Witch Hunter Trilogy Box Set

by K. S. Marsden

  Hunter felt more than one set of eyes turn in his direction, but he held back the need to wince as his enemy continued.

  “…but you ally yourselves with wiccans – parasites who cling to magic.” Sophie looked down at Jonathan with clear distaste. “I don’t know whether to be disgusted or insulted, that you would plan to overcome us with these – these…”

  Sophie’s lip curled as she failed to find the words to express herself adequately. Oh well, actions always spoke louder than words. She took a step back, and with an idle flick of her hand, the two male witches cast the spell they were forming.

  There was a flash of light and a piercing scream, as flames engulfed Jonathan. The sound of his pain rolled over the Plains and made the assembled army stir. Hunter felt bile rising in his throat, but before he could do anything, Jonathan’s screams were cut off by a single gunshot. The wiccan slumped, lifeless to the ground.

  Hunter glanced to his side and saw Maria slowly lowering her gun, pale but calm. Unable to speak, he simply nodded. They couldn’t save their friend, but they could cut short his suffering.

  On some unspoken signal, the two armies charged.

  Hunter felt the swell of magic, and his own power respond, throwing up a shield that was soon hammered under the weight of hundreds of witches. His movements were slow, as he focused on maintaining it, while keeping his gun steady on the next witch in his eye line. Things were quickly dissolving into chaos.

  Hunter shouted for Alannah; his voice lost in the melee. His eyes tore from one struggling fighter to the next, his heart pounding with exertion and fear.

  Ian grabbed his shoulder. “There!” He pointed.

  Hunter allowed himself to feel relief as he spotted the fourth member of his team making her way towards them. The young Welsh girl held her side and limped slightly, blood stained her cheek and arm, but otherwise she was fine.

  She looked around the group, her green eyes bright. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

  “Come on then.” Ian stated. “Let’s make this bitch mortal.”

  Ian turned and led the way, his bulky form pushing a path through the battleground. Maria followed him.

  Hunter made to follow them, but Alannah caught his arm.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Alannah looked up at him with determination. For an answer, she moved onto her toes. Her hands locked behind Hunter’s neck and she pulled him down to her.

  Hunter was more than a little surprised at the kiss but didn’t pull back as her lips caught his gently. When Alannah let him go, Hunter straightened again.

  “Alannah…”

  Alannah shook her head. “I didn’t want to go into this with any regrets.”

  Hunter glanced about, checking for immediate danger; now was not the time for this. “Alannah, we’ll talk after the battle.”

  Hunter grabbed her hand and dragged her with him before she could oppose. He was glad there was an important battle to deal with before he had to have that talk with Alannah. She was a friend, and a little sister to him now.

  When they caught up with the others, Ian gave them an odd, concerned look; at which Hunter realised he was still holding Alannah’s hand, and guiltily dropped it.

  The four of them fought their way through another line of witches, leaving their opponents dead or incapacitated as they pushed on to the next clearing.

  Hunter had a feeling of déjà vu as he saw Sophie standing alone, her power rolling off her. With a single breath, he felt his own anti-magic stir and react with hers. A dome of energy spread out in a shimmer of colour against the dark night. Sophie immediately detected the source, and her furious hazel eyes snapped onto Hunter.

  “So, you’ve brought an extra friend this time?” Her eyes flicked across the rest of his team.

  Hunter’s jaw tensed, there was nothing to be said to this woman that had played him for a fool, while killing those closest to him. Alannah noticed his mood, and supportively squeezed his arm.

  Sophie noticed the gesture, and her eyes snapped to the Welsh girl. “You again.”

  Alannah flashed Hunter a smile, then turned to the witch. “Yes, me.” She confirmed. Then attacked.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Alannah’s knife glanced off the Shadow Witch’s arm, the cut healing as soon as it was inflicted.

  Sophie snarled in pain and her hand shot out, taking the opportunity to grab Alannah by the neck. Her fingers closed tighter.

  “He’ll never be yours.” She hissed at the little Welsh girl, jealous eyes flicking to Hunter.

  Alannah scratched at Sophie’s iron hold, starting to choke. “Wanna bet?” She gasped.

  Sophie leant in closer, her expression of fury suddenly changing to shock as she felt two arms encircle her and pin her in place. She instinctively struggled, but the arms just tightened.

  Alannah broke free, and fell to her knees, gulping in precious air. Hunter rushed to her side.

  “You said distract her.” She croaked.

  “Not by using yourself as bait.” He growled, furious at her crazy move.

  “Hunter!”

  Hunter looked up at Maria’s shout, to see the lieutenant aiming her gun steadily at Sophie’s head. Oh yes, there was something to do. He pulled the opal stone amulet and black silk from his pocket and stepped closer to Sophie. Her hazel eyes locked on the items and immediately grew wide, she began to struggle in earnest against Ian’s hold, but with little effect.

  Hunter hurried to press the amulet against her hand and bound it with the black ribbon. Sophie shrieked as she felt her power sapped by the ritual, the opal glowing with the strength of the power it absorbed.

  Hunter stepped back, nodding to Ian, who released his prisoner from his grip. Maria’s aim followed the witch as she dropped to the ground, shivering. Hunter felt the magic in the air suddenly lessen and he looked at his enemy, so weak upon her knees.

  “What have you done?” Sophie demanded.

  “What needed to be done.” Hunter replied. “Surrender now, and you will be charged for your crimes. Or, by the Malleus Maleficarum, I am empowered to take the necessary measures.”

  Sophie narrowed her eyes in his direction – that he should give her the formal spiel!

  Before she could reply, another wave of pain shot through her, knocking her flat on her back.

  “What’s happening?” Alannah asked, as she pulled herself to her feet. Even though she was a young witch-hunter, she could see this wasn’t going normally. The Shadow Witch writhed in pain, and the amulet still glowed – in fact it was getting brighter than when Hunter had performed the ritual.

  Alannah stepped forward to inspect the amulet more closely.

  Without warning, the world was dissolved in a bright flash, as the amulet exploded.

  Hunter came to, aware of movement around him, but the sound sluggish. The next thing he was aware of was that he was flat on his back, and there was an immense pain resonating from his right shoulder and back.

  Movement caught his eye, a figure stepped into his eye line, from the lack of military gear he guessed it to be a witch.

  Hunter forced a painful breath into his lungs and let his eyes scout his surroundings. The night was lit by fire and spells, but he could tell little else.

  Bracing himself for the shock of pain, Hunter pushed himself onto his side. His head throbbed with a migraine, as well as from the overwhelming magic in the area.

  His ears began to hear again, starting with the curses of witches, their footsteps as they hurried back as they realised he was alive. He heard his name hissed by several voices but ignored them all.

  Hunter focused on seeing the inert bodies nearby. He hoped that they had just been knocked out like him, but seeing Alannah’s open, unseeing eyes, dropped a weight in his stomach.

  Not wanting to think or feel, Hunter staggered to his feet. His eyes snapped onto Sophie, she became the only thing in focus, and he threw himself in her direction.

  Sophie’s hazel eyes w
idened at his approach and she threw up thick shadows about herself in defence.

  Hunter ran forward, ignoring the spike of pain in his ribs and shoulder. He charged into the darkness. He felt a delicate hand touch his, followed by the familiar, disorientating warmth and nothingness that accompanied being transported by the Shadow Witch.

  Hunter landed on cold, hard ground with a thud. He rolled onto his side and retched. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so dizzy with pain. He cracked open his eyes to get his bearings. All he saw were a pair of feet in front of him.

  His eyes travelled up, to see Sophie standing over him. She looked blood-stained and exhausted, much like how he felt. She sighed, seeing him regaining consciousness, and knelt beside him. Her lip curled at his weak struggles.

  “You just can’t admit defeat, can you?”

  Sophie looked up, beyond him, to where Hunter could detect weak flashes of light.

  “It’s over.” Sophie stated, gazing firmly back down at him.

  Hunter felt the blackness at the edge of his senses sweep up and overwhelm him.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Hunter awoke – which in itself seemed like a major achievement. Sophie had not killed him, even when she had the perfect chance to. Hunter’s head hurt to process any reason behind it, instead he focused on the simpler things.

  It was light. With the low-hanging sun and cool air, Hunter sluggishly surmised that it was early morning.

  He raised his head just enough to confirm that he was still on the Salisbury Plains. He could make out the deserted village that they had used, and the copse of trees their reinforcements had hidden within.

  Hunter felt a stab of uneasiness. It was far too quiet.

  He steeled himself to get to his feet. Hunter did not trust his ability to blink to the battleground, so made the slow and steady march to cover the distance.

  There was no sign of life, only bodies laid strewn across the Plains. Hunter choked down the bile that threatened to rise.

  Hunter gave the fleetest glances to each noting those he recognised. With each familiar face, his heart hardened. Now was not the time for grief. Instead he had to… to…

  Hunter stopped in his tracks as he saw General Hayworth, such a steady source of leadership over the past couple of years. Now he lay with vicious burns on one side. But he had not gone down alone, the bodies of half a dozen witches were testament to his fight.

  Hunter waited for the overwhelming power and blackout that had accompanied James’ death, but he only felt numb.

  Eventually he moved on again, further into the battlefield. There were less witch-hunters and soldiers here – proof of how far his team had successfully pushed through the witch ranks.

  He saw three bodies ahead, and despite his nausea that begged for attention, his feet carried him mercilessly forward.

  Hunter dropped to his knees as he struggled to breathe. The blast from the broken amulet had lifted them all off their feet. His friends had been killed in that moment. Sweet young Alannah; the dependable Ian; and Maria, who had never recovered from losing James. He had failed them all. They could never have guessed that trying to bind Sophie’s powers could have such a result, in fact he remembered Sophie’s look of surprise at the glowing, burning amulet. But Hunter could not forget that he had been the one to suggest this plan.

  Hunter had no idea how he had survived the blast, he wished he had not.

  Hunter lost track of how long he knelt there, the hot sun burning the back of his neck. His thoughts were struggling to connect, and his emotions had completely abandoned him.

  They had been defeated.

  Had anyone else survived? Surrounded by the dead, Hunter found it impossible to be optimistic.

  What did he do now? What allies did he have left? He couldn’t stay here; he was an easy target if the witches returned.

  Hunter closed his eyes, letting his subconscious direct him as he blinked away from the battleground.

  Despite it being the middle of summer, the air in the Manor was still cool.

  Hunter looked down about the sitting room in which he had appeared, there were little signs everywhere of Mrs Astley and Charles’ occupation of the house. Hunter thought about making his presence known but dismissed the idea. He moved into the hallway and made his way to towards the study, mindful of making as little noise as possible.

  The Manor was quiet now. The last time he had been here his allies had filled the rooms. Their absence was painfully clear.

  Once he entered the study, Hunter looked around. For all his books and records, it had all come to nothing. There had to be some answer – but not here.

  He rummaged through his desk and pulled out paper and a pen.

  ‘We are in dark days. I write this hurriedly at my desk, not knowing to whom I write, but wanting my story to be known. I hope it is found by one of my kind, and in turn gives hope…

  My name is George Astley VII, known to my friends as Hunter…

  … I am going to find the Benandanti.’

  Hunter continued to scratch away, filling the paper with text, then folded the page when he finished. He had no idea who, if anyone, would read it; nor what help it might give, but it eased his anxiety and settled his course.

  Taking one last look around, committing the room to memory, Hunter vanished.

  Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d.

  Thrice and once, the hedge-pig whin’d.

  Harpier cries:—’tis time! ’tis time!

  The Shadow Falls

  Witch-Hunter 3

  K. S. Marsden

  A letter from our hero…

  We are in dark days. I write this hurriedly at my desk, not knowing to whom I write, but wanting my story to be known. I hope it is found by one of my kind, and in turn gives hope…

  My name is George Astley VII, known to my friends as Hunter. If it matters to you, I am 28 years old, English; and in a time of peace I would be the lord of Astley Manor, near the village of Little Hanting.

  But this is not a time of peace, we have been fighting the losing side of a war for the past two years. Fighting against the witches. It all started when the legendary Shadow Witch arose - a witch whose magic was without limit, a witch raised to nurse a thousand years of insult and hatred. She plunged the world into darkness so that she and the other witch kind could claw above the stricken and powerless humans, preferably with as many casualties as possible to assuage their anger.

  Where do I fit in with all this? In the very centre, shouldering both the blame and the hope.

  I am a witch-hunter. As was my father, and his father and so on. I am the 7th generation of witch-hunters belonging to the organisation called the Malleus Maleficarum Council, which has successfully policed and hidden magic and witches for hundreds of years. Until now.

  The Shadow Witch approached me in the guise of Sophie Murphy, a beautiful, intelligent woman that I thought was an innocent that I saved and sheltered from witches. With a grating stubbornness, Sophie demanded to join the MMC and train as a witch-hunter. I was the one that allowed her into our Council. I was the one that would let her learn all our secrets. I was the one that would later fall in love with her.

  She finally revealed herself as the Shadow Witch, and the first of many battles between the witches and witch-hunters was fought, in which our side was nearly decimated.

  What remained of the MMC regrouped, driven by desperation against this new and unbelievable force. We had only one advantage: the Shadow Witch revealed too much about the hidden talent born into witch-hunters - into me in particular. I don’t know how I do it, I cannot explain it. Some liken my talents to magic, all I know is that I am strong enough to repel witches and protect those around me, amongst other useful skills. With my new skills, we initially managed to repel the Shadow Witch and destroy her followers. She seemed to vanish for the best part of a year and, as terrible and fierce as they were, we began to beat back the witches.

  Then the Shadow Witch returned, stro
nger than ever, and even I was helpless in her path. She systematically destroyed the witch-hunters and their allies, returning power and victory to the witches in a devastating way. Those fateful days of battle will haunt me forever, as I watched brave men and women fall at my side.

  There might be witch-hunters in hiding somewhere out there, but as far as I am aware, I am the only one left.

  Friendless, alone, and the most wanted man alive, I’ve decided it’s time to learn all I can about this mysterious power I have. I am going to find the Benandanti.

  Chapter One

  The small town was near deserted. Half the people had fled, or just plain vanished. The other half sat behind their locked doors, no one ventured out once the sun set. So, no one saw the sudden appearance of a man in the rough piazza.

  One moment the square was empty, the next there he stood. He was tall, well-built and had perhaps been handsome, but now his clothes were creased, his face rugged, worn and wary, and half hidden by the short, dark beard and straggly black hair.

  It was a very different image than the old, relatively carefree Hunter Astley. He’d been rich, good-looking and popular.

  He’d been on the run for nearly eight months, ever since the last big battle in which the witch-hunters and their allies had finally been overcome by the witches. He hadn’t dared stop anywhere for long, empty villages where no eyes could see him, or in the few dense cities that still existed where he could get lost in the crowd. He made his locations erratic and illogical, to throw off his hunters for a few peaceful hours.

  Hunter had tried coming to Italy last summer, but found that wherever he went, the witches were close behind. Hunter didn’t doubt that the Shadow Witch had a few spies permanently placed around here, for she knew how strongly Friuli would pull Hunter. For here was the region that had been the home to the Benandanti, centuries ago, the original anti-witches.

  He eventually admitted defeat and fled to America, tracking down one lead in the library at Georgetown University; followed by Glasgow and Ulster. All he found were teasers and hints to what he truly wished to know.