The Witch's Reward

by Liz McCraine

  Lucien surveyed his study, satisfaction blooming with the knowledge that soon the entire palace would be his to use as he liked, not just this private little room. Glancing at the floor, he realized the old law books were still lying there, collecting dust. Oh well, they won’t have any real use in a couple of days, anyway. His smile broadened. By this time in two days, everything would be different.

  The next morning, Lissa awoke to her husband’s harsh breathing. Sunlight was just beginning to filter through the drapes, and the maids had not yet come to bring their breakfast. Through the wispy stream of morning light, she could see her husband’s body, almost lifeless except for the heavy rise and fall of his chest. Thinking him to be asleep, she reached over and shook his arm gently. His skin felt clammy and unnatural under her hand, and she pulled back, alarmed. For a brief moment his eyelids cracked open and Lissa saw the heavy dilation of pupils through a thick sheen of moisture before the lids slowly shut again and his body resumed its laborious struggle for breath.

  Lissa was beside herself with worry. For the first time since she’d known her husband, he was incapable of getting out of bed. Ever since he first told her of the painful stomach contractions, he had at least managed to get dressed, get to his study or the great hall, and accomplish his business. As the days passed, he’d begun doing things slower, taking a little more time to get ready in the morning, a few more hours to accomplish business that should have taken minutes. Regardless, he managed to continue moving. But this morning was different.

  Immediately, Lissa did what any sane, intelligent woman would. She jumped from the large bed, threw on her dressing gown, and ran to the door.

  “Get a healer and a servant with fresh water here, immediately!” she yelled at the two stalwart guards who stood watch at the entrance to the private hallway. “The king is ill.”

  She stood there only long enough to watch one of the guards sprint away before she ran back inside the room. The guard would not hesitate to send up the first servant he could find before locating the nearest healer in the city. The royal family typically enjoyed excellent health, so healers did not normally reside within the palace unless there was a particular necessity, such as impending childbirth or fatal illness. For a moment Lissa cursed her husband’s pride for not allowing a healer to stay within close proximity during these last few weeks of his illness. He kept assuring her that the pains would go away, that they were simply the result of bad digestion. And he kept taking that blasted tea from Lucien, claiming that his indigestion went away when he did. He would be better for a moment before becoming sick again, and then better again, in a continuous revolution. But never had Steffan been so ill as to be incapable of getting out of bed.

  How had his illness become so much worse in such a short time? Over the last few days, he’d seemed to be getting healthier, the pains not as strong. He had even flirted with her yesterday before that terrible catastrophe in the kitchen pulled her away.

  What horror, she thought, as she was reminded of the burns her cook had suffered. The woman had fallen onto a pot of boiling oil, apparently having been pushed from behind by a great big bat. Some of the serving girls had seen the creature fly into the kitchen and straight for the cook, as if the cook had had a large bullseye on her back. Lissa had been called at once, as all the servants knew she wanted to be informed of any goings-on in the palace. The oil, of course, had not only burned the cook’s chest and arms, but had spilled all over the floor and coated everything in a greasy blanket. Lissa was simply glad the spill had somehow avoided falling into the fire, or there would have been an even bigger mess.

  The result of the accident was that Lissa had missed supper with her beloved husband and had returned late into the evening to find Steffan already asleep. He had looked so peaceful that she’d decided not to awaken him with an update of the kitchen. She’d been glad he was sleeping so calmly and thought that he was on the mend from his ailments.

  But now he was suddenly much, much worse. Past the expertise of any local healer.

  The beginning of an idea began to work its way to the forefront of her mind. Would it be possible? Steffan might be upset if he found out, but his anger came second to her determination to keep him alive. If he could just hold on a little longer…

  Two servants arrived, carrying clean rags and hot water. Lissa immediately set to work.

  Chapter 17

  The day began like a dream come true. Larra awoke to find her head snuggled against Christoff’s shoulder, his arm around her, holding her close. She looked up to find him smiling down at her, his eyes still carrying a trace of sleep. She felt a blush creep into her cheeks and shyly smiled in return. She was new to this relationship business and wasn’t certain how to proceed until he lowered his head and gave her a lingering kiss before helping her get up. The men were barely stirring in their blankets when he nudged her toward the river.

  “Go ahead. Get down there and wash your face before everyone else takes a turn,” he said.

  “Doesn’t someone need to come with me?” she asked.

  His response was to simply smile, and Larra knew in that moment that he was allowing her to go on her own as a symbol of his trust. She grinned and hastily made her way through the trees. If Christoff had any doubts as to whether or not she would return on her own, he hadn’t shown them.

  The day proceeded smoothly from there. Once the men had risen and a small breakfast consumed, they loaded up the supplies and prepared to set out. Christoff estimated only two days of travel left before they reached the capital, and Larra could tell that the men were getting anxious to return home.

  Smithen was permitted an escort of four armed men to the river once Larra returned, and his wounds were taken care of so that infection didn’t set in. Christoff said he wanted the man in good health when they reached the palace so that he would be fully aware of his punishment when it came. The almost-murderer would be questioned and sentenced based on his actions, and Christoff assured Larra that they would find out the truth behind why the soldier had been so eager to kill her. So far he’d refused to tell them anything.

  Once everything was packed and the new prisoner secured in the wagon, Christoff led Larra to Smithen’s horse. She’d never been on such a big animal before, her previous experiences limited to plow horses and small ponies that the villagers used to help with the herds. But this animal was gigantic, its back easily several inches above her head.

  “It will be fine,” Christoff reassured her as he gave her a leg up. “This horse has been on the road for almost two weeks. He is too tired to do anything but follow the rest of the animals. Just stay by my side and you’ll do fine.” He smiled and lightly touched her knee, which both reassured her and made her blush again. She knew he would keep their relationship quiet while they were around his men, and the touch was unexpected.

  They travelled much as they had in previous days, with the men riding in uneven rows of twos or threes. Larra remained next to the captain, and a few of the knights even smiled at her when they saw her. Christoff and Larra used the time to get to know each other better, with Christoff sharing bits and pieces about his family. He mentioned his two sisters and that his parents were living in the city. But when she asked what they did for a living, he clammed up. “It isn’t important,” he said and changed the subject.

  She told him about her neighbors and friends, particularly about Jess and Kiera. His eyes narrowed when she mentioned her close friendship with Jess, but he didn’t say anything. It wasn’t until after lunch and they were on the road again that she dared bring up her magic. She wanted to tell him the truth about her mother and what had happened with Kiera and the lumbar, but just as she began to share, the scouts’ horns sounded in the distance.

  Three rapid blows broke the comfortable quiet of the forest. It seemed time stood still as every horse and rider drew to a halt to listen to the signal. Even Larra’s gelding stopped, waiting with its head in the air and its ears pricked forward, as
though it knew something horrible was about to happen. Again, three sharp sounds came through the forest.

  Then everything happened at once.

  “Swords!” yelled Christoff. Holding his reins in one hand, he reached for his scabbard. He raised his sword into the air and whirled his horse around to face the men, issuing orders rapidly. The air all around Larra became crisp with anticipation as men jerked down the face guards on their helmets and unsheathed their weapons, preparing for anything.

  “Jered,” Christoff called to a knight. “I want you to cover the left flank. Stay off the road and hidden in the trees. We may need the surprise advantage. Bart, you will do the same on the right. I need both of you to wait in the forest unless we require your help. Be on guard—we don’t know who is there or what they want. Don’t attack unless you are attacked first. The rest of you will follow me up the road. Be prepared for anything.”

  Horses pranced in place as they felt their riders’ tension. There was an excitement in the air such as Larra had never felt before, and she realized that these men were eager for a fight. They had hated the boring ride to and from Farr and longed to see some action. This was providing them with the perfect opportunity to dust off their armor and do what they were trained for.

  “What about me?” Larra quickly asked, her voice barely loud enough to carry over the sound of stomping hooves and clanging armor. A part of her longed to see the excitement; too many years of quiet and solitude had made her eager for the adventure. But she was smart enough to know it could be dangerous.

  “You’ll stay here, and keep out of sight.” His manner was gruff and for a moment Larra wondered if she had done something to spark his displeasure with her. But she realized it was probably just the energy of the moment that had him thinking only of what was ahead. She would just get in his way, she realized, somewhat disappointed.

  “Griffen,” he called. The older knight rode forward, firmly controlling his own eager mount. “We don’t have time to dawdle. Take her into the forest towards the river and keep her safe. I don’t want to see or hear from you until I know the road is clear. Wait for my signal before you come out.” With that he snapped down his visor and spurred his great horse around, taking off up the road at a gallop. Griffen grabbed the reins of Larra’s gelding as the other men raced after their captain.

  “Griffen…” she began with a worried look.

  “Come on,” he ordered briskly, pulling on her horse’s reins and guiding them both into the forest.

  “But what about Smithen?” The wagon was still on the road, the drafts apparently the only animals not excited at the sound of the horn, as they seemed to be falling asleep where they stood. Smithen was sitting back against the bars with nonchalance. His neck was still red and tender from the wolfhound’s teeth, but otherwise he appeared well enough. Larra had not heard him speak since the incident by the river, and she wondered why he was so silent and, especially at a time like this, appearing so relaxed. Didn’t he want to fight with the other men? Locked up as he was, he was little more than a sitting duck for whatever danger was lurking around the corner. If anything came to attack him, he wouldn’t be able to defend himself. It seemed to Larra that he was resigned to whatever fate held for him, as though he didn’t care to live or die.

  “The captain left him there on purpose. There is no way we can take that wagon off the path with the trees here so crowded, and it would only be a hindrance to move him into the battle scene. He is expendable, but you are not. Now, let’s get out of here.” He pulled her into the cover of the trees.

  They had barely found a small area to hide, the horses shifting nervously within the small space between a tall thicket and some deadened trees, when Larra heard the shouting. Whatever was out there, it was more than just wild animals or a robber or two, because the clang of heavy weapons hitting armor, of bodies slamming into bodies, and the hoarse battle cry of men defending themselves filtered through the forest like water through sand, bringing with it a terror of the unknown.

  Griffen was focused on spot through the trees, his body poised for attack, his sword held high in the air with a tight fist. He didn’t appear afraid, but prepared, and she knew he would protect her at any cost. She only hoped there would be no cost.

  Images raced through her mind, possibilities of what was out there. And at the foremost of those images, was Christoff. As captain, he would be at the forefront of the battle. He would be in the thick of the fight, in the greatest danger. Her gut twisted at the thought that he might not come back alive.

  Their relationship had changed so dramatically over the last couple of days. At first he had been little more than a handsome knight, aloof and distant, her captor. Now he was everything that was dear and important to her. She prayed he would return to her safe and sound, that they might have more time together. Time to live, time to learn about each other, time to love. Her dreams had barely taken flight, and now they were in danger of being shot down from the sky.

  “Will he be okay?” she asked.

  Griffen didn’t need to be told who she was asking about.

  “Of course,” he reassured her, his eyes never diverting from the direction of the battle. “The captain is the best of the men, which is why he was chosen for his position. The king wouldn’t have made Christoff a leader if the young man was not incredibly gifted in fighting. You have no cause to be concerned. But let us be quiet, now, and keep our eyes and ears open. Listen for anything that sounds…different.”

  She was somewhat mollified at his confidence in Christoff’s abilities. Not having seen the captain fight, she could only assume that he was excellent—else he never would have been promoted to his rank. But assuming and knowing were two different things.

  Larra’s horse suddenly shifted beneath her, then braced itself, its head raised high and its ears pinned forward. She noted Griffen’s horse had done the same and was about to question the animals’ behavior when she heard the rapid beat of hooves galloping quickly down the road from the direction of the battle. She felt, rather than saw, Griffen tense. He raised his sword a little higher.

  The galloping left the road and veered toward them. The sound of smashing foliage snaked through the forest like an approaching whirlwind, the volume growing louder and more thunderous as it neared. The horses began to dance in their places, their nostrils flaring for a scent of the incoming creature. Fear and anticipation filled Larra’s stomach, making it jump about like the horse beneath her. She stiffened in her saddle, eyes glued on the part of the thicket that was closest to the now deafening advance of an unknown rider.

  With a sudden frantic crash, the thickets were flung open and a great black horse charged through. Griffen barely managed to lower his weapon in time to keep from stabbing Christoff in the chest.

  The blood-covered captain did not stop to make pleasantries. Within two strides he was galloping into them, forcing their horses to rear up and pivot around, and slapping the animals on their haunches with the ends of his reins. Larra and Griffen’s horses took off, both riders clasping onto manes as Christoff urged them to run away from the direction of the road and towards the Cypress River.

  Larra heard him shout only one word before she was catapulted forward on the back of the uncontrolled animal. It was a word that haunted children’s nightmares.

  “Carnies!”

  Chapter 18

  Larra’s only hope for staying in the saddle was to lie flat against her horse’s neck. Branches whipped past, scratching her cheeks and arms, and tearing off bits of her tunic. Griffen’s horse was running before her in jagged lines and leaps, jumping over old logs and around heavy trees. She could hear Christoff behind her, his own horse’s laboring breath barely audible against the loud snapping and tearing of the dense foliage.

  Her heart was in her throat. Her grandmother had never scared her with bedtime stories about the bloodthirsty creatures known as carnies, but she had heard enough snatches of conversation from others to know to be afrai
d.

  She knew that they were as big as humans, unlike the fairies, which were as small as a person’s fist. No one really knew where carnies came from, only that they lived in hidden camps at the edge of the Bavarri Desert. The desert, which lay to the east of Aggadorn and extended for an eternity, was said to be the largest expanse of uninhabitable land in the world. It was rumored that carnies were once human and had tried to cross the desert, but had gone insane in the attempt. But rumors aside, there were three facts everyone knew for certain about carnies: they were afraid of water, they survived by drinking the blood and eating the flesh of their victims, and they could control the movement of their victims with magic.

  Larra almost forgot a fourth fact: the victims were always human.

  Neither her arrest nor her experiences with Smithen could compare with the sudden and intense terror that filled her mind. She could feel it pressing behind her eyes, pushing all thought from her head and leaving behind an empty cavern, void of reason. All that remained was the instinct to stay alive.

  The horses pounded ahead, galloping helter-skelter at breakneck speed until, finally, the glint of the Cypress River showed through the trees. Just as the three were about to reach the water, the loud sound of a forest being rendered in two came toward them on their left, from the direction of the battle. No sooner had Larra heard the loud crashing and turned her head to look, keeping a firm grasp on her horse’s mane, than a large, white, equine-like beast burst through the trees and slammed into Larra’s gelding.

  Larra had a brief glimpse of blue sky between the branches of the trees before she felt herself hit something hard and unyielding. The fear-induced adrenaline that pumped through her forced her to jump to her feet immediately, despite being disoriented and the ache in her side and hip. She faintly registered that she had been thrown against the base of a trunk before a nearby thrashing sound had her staring at a tangle of hooves and legs.