Sinners of Magic

by Lynette Creswell

  Matt gulped and Crystal flashed him a look that chilled his bones.

  ‘Oh, that amulet,’ said Crystal, a little too casually. ‘Forusian took it from me when he captured me.’

  A look of horror flew to Amella’s face.

  ‘This is worse than I first thought. If he has your amulet, then he will want to use it for his own gain. I am not strong enough on my own to overthrow such a powerful king; we need the power of the Guild behind me.’

  Amella began to pace the floor and her mind raced ahead. If only she could get the Oakwood wizards here, surely they would be more than a match for Forusian. A sudden chill ran down her spine. What if Forusian already knew how to use the amulet?

  ‘We are all in grave danger,’ she said, clasping her hands together with worry. ‘We must leave here and get help immediately.’

  Slowly, they moved down the tunnel, hindered by Arhdel’s broken body. The evening was not so bright and their journey ended abruptly.

  ‘Damn it,’ said Amella, when she hit a wall of earth, ‘we have run out of sunlight.’

  The iron grate they came upon was heavy and not so easy to move but once Amella checked the area was safe, she forced the gateway open.

  ‘To hell with Forusian,’ she cursed, under her breath. ‘We are still within the castle walls and the doorway has given us only a short passage out. The sun has gone so we cannot use the brooch again today so we must hide and keep low until the morrow, then I will be able to get us out of here.’

  ‘What about Arhdel?’ Matt pressed, ‘he may not live for much longer if we don’t seek help.’

  ‘Then we must do the best we can. I will scout about and see if I can find an indiscriminate healer. As long as one of us stays in the tunnel it will not close. But be very careful and on no account must you draw attention to yourselves whilst I’m gone.’

  Amella was soon winding her way through the streets as the last remnants of daylight disintegrated into early dusk. The alleyways were now much calmer; the market traders were home and the only sound came from a stray hound, howling whilst the darkness descended.

  Cautiously, she walked amongst the few with her hair covering her face and her drab clothing gave no clear indication of who she really was. She headed in search of anyone who had provisions to heal, and although there were no clear painted signs to guide her, she fell upon such a dwelling without much difficulty.

  The healer was a renowned black witch, known to most to have an unpredictable temper, and Amella checked she had not been followed before lifting the strange woven curtain the witch used as a door and stepping inside.

  The room was in darkness except for a cluster of candles that illuminated a small corner. The dwelling was rather peculiar and with every flicker of a candle Amella’s silhouette bounced against the walls to create long, sinister shadows.

  With growing anticipation, Amella strained her eyes in search of the healer. The room was filled with strange aromas and Amella glanced down at an assortment of herbs lying on a table. She brushed her fingertips over a stem of pretty flowers and then recoiled when the petals changed into hissing vipers that stretched their mouths, trying their best to sink their fangs into her flesh and bite her. She immediately stepped away and banged straight into a chair. Her heart was in her mouth and she turned to see a row of glass jars filled with large hairy spiders and long-legged creepy crawlies staring right at her. The air turned still and then a solitary figure loomed out of the semi-darkness, taking her by surprise.

  ‘What do you want?’ spat the witch, sweeping closer. Her body was bent almost double and she wore a black, hooded cloak that masked her old, wizened face.

  Amella felt a stab of apprehension.

  ‘I need some herbs,’ she said, clearing her throat of fear.

  ‘Speak up,’ demanded the old woman. ‘I take it you’ve come for something in particular?’

  ‘Why, yes,’ answered Amella, filled with unease. Her voice sounded strange to her and she realised she was trembling.

  ‘Do not fear me, elf woman, for I wish you no harm.’

  ‘I am not afraid,’ Amella said, jutting out her chin. ‘I just need a few things from you so I can make a potion.’

  ‘And what’s wrong with one of mine?’ snarled the witch, insulted.

  ‘Nothing at all,’ Amella answered honestly. ‘It’s just a concoction I created myself.’

  The witch eyed her with a sudden curiosity.

  ‘So what is it that you require?’

  ‘I need the shavings of cedar, a handful of hyssop and a small number of juniper berries.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said the witch, with a spark of interest. ‘So you need cedar, which is known for its healing powers and courage, hyssop will give protection and purification, and the juniper berries will give extra protection and a speedy recovery.’

  Amella instantly felt stupid. She should have known the witch would know why she wanted such specific ingredients and cursed herself for acting so dim. The old woman moved around the wooden table and with agile fingers began to prepare the ingredients Amella needed.

  ‘You will need six to eight flower whorls from the hyssop bush if you friend is in a bad way,’ said the witch, looking Amella straight in the eye. ‘You are foolish to take what belongs to Forusian for he will destroy all that is yours in return.’

  Amella was ill-prepared for the witch to speak so bluntly and she quickly broke eye contact.

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she mumbled, ‘you must have misunderstood why I’m here.’ The witch broke out into a toothless grin when she turned her attention to some drying leaves.

  ‘I speak only the truth,’ she said, parcelling up the ingredients with her old, wizened fingers.

  Amella stood tight-lipped.

  ‘I’m done,’ said the old woman, at last. ‘Make sure you use these as soon as possible; if you let them dry out they will lose their healing powers.’ Her outstretched hand held three parcels, which she dropped into Amella’s palm.

  ‘Do you have a silver bowl?’

  ‘No, do I need one?’

  ‘Yes, I have one here somewhere.’ She reached out and pushed a few particles of dried leaves and decaying bark to one side, revealing a small, dirty bowl.

  ‘Here, take it,’ she commanded.

  ‘You’re very kind,’ Amella told her.

  ‘I only do what I’m paid for,’ said the witch, becoming cross. ‘However, even I can regret what I have done in the past.’

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’

  The witch cocked her head, studying the other woman’s face more closely.

  ‘She will look like you, but will have his eyes.’

  ‘What are you babbling about, old woman? You don’t know me.’

  ‘But I know of your child.’

  Amella felt a flutter of panic build around her heart. The mere mention of her daughter forced an overwhelming pain to form in her chest and, swiftly recovering part of her composure, she placed two small coins in the palm of the old woman’s hand.

  ‘Thank you for the herbs and the silver bowl,’ she said, tucking the parcels safely into a hidden pocket sewn into the lining of her skirt.

  ‘There’s no safe place to hide,’ muttered the old witch, when Amella turned to leave.

  Pulling back the curtain, Amella left without uttering another word. The witch gave a hiss of irritation before she fell back into the shadows and allowed her poisonous tongue to quieten.

  The night had finally fallen and with it came a biting wind which stung Amella’s face. She wasted no time dallying, but her thoughts were elsewhere as she turned a corner and collided with full force into the arms of a stranger.

  ‘Hey, what’s your hurry?’ someone asked, alarmed.

  She was startled and unprepared and she tried to smile, relieved it wasn’t a Nonhawk guard.

  ‘Are you alright?’ he asked, his eyes narrowing with concern. He brushed the mass of hair away from her face and saw
the panic in her large, green eyes. Recognition was also instantaneous.

  ‘By all the gods!’ the stranger roared, ‘Amella, is that you?’

  Terror flew to her throat at the sound of her name and she tried to loosen his grip, but the stranger held her fast.

  ‘Amella, it’s me, Amadeus! Have I changed so much that you don’t recognise a faithful soldier of your father’s anymore?’

  For a moment she did not register what he was trying to say, wishing only to run to the safety of the tunnel, but then recognition ignited in her eyes. It had been many years since she had seen Amadeus and memories of the past brought back the reality of why she’d left her kingdom. The pain was suffocating her and the brief conversation with the witch was playing over and over in her head. She fought the ache, but consumed with grief her mind turned black and then the lights went out, and she fell into an abyss of darkness.

  Amadeus felt her weight fall against him. Deeply concerned, he swept her off her feet and carried her in his strong arms, hugging the shadows whilst he made his way back to the lodging house.

  Mordorma looked up in surprise when his comrade crashed through the door with a dishevelled woman in his arms.

  ‘I could have found you one a little better if you’d asked,’ teased Mordorma, with a chuckle.

  ‘Don’t be so stupid! This is Amella,’ Amadeus cried. ‘I literally ran into her.’

  He stood with his feet apart to help balance the weight. He gave a pleading look at Mordorma, not knowing quite what to do with her.

  ‘I think she’s fainted,’ he said in desperation, ‘or perhaps gone into shock.’

  ‘Lie her down on the bed,’ said the mage in astonishment. ‘I can’t believe it’s her.’

  ‘No, nor can I, I wonder what’s she doing here?’

  Mordorma shrugged his shoulders, unsure, and followed him to the bed. Once she was settled, he placed a blanket over her body to help keep her warm. He lit a candle, which he found in one of the small cupboards, and began to meditate. Amadeus watched a blue light circle over her body before slowly dying away.

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ Mordorma soothed. ‘It’s all been a bit too much for her seeing you again. I feel she is under immense strain, but just give her a little time and she will awaken feeling refreshed.’

  ‘We must tell Bridgemear at once,’ said Amadeus in a panic.

  ‘No!’ said Mordorma sharply. ‘He mustn’t know of her. They are forbidden to see each other ever again.’

  ‘But that was so long ago,’ said Amadeus. ‘Surely with everything that’s happened, events cannot stand as they once did?’

  ‘We are not here to judge who is right or wrong,’ insisted Mordorma, feeling a sharp stab of tension build in his shoulders. ‘Until the Elders decide their fate, we are not to interfere.’

  A deep moan cut short their discussion and they both turned to see Amella regaining consciousness.

  ‘Where am I?’ she asked, her voice still sluggish with sleep.

  ‘You’re safe and that’s all that matters,’ said Amadeus, glaring at Mordorma. ‘We only wish to help you.’

  Amella sat bolt upright and scanned the room, unable to take in any of its features.

  ‘You must come with me and help bring Arhdel here,’ she babbled. ‘He is seriously ill, but I have managed to obtain ingredients to help make a potion. He is with two others in a tunnel, just at the edge of the castle walls.’

  Mordorma and Amadeus grabbed their weapons whilst helping Amella to her feet. Each hurried down the stairwell as they headed into the night. Amadeus shielded Amella with his sword and Mordorma clung to her side.

  Snitterby watched them leave. He was unsure of what was happening, and decided it would be in his best interests to wait and bide his time. He didn’t want to run to Forusian with half a tale and find himself at the mercy of the king. Wasn’t it Forusian, after all, who had told him that everything comes to those who wait? And waiting was something he was eager to do, if he was to get this just right.

  Chapter 24

  They were left alone for what seemed like forever and the bitter wind gave cause for Crystal and Matt to huddle together for warmth. Arhdel was in a sorry state and they had bound him with a few strips of their own clothing to try and help keep him warm and stem the flow of blood, but still the warrior remained at death’s door.

  ‘I wonder where Amella’s got to?’ asked Crystal, shivering and placing her arms around Matt’s waist, nuzzling into his chest. It was bony against her cheek, yet she was only aware of the comfort it brought and snuggled in a little closer, but then footsteps were heard approaching and the two friends broke free from their embrace.

  The wind was howling against the grid, causing the bars to rattle, but they dared not move and take a peek for fear of being detected. Their breathing was lost in the swish of the wind and Crystal sensed intruders were very close, then the grid was hoisted up and an unknown face peered inside.

  Without hesitation Matt punched the assailant straight on the nose, sending him reeling back in surprise and a squeal escaped his lips. Matt saw the spark of pride in Crystal’s eyes but before he could say anything, Amella was at the forefront of the hole and calling out for Matt to calm himself, only narrowly missing a right hook.

  ‘What were you thinking?’ she hissed, making her way into the tunnel. ‘That’s certainly not going to help anybody.’

  ‘How was I supposed to know he was with you?’ Matt snapped in his defence. ‘That was a pretty stupid idea to send a stranger first, don’t you think?’ Amella nodded, raising her hand in submission before heading towards the warrior.

  ‘Okay, I guess you’re right, but come here and help me get Arhdel to his feet, we have to get him out of here.’

  The mouth of the tunnel was at least six feet high and pushing the warrior out of it proved to be a real struggle without the use of magic, but after much tugging and shoving they heaved him out of the hole and then rested his head on a clump of soft earth.

  Amadeus was still smarting from being caught off guard by the young man’s punch; however, Mordorma was more concerned about Arhdel’s welfare and drew a shuddering breath when he saw his broken body.

  ‘He’s in a bad way,’ Mordorma stated, looking down at the heavy frame of the warrior. Amadeus nodded his head and sighed deeply.

  ‘You’re right, what a mess. Why, some of the wounds are almost to the bone and he’s lost so much blood he’s nearly run dry. The sooner we get him back to the inn the better.’

  Crystal came and stood beside them. She was cooling down from the exertion of getting Arhdel out of the tunnel and was starting to feel the cold. She shivered involuntarily.

  ‘Here, take my cloak,’ said Mordorma, going to her side and unfastening it from his throat. ‘It will help to keep the chill at bay.’

  Grateful, Crystal swirled the cloak around her shoulders and placed the hood over her thick mountain of hair to warm her frozen ears. She smiled at him in gratitude and he acknowledged her thanks with a bow of his head.

  ‘It’s time we moved on,’ said Amadeus, gesturing to Mordorma to help lift Arhdel. ‘It’s too dangerous to loiter; we must get him out of sight.’

  Amella and Crystal helped raise Arhdel to his feet and then followed close behind. Matt kept watch and they were thankful that the moon stayed covered with thickening cloud hiding them well. Once they arrived back at the inn, Arhdel was hustled upstairs whilst they tried to shield him against the ever-watchful eyes of the keeper.

  Snitterby, however, had seen them return and he licked his dry lips in triumph when he thought how pleased Forusian would be when he told him all that was transpiring under his roof. A bell rang above his head and he jumped to his feet, realising one of Bridgemear’s associates was calling for his services. As quickly as he could, Snitterby climbed the wooden stairs and rapped lightly on the door. The bedroom door opened, showing only Amadeus in the doorway, and Snitterby almost cried out with joy when the warrior invited him in, b
ut the door was barely closed when he was hit from behind with a heavy instrument and the lights immediately went out.

  With Snitterby out of the way, the room became a hive of activity. Amella worked quickly to make the potion, but Arhdel’s lips stayed firmly closed when she tried to administer the strange concoction, allowing only a few drops to seep down his throat, giving Mordorma little time to prepare his own magic. He needed the support of another wizard, worried he might be too late to save the warrior, but although Bridgemear was only a few doors away, he knew he could not ask him with Amella being at his side.

  The curtains were pulled tight across the window so as not to allow the outside world the smallest glimpse of what was going on inside and then magic burst from the mage’s fingertips, landing like long, white veins of lightning upon Arhdel’s broken body.

  Matt sat in a corner and watched in awe, picking at the fibres of his chair to keep his hands occupied. He stroked the raw materials and felt the coarseness of the fibres scratch the palm of his hand. Their roughness gave him little comfort whilst he watched the mage try to save his friend’s life.

  Mordorma glanced at Matt, his eyes becoming anxious.

  ‘We’ll have to wait awhile,’ said the magician, when the light from his fingers faded, ‘only time will tell if he will make it.’

  ‘Let’s eat whilst we wait then,’ said Amella, rubbing her stomach, ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m famished.’

  Amadeus agreed.

  ‘There’ll be enough food for everyone down in the kitchen,’ he said, pointing to the door, ‘and with the keeper in no position to argue we can eat our fill.’

  Mordorma smiled, dryly.

  ‘I guess it’s been quite a while since his guests have helped themselves to his larder.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Amadeus, turning and pointing to Matt. ‘Hey, you, go and find us some food.’

  Matt caught the warrior’s eye and glared at him.

  ‘My name’s Matt,’ he snapped, his eyes filling with indignation, ‘and don’t ever talk to me like that again, I’m not your servant!’