The Magelands Epic: Soulwitch Rises (Book 7)

by Christopher Mitchell

  ‘Find me a lamp,’ cried Keir to the troopers around him. He swung his leg over and jumped to the ground, looping the reins round a wagon post.

  ‘I have matches, sir,’ said one trooper as the others searched their bags.

  ‘Throw them here,’ he said.

  Keir caught the small box and crouched down by the wagon. He lifted the tarpaulin and grabbed the first crate that came to hand, then hauled it down to the ground. He prised open the lid and broke it into fragments, dropping them onto the drier ground under the wagon. The noise intensified; screams from Holdings, Rahain and horses, and the clash of arms; and Keir steadied his fingers as he opened the box of matches.

  He swore as the first he lit fizzled out. Kelsey would have foreseen this, even without her powers. She would have been prepared. Next time, so would he.

  He tried again, shielding the fragile flame from the wind and lowering it to the small pile of wood. Focussing his powers, he invited the tiny fire to jump across to the broken lid, and it did, a hunger to consume possessing each thin tendril of flame. He poured his powers into the small patch of fire that took hold on the lid fragments, guiding the flames as if he were part of them. He edged backwards, and stood, his eyes never leaving the small fire he had started under the wagon.

  ‘Back,’ he called up to the mounted troopers clustered by the wagons. Without waiting to see if he was obeyed, he raised his arms, and the flames from the little fire burst upwards with a crash of flames; the fuel from the lid fragments consumed in a second. Keir reached out and the flames tore through the wagon, turning it into a bonfire.

  Keir stepped back and smiled. He lifted an arm again. and threw a great gout of flame from the burning wagon, sending it at the nearest cluster of Rahain soldiers huddling amid the marshes. The flames smashed down onto them, incinerating the soldiers where they stood. Within seconds, the hail of bolts lessened, as the others in the marsh began to flee in panic. The troopers around him let out a great cheer as he remounted Monty.

  With his left hand holding the reins, Keir sent another half dozen fireballs into the fleeing mass of Rahain spread out over the fens, and each time one landed the cavalry cheered again. Troopers took possession of the wagons, and for at least a hundred yards in either direction, the road had been cleared of the enemy.

  ‘Well done,’ said a curt voice.

  He turned and saw Thorn approach, guiding her stallion at a stately pace towards him. To her right rode Captain Greenhold, his face swollen and bruised.

  ‘You did it,’ she said.

  ‘Me and several hundred cavalry.’

  ‘I was watching what was happening,’ she said. ‘The squadrons were pinned down and taking heavy casualties. You carried the day, Keir.’

  He gazed at her. His arm was still aching from the blow he had delivered to the helmet, and his head was pounding after using his powers; screams and smoke were billowing through the air, and the sweat on his back had chilled in the cold wind. None of that mattered when he looked into her eyes.

  She leaned across the gap between their mounts and kissed him on the cheek, to the cheers of the watching troopers.

  Four hours later, the expeditionary force assembled within the eaves of a large forest twenty miles north of where they had struck the Rahain. A picket line was set up, and the horses were led another mile into the thick woodland, where they were fed and rested. The troopers settled among the trees, filling their water skins from a nearby stream and sleeping under the branches. After the commanders of the force had camped, Thorn called Keir to her tent.

  He arrived wearing his sweat, blood and mud-stained uniform and she handed him a mug of ale.

  ‘Sit,’ she said, gesturing to a stool.

  ‘I’m too tall for that thing. I’ll stand.’

  ‘Fine.’

  He took out a packet of cigarettes and she raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Do you object?’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘I was hoping you’d offer me one.’

  He passed her a cigarette and struck a match from the same box he had held onto from the battle, lighting both hers and his. He took a draw and a gulp of ale as she eyed him.

  ‘You embarrassed yourself today,’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You got away with it. No one saw you strike the captain, and your actions down by the road are all any of the cavalry are talking about.’

  ‘What does it matter, then?’

  ‘It matters to me. Do you think I want a thuggish boy by my side?’

  His face fell. ‘Is that how you see me?’

  ‘No, but if you keep acting that way, then…’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his cheeks flushing. ‘Can I make it up to you?’

  ‘Maybe, I need your help.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I’m sure you’ve heard about the feats of healing I have performed?’

  He nodded. ‘In Stretton Sands? Yes, I’ve heard. You healed hundreds of injured marines.’

  ‘It comes at a price.’

  ‘Such power must come from somewhere,’ he said. ‘When I use fire, my fuel is whatever I’m burning at the time.’

  ‘I too need fuel; not for normal healings, they’re easy. But to deliver a burst of power strong enough to heal many at once? For that I need fuel. It is the same with killing. If I were to touch you, I could kill you in seconds, but to topple the massed ranks of an army? Again, I would need fuel.’

  He gazed at her, saying nothing.

  ‘Of the seven hundred we took from Rainsby,’ she went on, ‘thirty-six were killed this morning. A further seventy-three were wounded, and have been brought here on the wagons we stole from the Rahain. I want to heal them all, but I need fuel to do it.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘I can get you keenweed; I know that can help. You’ll pay for it tomorrow, though.’

  She laughed, but he didn’t mind.

  ‘I see you don’t understand,’ she said. ‘It’s fine, why would you?’ She took a draw of the cigarette, her gaze never leaving him. ‘In Stretton Sands, I was in the midst of a battle. I realised, that day, there was a way I could increase my powers tenfold. I know keenweed, I’m from Sanang, remember? I know what it can do, but the fuel I need comes from the outside, like the wood you use to spread fire. If I tell you this,’ she said, her eyes narrow, ‘it means that I’m taking a chance on you, because I have never told anyone else what I can do. Stormwitch, should I trust you?’

  Keir glanced away, unable to bear her eyes as he realised that he had been asked this question before, by many girls, and each time he had lied effortlessly. Of course they could trust him. Of course. And then he had gone on to cheat and use each one of them.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, and meant it.

  She nodded. ‘I am a soulwitch. In your language that could be translated as a life mage; or, as a death mage. I can heal, and restore life, or I can take it. And when I take it, I receive their life power, which is added to mine, allowing me to heal, or kill, many and from afar.’

  ‘Shit,’ he said.

  ‘Indeed. In order to heal the seventy-three wounded, I first need to take the power of someone else.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Logic would say I should choose the trooper least likely to survive their wounds.’

  ‘I doubt the trooper would say the same. It’s a pity you didn’t take the power from a Rahain.’

  ‘I couldn’t at the battlefield; too many eyes were watching.’

  Keir said nothing.

  ‘What do you think?’ she said. ‘I know my own heart, but I want to hear what the stormwitch says. Is it right for me to take the life of someone in great pain who would not survive the night, so that I can use their life spirit to help me heal every one of their comrades? Would not a dying trooper beg me to do it? Would they not clamour to be the one to martyr themselves so that everyone else could live?’

  ‘I don’t know, but as the stormwitch I say y
our reasoning is fair. If you weren’t here, half of the wounded would die this night. But why do you need my help? Your will is strong enough.’

  ‘I want to keep this… aspect of my powers secret. You said that I could trust you, and now I need you to promise that you will not utter a word of this to anyone else. Then, I need you to help me as I requested. Help me choose the one to be sacrificed for the others; help shield my actions from the officers and troopers, and most of all, be there for when I am finished, for I will need someone next to me who understands.’ She gazed at him, her eyes full of pain. ‘Do you promise, and will you help me?’

  He held her gaze. ‘I’m your man.’

  Chapter 14

  Fitting

  Westgate, Domm Pass – 16th Day, Last Third Autumn 525

  Karalyn leant against the metal railing, a cigarette in her hand as she watched the dawn light fall upon the plains of Domm below her. Great swathes of pasture and hillsides were lit up in vibrant greens, mixed with patches of frozen ground dusted in frost. The road from the Domm Pass switch-backed down a steep incline to the right of where she stood, and she could see ant-sized shapes moving along its icy surface near the bottom. Behind her stood the World’s End; the tavern outside of which they had appeared two days before.

  It had been a dark, rainy dusk when they had arrived, and no one had been about on the street to see them, but the noise they made had soon brought attention. Karalyn had tried to calm them down, but Jemma and Corthie had been in a state of shock, and their cries had alerted the owner of the tavern, who had opened the doors to take a look.

  She pulled her scarf tighter round her shoulders and neck, feeling the freezing wind bite her nose, cheeks and ears. She had never felt cold like it, but at least the rain had stopped. She lifted the cigarette to her lips, but the wind had extinguished it.

  ‘Good morning, young lady,’ said a voice to her left. She turned and saw Kelpie, the tavern owner, standing next to her on the cliffside overlooking the Domm lowlands. She was an old woman, her hair white, but she remained in sturdy health. Cole was sleeping in a sling that she was carrying over her shoulder, his face poking out of a bundle of blankets.

  ‘Good morning,’ Karalyn said.

  The woman turned to gaze out at the view, her breath misting in the air. ‘Yer mother’s still sleeping, but the dullweed’ll be wearing off soon. Should I give her more?’

  ‘No, not unless she really needs it.’ Karalyn smiled despite her exhaustion. ‘Thank you again for everything; not just for looking after my mother, but for all the rest you’ve done for us. I’ll pay it back when I can.’

  ‘Wheesht, lassie,’ she said. ‘Yer Killop’s daughter, and yer ma’s his wife. She’s an honorary Kell, and as the World’s End’s like a wee Kell enclave, I’d be ashamed if I didn’t do my bit to help. Besides, what would yer father think if I’d just left you out in the rain and cold? And it’s been nice having ye all here. Corthie’s a right bonnie wee laddie, reminds me of his da; and that Jemma lass, she’s shy, but she’s had a hard time, and I’m sure she’ll be fine. And wee Cole here…’ She smiled down at the sleeping baby. ‘Killop’s grandson, eh? Ye can stay as long as ye like; yer da’s folk will always be welcome here.’

  Karalyn lowered her face, her eyes welling.

  ‘Look,’ Kelpie said, ‘I ken fine there’s something yer not telling me, and I can guess what that something is. I have a hundred questions about how you got here, and why, but none of that matters. Take yer time, lass; whatever’s happened to yer family is over now; yer safe here.’

  Karalyn wept, her hands gripping the cold metal of the railings, and the wind streaking the tears across her cheek. Kelpie put a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Yer ma’s a fighter, and she was lucky. Her wound’s clean, and there’s no sign of fever. But she’s Holdings, so she’ll take a bit longer to get better.’

  ‘I was brought up there,’ Karalyn said, wiping her face, ‘where I was the odd one out, surrounded by folk who got ill all the time, and who took thirds to recover from an injury. My younger sister, too; she looks just like a Holdings girl, and catches diseases like them.’

  ‘But not Corthie,’ said Kelpie, ‘he seems Kellach through and through. What about yer other brother?’

  ‘Keir’s like me; Kellach, but with dark skin.’

  Kelpie opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing, and Karalyn could sense her desire to know more.

  ‘I remember you from ten years ago,’ she said, ‘when I visited Kellach Brigdomin with my father. We passed through on our way to Severton, and again on the journey home. I loved it here; it’s one of the brightest spots in my memory of the trip. I remember you talking to my father; did you know him well?’

  Kelpie’s eyes widened. ‘Did?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Karalyn, ‘he’s dead.’

  Kelpie’s face froze, then she closed her eyes as tears ran down her cheeks.

  ‘It was back in summer,’ Karalyn went on, forcing the words out, ‘nearly five thirds ago…’

  ‘Wait,’ said Kelpie, her voice low. She took a breath. ‘Before ye tell me, there’s someone else who should know; someone that knew him much better than I.’

  ‘Who?’

  The old woman stared out across the green lowlands. ‘I’ll take ye to her.’

  They left the railing and walked round the rear of the building to a side door. It was warmer inside, and Karalyn loosened her scarf. They entered the large bar area, where wide windows gave a sweeping view over the cliff’s edge. A fire was roaring in a hearth, but the tavern had not yet opened, and the tables were empty. A middle-aged man was cleaning glasses behind the long bar.

  ‘Kendrie,’ Kelpie said, ‘have ye caught sight of Koreen this morning?’

  ‘Aye, boss,’ the man said, grinning through his thick, dark beard. ‘She’s next door, eating her breakfast.’

  Kelpie nodded and strode across the room, Karalyn by her side. They went through a door to the left of the kitchens, and entered a small dining room. A woman was sitting alone at a table, reading a book while eating from a bowl of porridge.

  ‘May we join ye?’ said Kelpie. ‘I’ve someone here I want to introduce ye to.’

  The woman glanced up, eyeing Karalyn with a quizzical expression. She folded the corner of a page and closed the book.

  ‘Aye, alright.’

  Kelpie gestured to Karalyn to sit, and they each took a chair around the table.

  ‘First,’ said Kelpie, ‘this is Koreen. She arrived here from Rahain about a year ago with a few companions. Most of them moved on, but she stayed; working here for me as a teller of tales. It’s an old tradition in the World’s End to have someone resident who can spin stories from the old times, or of great events far away. That’s what gives the tavern its business, folk come to hear the tales.’ Kelpie paused, glancing at Koreen. ‘And this is Karalyn Holdfast. Those visitors ye were asking me about yesterday; she’s one of them. They’re here on personal business, which is why I’ve been keeping their names quiet.’

  Koreen nodded. ‘Nice to meet you, Karalyn Holdfast. Do I know you?’

  ‘She has news,’ said Kelpie, ‘that ye’ll want to hear.’

  Karalyn rummaged in her pockets for cigarettes, and lit one. ‘I’m the daughter of Killop ae Kellan ae Kell, Chief of the Severed Clan.’

  Koreen gasped, her eyes wide. ‘No. What? But you… wait, I remember now. Killop told me he was in love with someone from the Holdings, but I never met her. You’re their daughter? Fuck.’

  ‘Her ma’s here too,’ said Kelpie, ‘and one of her wee brothers. And this bairn here,’ she went on, nodding down at Cole, ‘is Killop’s grandson.’

  Koreen smiled and laughed, then her features changed as her eyes met Karalyn’s. She pushed back her bowl. ‘You have news?’

  ‘My father’s dead.’

  Koreen’s eyes fell, and the three of them sat in silence. Cole stirred, and let out a low whelp.

  ‘Thank you for telling me
this,’ Koreen said, ‘though it breaks my heart. I didn’t know what had happened to Killop after he left Slateford, but to know he found love and had bairns gladdens me. You have brothers?’

  ‘Two, and a sister, Kelsey.’

  ‘So he fathered four? No wonder I heard so little of him. Busy, no doubt, with nappies and bibs. And yer mother is here? I’d like to see her; to meet the woman that transformed Killop from warrior to the hearth.’

  ‘She’s ill,’ said Kelpie. ‘It might be a while before she’s up and about.’

  ‘She’s not ill,’ said Karalyn; ‘she was stabbed, by the same assassin that murdered my father. My family fled here for safety, just as my other brother and Kelsey fled to Rainsby.’

  Koreen stared at her. ‘Someone is trying to kill your family?’

  ‘Aye.’

  Kelpie gasped. ‘Were you followed here?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How can ye be sure?’

  ‘I’m a mage.’

  ‘What, like the Holdings? Or do ye have Kellach fire powers?’

  ‘Neither,’ she said. She glanced at Koreen. ‘Have you heard of a mage called Kalayne?’

  Koreen frowned. ‘I’ve met him. Dirty old bastard.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s too early in the morning for this. Killop dead? My mind’s only starting to take it in. How did the Empress react? They were close. Does she know?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Karalyn. ‘It cut her to the heart.’

  Koreen glanced at Kelpie. ‘I’m going to need some whisky for this.’

  ‘I’ll get some,’ the old woman said.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ said Karalyn, rising. ‘I’ll be back in a moment.’

  She walked to the bar, passing a young woman who was scrubbing the floor. Kendrie looked up as she approached.

  ‘Kelpie and Koreen are asking for whisky,’ she said.

  ‘At this time of the morning?’ he said. ‘What in pyre’s name have ye told them?’

  ‘My father,’ she said. ‘He was murdered.’

  Kendrie’s grin faded and he stared at her. ‘No.’ He put a hand to his face as tears flooded his eyes. The young woman scrubbing the floor glanced over.