Witch Bane

by Tim Marquitz

  “We don’t have to fight them,” she said, her voice sounding strange to her ears. “He will come for me.”

  The man drew closer, stepping about so she could see his face. “Please, we don’t have time for this. If you insist on staying, I must leave you. Do you understand?”

  She nodded. “I understand.”

  He sighed, standing still a moment before moving in front of her. He unslung the crossbow that hung at his back and settled, facing the approaching enemy. The Red Guard soldiers burst from the trees. The first fell as he appeared, a crossbow bolt protruding from the socket of his eye. Emerald looked away as the gush of blood sprung up like a geyser. She felt her stomach churn again and saw the discarded crossbow land beside her, and heard the sound of steel being drawn. She clutched to the dagger and whispered Victor’s name as the clash of swords rang in her ears, the man having raced to meet the soldiers ahead of where she stood. Emerald closed her eyes and called out inside her mind: for our child!

  A sudden gust of wind whipped her hair across her face, the strands stinging her cheeks. She ducked her head and heard the crunch of bone, the sound of a body hitting the ground. The screams of men surrounded her, and she curled up tighter to block them out. She could smell blood in the air, the sounds of a butcher’s block all around. She screamed but couldn’t hear her voice, her throat torn ragged as she clasped desperately to the dagger and covered her head with her arms.

  After a moment, the world went silent save for the ringing that hovered in her ears and the echoes of her own cries. There was a crunch of a boot before her and she tensed, awaiting the blow that was sure to follow.

  There was only a roughened voice. One she knew well.

  “Stand, Emerald, so that I might see you are unhurt.”

  Emerald’s eyes popped wide, and she staggered to her feet, her vision filled with Victor’s visage. She dropped the dagger and flew into his arms, crushing her chest against his, her face buried in his beard. He clutched her with one massive arm, whispering soothing sounds into her hair. She stayed against him for several moments until he pulled away. She reluctantly let him, knowing they would never part if he’d left the choice to her.

  She opened her eyes and was glad Victor’s bulk blocked her view of what lay beyond. The axe in his hand was stained in the wet red of the soldiers’ lives, pools of it gathered at his feet. It dripped from the blades. She spun about to see the older man still there, his sword in his hand, the blade hanging toward the ground. He stared past her, to Victor.

  “Don’t look so surprised, General Darius,” Victor said. “We all have our secrets, do we not?”

  Emerald looked from Victor to the man he called general. “You know each other?”

  Darius nodded. “We do, and he’s to be trusted any more than the witches’ servants.”

  “Such as yourself, general?” Victor chided. “We are not so different, you and I. Beaten in our bids to free the world of the witches, we are both slaves.”

  “No, Victor, we are not the same. Even in chains I fought against the Council, my will never once bent to their whims. You,” he shook his head, “you turned your sword on your own and bought your life with their deaths.” Darius spit.

  Emerald glanced between them.

  “You mistake me for a man with a choice, general.” Victor held up his arm, the dark ink of his tattoos visible. “My chains are the sharpened barbs that compel obedience. They would shred the meat and bones from my carcass so I must dance to the tune of the witches, as you so well know. I am no traitor, my hand not my own, for I had no Council lover to remove my leash.”

  Darius laughed, gesturing at the dead soldiers that littered the field. “Yet here you stand bold, the proof of your lie at your feet. You are a betrayer in your heart, and shall always be.”

  Victor cast his eyes about, taking in the Red Guard he’d slain. He looked back to Darius. “Amidst the blacks and whites, I have learned the path of the gray, to be sure, general. It was a lesson I had not known those many years back, and the blood of my failures will always stain my heart.”

  “To what ends do you use such knowledge now?”

  “That is not your concern.” He turned to Emerald. “Come. The resistance is close and I might steal the time to take you to them while the witches are occupied.”

  Emerald smiled her relief. It lasted but a moment.

  “Step away, Girl. He’s dangerous.”

  Emerald turned to face Darius. “Thank you for your help, but Victor is no threat to me, and I would rather you not claim such.” She reached down and reclaimed her dagger, slipping it into its sheath.

  Darius stared, his eyes narrow. He shook his head, the sounds of voices carrying to ears from the surrounding woods.

  Victor growled low, casting his eyes to forest where flickers of red appeared in the distance. “We must go, Emerald. We cannot be found together.” He latched onto her arm and tugged her toward the closest trees.

  “Wait.” She slipped free. “The general risked his life to save me. I will not abandon him.”

  Victor’s gaze swung to Darius, a sneer splitting his beard, but he did not challenge her wish. “If you would come with us, general, do it now.” He grasped Emerald once more and moved off.

  She waved Darius on as they hurried into the woods, letting loose a relieved sigh as the general stormed after them. Though she could only guess at the depths of animosity between her beloved and the general, she was glad Darius had chosen to follow. Donlen and Fulrik were dead because of her. She didn’t know if she could stomach another death laid upon her shoulders.

  Sixteen

  Sebastian screamed. Tongues of fire lapped through his shield, its defensive barrier slowly shriveling beneath the fury of the Red Witch’s onslaught. He felt his skin cooking inside, the air in his lungs like a furnace as the fiery maelstrom continued. He was losing. His vision flickered, darkness enclosing about the edges, surrounded by flashes of red and orange. He thought of his mother and sighed, wondering if he’d join her soon. Perhaps it was not too late to repent.

  Waves of heat buffeted him as he held his shaking hands out to keep the shield in place. He watched the flesh of his fingers grow redder, beginning their gradual turn toward a charred black. His thoughts drifted to his father; he could see the disappointment in his eyes as though the man stood before him. For all the love he held for his mother, the desire for revenge, it was that look that hurt the most.

  Raised on his father’s knee, despite all their competitive head-butting and arguing, Sebastian felt sickened at the idea of letting Darius down. There was too much at stake and his father had worked too hard, sacrificed too much, for Sebastian to let it slip away. Nearly every moment since his birth spent in his father’s company, he couldn’t picture life without the old man. He couldn’t imagine Darius’ life without him. This could not be the end.

  He clenched his jaw and focused on his power as it churned within. He ignored the blisters that began to bubble up across his palms, the acrid scent of burning flesh. With a growl, which slipped feral through his teeth, Sebastian dug deep inside the well of his magic; deeper than he’d ever dared under his father’s tutelage. His stomach churned in a riot of violence, which threatened to double him over. He fought against it and burrowed even deeper with his will, touching the very core of his power.

  He felt something give way.

  A cold chill suffused him. His skin stiffened, and the searing heat faded. A shimmering layer of ice appeared in patches across the backs of his hands and crept up his forearms. He felt his strength returning and drew in a deep breath, the air cool and soothing against his throat. The brimstone scent of the witch’s magic lessened, though he presumed it was simply because he’d grown used to it more so than he’d blocked it out. He pushed more energy into his shield and it responded eagerly, glimmers of green deflecting the fire buffeting him. Unlike before, however, he no longer felt so overwhelmed. It was clear, though, that the witch had sensed a change in his
defenses, the gout of flame increasing its pressure as she strove to break through.

  Unsure of exactly what well he’d tapped to draw upon his newfound power, or how long it might last, Sebastian knew he had to do something besides wait for his shield to buckle. At range, no matter how much magic he had at his disposal, the Red Witch held the advantage. She would wear him down unless he figured a way to get close where his own skills were greater. He grinned as an idea came to him.

  He pressed his will to elongate the shield, stretching its protective covering further into the air. He worked quick, knowing the larger the surface, the more brittle it would become. Guiding the shaping with a finger, Sebastian drew a line at the base of the shield, its edge curling out against the earth as though becoming a great scoop. Once the energy had drawn out far enough, he concentrated on keeping it in place and drew his sword with his left hand. The ice at his palm cracked loudly as he closed his hand about the hilt, tiny shards falling away. The blisters had been soothed, but he felt them split under the motion.

  His breath held in his lungs, should his plan fail and he leap straight into the flames, Sebastian counted to three and put his plan in action. He ducked and charged forward, willing the low end of his shield to pivot as though it were an awkward catapult. The scooped end snapped upward, flinging the maelstrom of fiery energy back the direction it had come.

  As he hoped, the Red Witch recognized his effort and ceased her attack, the flames flickering out into harmless sparks. Sebastian ran beneath the dying embers, their heat dissipated with the energy that fueled them. In a just an instant, he was past the show of lights. His shield dropped away as he shifted his sword to his right hand. He was ten feet from the witch before she spied him through the smoke.

  She shrieked and backed away, bringing her defenses to bear. Sebastian leapt at her, his sword in the lead. The quicksilver blade slithered through her shield, the tip cutting a shallow line across her shoulder as she spun away. He felt the shove of kinetic energy and rolled with it, cursing the near miss as he struck the ground several yards away and scrambled to his feet.

  Sebastian slipped behind the nearby cover of a tree just as an arc of silvered light slid past, carving a chunk of wood from the trunk the size of his skull. It fell to the ground, charred and smoking. He ducked low and reversed his direction when he heard the sizzle of another burst approaching, shooting out from the other side of the tree as the energy cut through its remains. It creaked and fell back, the last of its strength giving way with a loud snap that rang in his ears.

  The witch stood but a few yards away, her confidence and anger driving her to be reckless, certainly not believing Sebastian could be her equal. He barreled toward her, intending to prove her wrong. He threw his left hand out before him, flickers of light dancing frantic at his fingertips. The Red Witch planted her feet and threw up a shield faster than Sebastian had ever seen anyone conjure. Though impressed, he smiled; her quickness wasn’t the advantage she likely believed it to be.

  The sparkles at his hand nothing more than a feint, a parlor trick of light, Sebastian darted around the edge of her shield, which had been crafted to protect only directly ahead in her haste, and struck out at her. She realized her mistake nearly too late, stumbling back as his sword cut deep into her forearm.

  She lashed out with another kinetic shove, but Sebastian had expected it, spinning away as its energy dispersed into the woods at his back. He went after her without hesitation. The witch bounced off a tree and staggered in her attempt to flee, fire swirling to life at her hand despite her flight. Sebastian thrust at her eyes, feeling her energy pressing against the blow to steer it away. Her gaze on his sword, he kicked her hard in the chest. The rush of air that spewed from her lungs as she doubled over was the most gratifying sound he’d ever heard.

  The witch was flung backward, her robes fluttering behind her like a comet’s tail. She struck the ground and rolled, kicking up leaves and mud as she tried to right herself. Sebastian had no intention of letting her.

  He raced after, closing fast. A heartbeat before he was in range, he drew back his blade and swung with everything he had. She tumbled wild, her eyes meeting his as his sword streaked through the air. A wash of brimstone struck Sebastian full in the face and he realized too late her speed had turned the tide.

  There was a stinging vibration at his hand and a flash of red, and then he was flying. His body tingled, his vision washed out with brilliant whiteness. He blinked to clear it, the tree trunk slamming into his back giving him no opportunity. There was a sharp crack and Sebastian’s head snapped back, an agonizing pressure at his chest and spine.

  He felt the sudden cessation of movement, his body settling. Then he felt nothing.

  Seventeen

  “I can take you no further,” Victor told Emerald as he came to a halt.

  “But—”

  He pressed his finger against her lips. “Shhh. You mustn’t argue, Emerald.” He drew close so the general could not hear. “The realm has grown dangerous of late. With your disappearance from Corilea and the attack of the warlock, your mother has grown frantic. You will only be safe under the protection of Elizabeth. You must go to her for our son.” He set his hand gently upon Emerald’s belly, his eyebrows raised.

  She pressed into his palm, fighting back the tears that threatened to overthrow her eyes. “When will I see you again?” Her throat seemed to strangle the words, barely letting them past her lips.

  “I will come for you soon enough. Do not worry. I will keep the witches from your trail so you may give birth in peace. Trust in me, Emerald. I beg this of you.”

  She wrapped her arms about his massive chest and drew in tight, savoring the warmth of him. His beard nagged at her cheek but she didn’t care. She’d been so long without his comfort she wanted to savor every moment so she might have its memory once he was gone. Though she’d grown used to their furtive relationship, hidden from the eyes of any who might be watching, she had never been without him nearby until her journey began. She’d spent her whole life with Victor in the shadows of her world. Their secretive love only made the yearning for his company deeper, more torturous when it had been removed so suddenly upon discovering her pregnancy. He had become her all, and that had been ripped away, Emerald cast out into the wilderness with only strangers about. Her loneliness was misery.

  “I must leave now. It isn’t safe for me to remain any longer,” Victor repeated as he eased her away.

  She groaned, letting her hands trail down his chest until just her fingers just barely made contact. She met his dark gaze and nodded, lowering her chin. “Soon. Make it soon.”

  “Soon,” he repeated, turning his face to the general. “I would ask a favor of you, Darius, not for me, but for Emerald.”

  She glanced at the general and saw him snarl, and then settle his lips when he spied her looking. Their hostility had not abated.

  “What would you ask of me, Lord of the Hunt?”

  “That you lead Emerald to the resistance; to Elizabeth.”

  “They know of the Red Witch’s arrival near their camp and have fled. I do not know where they’ve gone.”

  Victor nodded. “But I do. I ask only that you guide Emerald there safely, and I will provide you with their location.”

  “Why don’t you take her yourself?”

  A quiet chuckle oozed from Victor. “For the same reason you call me traitor. The same compulsions that make me a slave also work to make me the witches’ knocked arrow. Should I happen upon Elizabeth, I would be compelled to engage her, unable to turn away until one of us lies dead. That would hardly compel her followers to treat Emerald with kindness.”

  Darius stared at Victor a moment, his face devoid of expression.

  “Come, general, do not let your animosity for me weigh upon Emerald. She carries within her a boy, a warlock, just as your beloved Alise did those many years back. If this world is ever to be free of the Council’s rule, we must protect them in the hopes they
will one day rise up against the masters and send the cruel witches to the pyre. Is that not what you want?”

  The general said nothing. He stood rigid, drawing slow and steady breaths. At last, he gave a curt nod.

  Victor smiled. “Then we are agreed?”

  “We are, but only for her sake, and for the child’s.” He gestured to Emerald. “I do nothing for you, Victor.”

  “Your reasons matter little to me, Darius, only your actions. Guard her with your life, and if I can do the same for your son, you have my word it will be so.” He met the general’s eyes. “And so you might understand what you face, the White Witch knows you live. She also knows of your son, grown into his power. It is no longer just the resistance scalps they seek, but yours, as well.”

  The general said nothing, but Emerald could see the worry etched across his face and knew it was for his son, not for himself.

  Victor turned away from the man and held his arms out to Emerald. She stepped in close and kissed him. He returned it with a smile, brushing the hair from her face. He planted another upon her brow and wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “Be safe. I will see you soon.”

  He pulled away and strode alongside the general, leaning in to whisper at his ear. The man nodded after a moment, repeating his oath to guard her. Victor nodded and gave her one last smile, his lips forming the word ‘soon’ before he turned and strode into the woods. She watched him go, the general moving to stand beside her.

  After the forest swallowed Victor, she turned to face Darius, her eyes on his. “For all the barbs between you, he trusts you.”

  The general sighed. “We were born of the same womb, of sorts; warriors from the moment we both opened our eyes. I have his word, and he mine. There is faith in such proclamations among us, no matter our creed. If a soldier cannot trust another soldier’s word, we might as well let the witches have the world.”