Voidhawk - the White Lady

by Jason Halstead

  He closed with the men, alternating between running on two legs and all fours. Bolts hissed passed him, the crossbowmen having trouble tracking his rapid movements. Logan felt some connect, but they were distant impacts that did little more than draw a grunt. He crashed into the closest bandit, a man wearing a steel breastplate over a chain shirt and leggings. Logan’s added weight sent the armored warrior to the ground.

  Logan rose up in time to smack aside a sword slashing at him. He felt the impact on his hirsute arm but the need to attack overwhelmed him. When next he looked up from his newest victim blood ran down his shaggy chin.

  A crossbow bolt slammed into his chest, stealing his breath from him. He picked himself up and ripped the quarrel out, then growled loudly. The arm he’d blocked the sword with felt weak, but already he could move his fingers again. Two bandits rushed in with swords brandished, the third focused on reloading his crossbow.

  Logan dodged the first strike by leaping sideways into his other assailant. The hilt of a sword clipped the side of his head, staggering him and knocking him to all fours. A heavy boot followed, slamming into his ribs. Logan rolled away, dodging another bolt by chance.

  When he came to his feet he saw not two but three armed men approaching. The man with the crossbow was readying his weapon again. To the left he saw Bailynn fighting three bandits, with two already on the ground behind her. As he glanced at her she tripped over one of her fallen adversaries. She tried to scramble back but put herself in front of a bandit. He grabbed her around the throat and hauled her up.

  Logan felt the growl forming in his throat. Before it could release something crashed into him that defied his senses. He picked his head up from the ground and blinked several times before his eyes would focus. He tasted fresh blood, this time his own. His soaked shirt, hanging in tatters on his chest, had smoke and steam rising from it.

  When he tried to put his arm down to rise up a boot appeared on his chest and pushed him down. His strength had abandoned him. A sword pressed against his throat, impressing him the sharpness of the blade.

  “Don’t know what you are, but I bet you ain’t getting up if I cut your head off!” The bandit wielding the sword said. “You just lay there quiet-like, we got someone that wants to talk to you.”

  Logan stared at him, then let himself relax. He let his head fall to the side and saw Bailynn was limp in the bandit’s hands. Bekka was being carried away from the canoe. Behind them all he saw Haley slip behind a clump of roots that emerged from the bottom of a tree. Logan growled softly. She’d run like a coward instead of helping them.

  * * * *

  “At least we got to keep our clothes this time,” Bailynn said.

  Logan glanced down at himself. His were wet, muddy, and torn in many places. The most impressive was the large hole in his short beneath his right arm from the magical assault that had hit him. His body had recovered, thanks to his supernatural curse, but his clothing was forever ruined.

  “Shut your holes!” One of the bandits spat at them. They’d been forced into a small pen made from rough hewn timbers driven into the ground like the walls of a fort. The entrance was an opening barely wide enough for a grown man to walk through without turning sideways.

  Logan had locked the beast away again. The task was easier but his constant anger kept the monster ready to lash out again.

  “Haley will save us,” Bekka whispered.

  Logan snorted. He turned to tell her how her precious huntress had not only abandoned them, but she’d used Bekka as bait on the canoe so she wouldn’t be hurt.

  “Silence!” Roared the guard again. He was cocking his crossbow and aiming it into the open gate. “Next one of you mutters one thing gets this in their mouth!”

  “Rupert, stand aside.”

  The guard gasped, his action echoed by Logan and his companions. Behind him a hooded figure had appeared. Logan was certain the wispy voiced person hadn’t been there a moment before, but his attention had been on the crossbow.

  Rupert, the guard, stepped aside with a quickly mumbled assent. The figure stepped in and stood before the three prisoners. Bekka stood up, hand over the rip in her pants caused by the bolt that she’d been shot with. Logan had healed her injury as soon as they’d been put in the makeshift prison, but his powers only extended to flesh, not garments.

  “What brings three young adventurers from the swamp to attack us?” She asked. Her voice was soft but it had a rasp to it that seemed at home with the swamp.

  “Who are you?” Logan demanded. He tried, and failed, to push down on his anger.

  “She’s the swamp witch,” Bekka answered. “The hag.”

  “You have the sight, do you girl? You seen things others can’t? You’ve got a strangeness about you, you do. A confused aura. You’re searching for something, aren’t you? What do you seek, girl?”

  “My name is Bekka,” the sorceress said, dropping her hands to her side and drawing her shoulders back. “And what I seek is none of your business.”

  “This one’s got fire!” The hooded witch cackled. “Fire won’t help in the swamp, girl.”

  “Show yourself,” Logan demanded, taking a threatening step towards her. Bailynn moved closer as well, staying near to him.

  The hag turned on him. “Think seeing me will do you good?” She threw back her hood, causing Logan to gasp. Golden and red curls fell from her head, revealing a breathtaking beauty that was entirely out of place in the swamp. “What do you think now, boy? Things aren’t what they seem?”

  Logan heard Bailynn hiss beside him but the image before him left him unable to respond.

  “You should know, seems your hiding something inside as well. Tell me, boy, what sort of creature are you?”

  Logan opened his mouth and realized he was about to spill the secrets of his curse to the beautiful witch. What harm would it do, he reasoned. He was trapped and she was beautiful. What harm could someone so breathtaking as she was possibly do? She reminded him of Bailynn, her face was so youthful and pretty. The more he stared at her the more he saw Bailynn, the structure of her jaw and cheeks. Even her eyes were the same color.

  “What’s the matter, boy, still groggy from my magic?”

  Magic? He fought to remember. He’d been hurt by magic. Had it been her? It couldn’t have been, she was beautiful. So sweet and so innocent. Why would she hurt him? It must have been somebody else. She was too young to have such power or to be so vicious. Logan glanced down at his chest and heard the girl in front of him hiss sharply.

  The ruin of his shirt and the lack of her eyes penetrating his helped to clear his head. She was a witch, he realized. There was nothing pure, sweet, or beautiful about her. “You want to see it?” He asked her, looking up.

  “Yes!” She said, smiling so wide she looked like she had fangs of her own.

  Logan let the beast out. It sprang from its cage, not landing until Logan was nearly on top of her and his clawed hands were reaching for her shoulders. He could see his own snout, already elongated and his jaws opening wide for her.

  He was knocked back, thrown by some magical force that sent him crashing into the wall of wooden timbers. His fingers stung and his lips and nose felt like they were on fire. Logan shook his head, his jowls flapping, and struggled to pick himself up. All he managed was to push himself into the wall before he realized he had his up and down confused.

  “What a wonderful beast! I might make you the leader of my tribe,” She cried, clapping her hands in wicked delight. The hag approached then stopped when Bailynn stepped between them. “What’s this? Little girl, that’s not a pet doggy.”

  “Come a step closer and I’ll chew out your heart!” Bailynn spat at her.

  “I like you. So young and so full of life! I know who else will like you, too. My boys will have a lot of fun with you!”

  Logan worked himself up onto his hands and knees. Bailynn was in terrible danger. His body ached like never before but he knew he had to stop her. He had to save
her.

  “You lying hag,” Bekka hissed, coming up on the witch from behind. She wrapped her fist in the witch’s hair and yanked her head back. Her other hand lashed out, scratching at her face.

  Rupert grabbed Bekka and yanked her free. She kicked and screamed, but the distraction gave Bailynn time to launch her own attack. Bailynn slammed into the swamp hag and knocked her to the ground. She clamped one hand over the witches mouth and drove her other into her stomach, knocking what little air she had free of her. Bailynn smashed her head into the witch’s, dazing her further, before rising up to shift position and drop back down.

  The witch jerked under Bailynn, her legs and arms thrashing. She reached for Bailynn, slapping, pushing, and pulling at her but her strength failed her. Rupert had tossed Bekka into the timber wall and was reaching for Bailynn, but the bloody smile she gave him stopped him cold. Bailynn spat out a small gobbet of meat at him. He stared at it, then looked at the hag’s face and spotted the gaping hole where her nose had been.

  The swamp hag lay still under Bailynn. She shifted and drove her knee into the witch’s throat again. Her grin widened when she heard the muffled pop of a broken bone. The hag was already beyond caring.

  Logan laid his monstrous hand on Bailynn’s shoulder. The aches were fading from his body rapidly. She glanced at his hand and then up at him, the nature of her smile shifting from predatory to excited.

  The guard stumbled back to the gate, staring at them with wide eyes. He mumbled something again before turning and running out. Others stopped their approach to the stockade and looked around, both at each other and at the routed Rupert.

  Logan pulled the wolf back, shrinking on himself even as he endured the agony of transforming. In a few heartbeats it was gone, even the pain fading from his memory. He rushed over to Bekka but she was already rising to her feet again.

  “Look!” Bekka pointed behind him at the bandits. He spun and saw them milling about, talking to one another or looking suspiciously at anyone who came close. “What’s going on?”

  “Witchery,” Logan muttered. He looked at the dead hag and gasped. Her beautiful appearance was gone. What remained was the wrinkled and noseless face of an old crone, complete with oily gray and white bunches of hair. He scowled at the witch. “She had me for a moment. Magic to snare the mind.”

  “It was a simple glamour. I saw through it,” Bekka said. “But I couldn’t see what she looked like to you.”

  “Beautiful,” Bailynn offered. She’d risen to her feet to join them. “Brown hair, with an angelic face. Too good to be true. She reminded me of my mother.”

  Logan grunted, understanding what she’d done. Bekka nodded. “Yes, not so simple perhaps, but it was magic that made you see something you consider beautiful. Something you admire and appreciate…or desire.”

  Bailynn turned to look at Logan but he quickly glanced away at the bandits who were milling about. “They’ve been under her spell longer, I wonder if they’re really bandits?” He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. “Let’s be ready for the worst.”

  Logan pushed through the opening of the primitive communal cell, accepting that if he had to, he could call on the beast to defend his friends. It was the first time he hadn’t referred to the thing inside of him as a curse.

  “Where are our things?” Logan used his most commanding voice to ask the question as he emerged from the stockade.

  The bandits looked at him then to each other. A few shrugged and turned away, ignoring him. Another man walked up to him but stopped several feet away. “You killed that witch?”

  Logan glanced at Bailynn and Bekka, then returned his attention to the armed and armored man. “Aye, we did. She tried to ensorcel us as she has all of you.”

  He nodded. “That’s the right of it. Some of us been hers longer than others, but we’re all feeling mighty confused.”

  “Go back to your lives,” the priest suggested.

  He grunted. “Well enough for most of us. I remember everything, it’s just hard trying to not figure her into it. Everything I done – we done – well, it was for her. Even the things I wouldn’t do normally I made up reasons for since she asked it.”

  “You were enthralled,” Bekka said. “Charmed by her magic. It’s not your fault.”

  “You wasn’t.”

  “Aye, but we’re not from around here,” Logan said with a twist of a smile. “Our things?”

  “We just finished tearing out the huts them savages had and built her up a proper place to live. If there’s anything, it’ll be in there,” he said, pointing towards a crudely constructed cabin. Elsewhere there were tents and lean-tos serving as shelter for the men, as well as a few buildings in the beginning stages of construction. “Like I said, I remember everything and soon enough they’ll be remembering you ain’t no simple man. I suggest you be quick about fetching your stuff.”

  Logan felt Bailynn’s hand slip into his. She gave him a reassuring squeeze. He relaxed the glare he gave the man before offering a clipped, “Thanks.” Logan turned, Bailynn hurrying to keep up with long legged stride.

  Bekka caught up as they neared the door. “I expect Haley to join us soon,” she said.

  Logan felt his jaw drop at her words. “Bekka, she ran off! She used you to distract the guard so she could get close enough to kill him. Then when the others came she saw there were too many and she escaped. She’s not coming back.”

  “What about you? Spent an awful long time in the water. Seems I wasn’t just a decoy for her,” Bekka fired back.

  “I got tangled up with some sort of creature in the water. It bit my leg and I had to wrestle free of it.”

  Bekka glared at him for a long moment, then conceded his point. “She’ll be back,” Bekka vowed before turning her back on them and opening the poorly fitting door of the cottage and walking in.

  Bailynn squeezed his hand again in silent support. Logan shook his head and sighed, then gave the woman at his side an appreciative smile. Freeing his hand, he walked in behind Bekka and had to immediately duck under a hanging strand of mushrooms. Elsewhere other roots, flowers, leaves, and unidentifiable clumps were suspended by strings that hung from the ceiling to dry.

  A few chests were pushed against a wall but the cabin consisted mostly of tables heaped with junk. Everything from weapons and odd bits of clothing and armor to alchemical equipment and components. Books were scattered about as well, some open and some not. Logan had trouble staring at the unorganized chaos.

  “Somebody’s already been through here,” Bailynn observed.

  “How can you tell?” Logan asked, staring at the maelstrom.

  “Her bed.”

  Logan glanced over and saw that she was right. It had been torn apart by somebody looking for something. In other places things had been tipped over, though it was often hard to be certain of whether that had been intentional or simple a method of storage.

  “Here,” Bekka said, her tone cold and clipped. She picked up her open pack and started shoving her things back into it from the table they’d been spread out on. Logan joined her and reclaimed his own pack, then stood in shock when she stripped off her clothes beside him and changed into clean ones.

  Bailynn slipped in beside him and gathered her own items, then with a shy glance at him, she stepped back and did likewise. Logan glanced down. His clothes were the worst of all three of them, more torn than Bailynn’s and equally wet and muddy. He grumbled and cast about for a fresh pair of breeches to wear.

  He retreated and turned his back on the women, now in their new attire, and hastily changed. He muttered a light prayer as he did so and nearly lost his balance and fell when he heard Bailynn’s muffled gasp behind him. He drew the string tight and turned around, only to find her openly admiring his shirtless body.

  Logan cleared his throat, startling her out of her daydream. Her cheeks reddened and her eyes darted to his. Bekka glanced at her and scowled, then returned to sorting through some of the more easily reached
items in the witch’s cottage. “You’ve seen plenty of men without a shirt on.”

  Without breaking her gaze with Logan Bailynn responded to the catty woman, “I never felt this way about Rosh.”

  It was Logan’s turn to feel his cheeks heating up. He coughed and pulled on a shirt, then lashed his pack shut. He looked about for his mace but didn’t see it anywhere. “What about our weapons?”

  Bailynn pointed to where her spear was leaning against a wall. He looked around but still couldn’t find his mace. “Try this,” she offered, holding a sword in a scabbard for him.

  Logan looked at it but shook his head. It was a fine enough looking weapon, at least from the simple but engraved hilt. “My order forbids edged weapons. Spilling blood is against our creed.”

  “That’s dumb,” Bekka snapped. “You can use a mace but not a sword? What about your claws? You’ve spilled plenty of blood with those lately and you’re healing better than ever.”

  Logan stared at her, angry and uncertain. Bailynn opened her mouth to come to his defense but Logan shook his head, stopping her. “The divine are wise beyond our understanding, Bekka. Mine understands the circumstances and allows me to as I must, so long as my intent is pure.”

  Bekka ignored him. Bailynn saw him shrug again and returned to her own foraging. She swore a moment later and looked up. “Our food and coin, they’re all gone.”

  “Stolen, no doubt,” Bekka muttered. She looked around the room a final time then took the sword from Bailynn’s hands and held it out for Logan. “Take it. You might not want it but it’ll fetch a good price when we get somewhere civilized. Until then if you look to be armed you’re a more imposing figure.”

  Logan couldn’t find fault with her reasoning, even if the thought of wearing a sword was distasteful to him. He strapped the sheathed weapon around his waist and tried to get accustomed to feeling it slap against his leg.

  “Let’s go, we’ve done our job to those savages,” Bekka pressed.