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.
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 wa
s 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…”
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.
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 clo
sely.
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 widened 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.
The Shadow Reigns (Witch-Hunter #2) Page 13