting to catch the witches from as many angles as possible. A select group was in charge of the military vehicles and heavy artillery.

  And Hunter? No one had given him an outright order; it was assumed that he would go where he was most needed. Hunter had the feeling that the General knew that he intended to tackle the Shadow Witch and was simply turning a blind eye.

  “Well then, tomorrow at 0600 we will move into position.” General Hayworth said. “Our spies will make sure the message gets to the witches – we can expect them tomorrow, the day after at the latest.”

  ****

  The witch-hunters and their allies amassed on the Plains, making a defiant stand. Hunter had walked amongst them and had been comforted by their numbers. But when he blinked away to the copse that hid another portion of their fighters, he looked back and saw their army dwarfed by the expanse of the rolling Plains. A knot of anxiety tightened in his stomach, knowing that others were watching and judging his confidence in this endeavour.

  Were they brave, or just mad, to pit themselves against the greatest magical threat in centuries?

  Hunter thought over the event ahead. He would need all of his team when tackling the Shadow Witch. The potentially impossible task of killing her might be easier than distracting her and subduing her long enough for Hunter to use the amulet to bind her.

  He put his hand in his pocket, wrapping his fingers about the black silk ribbon, and smooth opal stone. Hunter had had to rummage through some dusty boxes in Manchester to find an item he thought would be strong enough. The smooth curves of the stone were supposed to make it a strong reservoir of power, and this type had never failed him before.

  It was a pretty commonly used tool for binding witches. Or at least it had been – as far as Hunter was aware, no witch had been bound since the rebellion. Now, it was kill or be killed.

  Quickly bored of waiting for the witches to arrive, Hunter flitted between the groups, checking for news and acting as messenger for those in charge. He watched as the men and women slowly lost the look of anxiety and determination, and as the day wore on, they set up casual groups to share food.

  Those in charge kept a positive and controlled look, but to Hunter they all grumbled over the same thing.

  “Hayworth said today.”

  As evening drew in, Hunter went to find General Hayworth for the fifth time that day.

  “Anything new to report?” The General asked.

  Hunter shook his head. “No sir. Only that everyone is wondering where our enemy is, and why they’re taking so damned long.”

  The General sighed, gazing out across his troops, intuitively knowing they were all thinking likewise. “It has been the witches’ habit, to date, to run in when provoked and to be ruled by haste and passion. We will give them another twenty-four hours, and then question whether they are up to something more devious.”

  There were many remarks that Hunter wanted to give, but he just bowed his head and retired to where his friends were setting up camp.

  *****

  The following morning, dawn rose on the impatiently waiting army. It had been a restless night, with those not on watch hardly daring to sleep, for fear of a night-time attack.

  Hunter didn’t think he’d slept at all, and as soon as it was a socially acceptable time, he began to repeat his rounds of the different camps. The summer night had been mild, and most people were in a positive mood.

  Time slowly ticked by, and after midday, Hunter sought the General. For once, even he looked disappointed.

  “I wish I knew what devilry they’re up to.” General Hayworth muttered as Hunter approached. They stood side by side, looking out to the hazy, summer horizon.

  “There’s still no sign of the wiccans.” Hunter commented.

  Hayworth sighed. “That doesn’t make me feel any better. I never pegged Jonathan as a coward.”

  “Toby Robson and the rest of the Newcastle branch haven’t arrived, either.” Hunter added.

  The General looked towards Hunter; his expression troubled.

  “I could go, search for foul play.” Hunter offered, it did not cross his mind for a moment that Toby or Jonathan were playing the coward. The rest of the groups of witch-hunters and wiccans were questionable.

  Hayworth thought about it, but eventually shook his head. “No, I need you here. I can’t risk you getting delayed or caught up when the witches hit here.”

  Hunter bit his tongue, knowing that any comment he made about this long wait had already been said.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  It had gone 9pm and the long summer evening was finally starting to darken. The gathered witch-hunters and soldiers settled in for another night out on the Plains. It had been deemed illogical to move them before morning. They would go back to their designated bases, ready to re-group when a new plan of action had been determined.

  Hunter sat in silence with Maria, watching the sun set. There was no need to speak, just sitting there was enough. As the sun dropped below the horizon, leaving the darkening sky streaked with red, Hunter felt a familiar warmth burn through his jacket pocket. He pulled the wiccan stone out, to see it glowing bright with warning. It had become such habit
to carry it, Hunter had not thought twice by pocketing it.

  Not understanding the message behind this basic rock, he looked up to see that several others had gotten to their feet, holding out stones and looking as bemused as he.

  “They’re coming!” A distant cry rang out. “They’re coming!”

  The shout was taken up across the army, and there was a hive of activity to kit up.

  Hunter scanned the dim horizon, until he found a patch of darkness that was so thick that even his eyes could not make sense of it.

  Out of that darkness came the movement of figures. They came out in ones and twos, then tens and hundreds.

  Hunter quickly pushed through the gathered witch-hunters and soldiers, to get to the forefront. He was vaguely aware of Maria following him, and the familiar, broad-shouldered figure of Ian joining them.

  The witches amassed on the grey horizon, their numbers spreading out and standing ready.

  Hunter’s sharp eyes picked out one stepping forward with achingly familiar movements. The Shadow Witch turned her gaze across her enemies, trying to pick out the leaders.

  “I give you this chance to surrender.” Sophie’s voice rang out across the expectant quiet. “The witchkind have won, your allies are destroyed, and you are all that remains of the resistance to the new world.”

  The army stood as one, silent and unmoving to this offer.

  “So stubborn.” Sophie continued, when it was clear that none would respond. “A demonstration then.”

  With a wave of her hand, two male witches dragged a man forward. Hunter gritted his teeth as he recognised their prisoner. Jonathan.

  The usually calm and collected wiccan looked panicked as he was thrown at the Shadow Witch’s feet. His hands were bound, and his face was bloody, eyes black and swollen from his treatment.

  Hunter’s gut twisted at the thought of what the man had suffered.

  “You fight against magic.” The Shadow Witch shouted. “But are hypocrites that use it as and when you need. Not only is one among your number as guilty of magic as I…”