A Blink of an Eye

by Troy A Hill

  “Or stay here, and become the next meal for Bjørulf.”

  The shifter stepped forward. He was almost as tall as Ruadh. Slightly less bulky, but his body was just as muscular.

  “I’m afraid there aren't enough livestock and villagers in this area,” Lecerf grinned, “to assuage his hunger for violence.”

  The tall Norseman held his hand in front of the apprentice’s face. His human hand melted and elongated into fearsome claws. The lycanthrope’s face lengthened as well. A snout with long, yellow teeth formed. The half-bear, half-man leaned down and licked the young man’s cheek. Even Pedr gasped and edged another step away from the shifter.

  The apprentice swallowed hard, closed his eyes and shivered at the beast’s touch, but nodded. The hybrid bear stepped back and rumbled a chuckle. But his eyes still held that look of hunger. A hunger for violence ready to rip forwards

  The apprentice held the sword before him in a tight and awkward grip. It was clear he wasn’t skilled. He’d be lucky if he had even the training that Enid gave the youth at Caer Penllyn. His knuckles turned white on the haft as he attempted to slide sideways past the skeleton. The old warrior thrust its ancient sword forward to stop him. The apprentice dodged to the other side. Again the skeleton blocked him.

  “Fight it,” Lecerf snarled. “Win your freedom by fighting.”

  The apprentice raised his blade. He advanced a step and swung. The skeleton shifted its blade to parry. No finesse, just a straight block and divert. Yet it was just the sort of small, high-efficiency move I would have made.

  “Attack, shove it aside, disarm it, you cretin.” Lecerf was impatient. “Your freedom lies on the other side. Fight for it.”

  He attacked with clumsy speed and hacked at the undead. Again, I knew where I would block if I stood there. The skeleton did the same move and pushed his blade out of line. It was an easy block and riposte back at him. The apprentice earned a scratch on his arm, but he swung again. Over and over, the skeleton mirrored my own moves, my own style, the meditations I had drilled with Emlyn every morning on the practice field.

  What in all the hells? The skeleton had skill. Nothing great, but not the hack and slash of the undead Emlyn and I had faced when we pursued the shifter in the borderlands.

  “Bah, you have no ability,” Lecerf decreed.

  Bjørulf, the shifter, grabbed hold and jerked the apprentice back. The beast ripped the blade from his grasp and shoved him away. The manacles and chain between the apprentice’s feet tripped him. He stumbled back out of my line of vision. I heard old bones shift and snap as he tumbled into another burial niche.

  Lecerf motioned the lycanthrope forward. The creature slowly returned to his human form. He knew how to hold the blade and attacked the skeleton with it. A real duel raged in the catacombs. The skeleton displayed great skill with the blade, but lacked the speed of his opponent, who was of average skill.

  What the undead warrior had in talent, the shifter compensated for with speed. I could see the complicate block and riposte begin. I could tell the skeleton had skill. Not just skill. My level of skill. But it was still slow. Slow for even a human.

  The shifter had speed. Preternatural speed and strength. Bjørulf used both to push past the complicated skilled defence and attack of the undead warrior. He scored with a sideways blow that sent the skeletal head and its helm flying. The ancient bones collapsed.

  Lecerf leaned towards me. His breath smelled rancid. Mouldy. Like the surrounding graves.

  “You will lead our armies. My spells will pass your skills onto our armies of undead. My control of you will give the ancient undead warriors the abilities we need to conquer these lands.” He stepped behind me and adjusted the position of the silver torc on my neck. “Tomorrow night,” he said as he stepped back into my view, “we will make this permanent. You will be bound just as Bjørulf is. We need one more piece to make that happen…”

  I shifted my eyes past him towards the shifter. A faint ridge under the skin of the lycanthrope’s neck stood out. As though a similar torc had merged with the creature’s flesh. A torc under his skin, now a part of him. I wondered, though, if Lecerf’s control of the beast was to temper its violent nature.

  “Yes, you see how it works.” Lecerf’s hand touched my neck. “We’ll have our little ceremony. After that, I will be able to tap into your undead energy to power my spells. Your energy will blend with that of my armies. I will command you to lead them into battle. Once we get the sword which I have sought so long, this land will be ours.”

  Oh, double damn! I shut my eyes. I didn’t want to be a part of this. But I couldn’t even tremble. My body was his to control, and I wanted to scream.

  “Control of the undead, that is my specialty,” he breathed in my ear. “For too long, you fooled me, Maria. But I learned the truth.” He stepped back and motioned down the hall.

  “Maria, take the young prisoner and lock him back in his place. Stay in that room until I call you. Remain out of reach of the prisoners.” My body grabbed the apprentice by the arm. He still tried to wipe cobwebs from his face.

  He peered at me through the dank gloom and mouthed his same phrase.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too,” I thought again.

  35

  Conversations

  My hand reached out and pulled the apprentice up by his arm. It kept hold of him all the way back to the antechamber. Enid sat up, and her eyes grew wide when we entered. Evidently whatever spell Pedr had used on her had worn off. She had been laying, sobbing quietly on the rock floor of the burial chamber.

  “Mair! It’s you. Where are we?”

  “She can’t talk, milady,” the apprentice said as my arms forced him down onto the flat rock of the floor. The wall behind him was carved with niches. Each holding a skeleton long dead. My hands clicked the large metal lock shut to secure his leg chain to an iron ring set into the floor.

  My body stepped back until I was against the wall. There my body stayed, awaiting more orders.

  “Mair… what has happened?” Enid sounded on the verge of tears. Her arm trembled as she reached towards me. But I was a step beyond her reach. And there my body stayed, despite my desire to grab her, hold her, and comfort her. The wizard’s orders had been clear.

  “The old Witch Hunter controls her," the apprentice had to fill her in.

  Enid’s eyes grew even wider and she gasped.

  “Bechard is the wizard?”

  “Not him,” the apprentice shook his head. “The other one. Leferk or something.”

  “Oh! Him!” Her hands jerked up to her mouth as she began to piece together what had happened. Her eyes darted toward me.

  “They’ve made a magical torc,” the young man added. “I’m not sure about it, but the old wizard put some sort of spell into it. He can control her because of it.”

  My head still faced Enid. I saw her glance at the ring around my neck, then shove away her fear and despair. She sat straighter, lifted her chin and set her shoulders.

  “Mair… Mair… can you hear me?”

  I blinked a couple of times. Fast. It was all I could do. The oil lamp in the nook was still lit. I hoped she saw my effort.

  “Ah… Once for yes, twice for no. Agreed?”

  I blinked once. The corner of her mouth tugged up into a short smile. She shifted her attention to the apprentice.

  “Who are you? How did they take Mair?”

  “My name is Talian, milady,” he said. “The wizard, the old one, he can control her because she’s dead.”

  Enid gasped.

  “How did she die?”

  He paused and shifted his gaze to me, questioning.

  I wanted to be the one to tell her if she had to know. Damn it! Even that was taken from me. I blinked. But what choice did I have. The poor girl needed to know. I couldn’t, though. The apprentice would have to help me once again. I blinked. Once for yes. Go ahead.

  Talian glanced between me and Enid uncomfortably. �
�She’s… She’s a blood drinker, milady. Didn’t you know that?”

  Enid’s mouth hung open. She shook her head without blinking.

  “I swear it’s true, milady,” he said. “The Witch Hunters, captured her this spring. They cut her flesh with knives. She didn’t bleed.”

  Enid gasped and pressed her hands to her mouth.

  “But everyone deserves fair treatment. So I passed her my knife one night. Once she had it, she cut her bonds, but she was mad with blood lust.” Talian shook his head. “My masters were fierce fighters and mean. But she fought them with just her hands and teeth, until her wolves came to help her. One of them was killed. That’s when she went berserk.”

  My heart wrenched. Greyback. My old wolf friend. He had died to protect me.

  We are pack… his memory rang out in my mind.

  Talian told of how I had killed one witch hunter, then the other. He told the story true. Even how he raised the crossbow to shoot me, but didn't press the trigger. Even now he didn’t realise he had forgotten to put a bolt in the crossbow’s channel.

  Enid’s eyes were wide with horror. This was a side of me she had never thought could exist. I hated not being able to jump in with explanations and excuses—pleas for forgiveness, even. Though I didn’t know what was there for her to forgive. I hadn’t wronged her, unless it was to deceive her. My heart sank with the fear she would never trust me again.

  Talian seemed to read the terror in Enid’s eyes. “No, you don’t understand,” he explained. “She could have killed me that night. My life wasn’t worth a prayer. But she didn’t touch me. She told me to run. Run back to my farm and my girl. I did. She collapsed there. She fought… something inside her. Her lust for blood, I suppose. If she hadn’t, I'd be dead, too.”

  Tears ran down Enid’s cheeks. She wiped them with the back of her sleeve, then looked up at me with puffy, bloodshot eyes.

  “Is it true, Mair?” she asked.

  What could I say? Nothing actually. That damned wizard Lecerf had taken even that from me.

  I blinked. Once.

  Yes.

  She pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them, her face buried in her arms.

  Damn it! Curse Lecerf. A thousand curses on him and his companion. I should have been the one to share my story with Enid, and not like this. Not down here where there was no hope left.

  Her shoulders shook. Silent, but she cried.

  Talian seemed on the verge of tears himself. He looked at me. “I’m sorry, milady.”

  I blinked. Once.

  I’m sorry too.

  After several minutes, Enid stopped shaking. Again she wiped her face with her sleeve. To my surprise, she smiled.

  “Lady Mair is a daughter of Penllyn,” she said, “We must free her, and ourselves.”

  Tears ran down my cheeks. These people—my family—truly were good and kind. How could anyone hear a story like that, and love me still?

  But in one thing she was right. In a short while, we would all be dead—except for me. I would lead the charge to kill the rest of our people. I wanted Enid’s optimism about the situation. But I found none.

  She turned to our fellow prisoner. “Your accent sounds familiar, Talian. What village are you from?”

  “Caermuth in Meirionnydd, milady.”

  “I, too, am from Meirionnydd,” she said. Good girl, she didn’t flaunt her rank the way Lord Dewi would. Even in my thoughts, I pronounced his title with a deep, guttural commanding LORD Dewi. Crap. That made me think of Seren again. I wanted to know how Gwen was. Did she survive. Fortunately, Enid interrupted my thoughts with more conversation for Talian.

  “We need to think of a way to free ourselves and get Lady Mair unbound from the magic. Tell me all you know of this place and these people.”

  Talian shrugged. He told the story of how he had first joined the witch hunters, in hopes of pulling together enough money to make a life for himself and his sweetheart. But after witnessing the tortures of the Witchers I called Onion Breath and the Hunchback, Talian had decided he wanted none of that life and turned his back on the guild. He had returned to his family’s farm, until he was taken by the Witchers a few weeks ago. What he described sounded much like my dream. The same one where I saw Emlyn followed, I also witnessed two women chased after the man, who had been taken at sword point.

  The witch hunters had taken him to an old graveyard, opened a rift between the worlds, and brought him to these catacombs. They had questioned him about the time he had spent with Onion Breath and the Hunchback—and me.

  Enid’s face paled. “What did you tell them?”

  Talian’s gaze fell to the ground as if he were reluctant to say. But he spoke on in a low voice. “That they cut her, and she did not bleed. That she had the strength of ten men and broke bones with her bare hands. That she screamed as one possessed and drank blood from their veins.” He glanced sheepishly at Enid. “I didn’t know who my captors were then.”

  He shifted his eyes up to me.

  “I’m sorry, milady. I see now I should have told them nothing at all.” He swallowed, and his eyes filled with unshed tears. His chains clinked as he pulled his sleeve up to dab at his eyes.

  I blinked. It was all I could do. Poor lad. He didn’t know. Again, he had just been a pawn in a larger game.

  Enid reached a hand towards him, even though she couldn’t touch him. “What’s past is past. We must deal with the present now. I know I can count on you to help us escape.”

  “Milady,” he said, “I’m not sure how to help. I don’t have a knife to give either of you.”

  “Then give us your knowledge,” Enid said. “Tell us more. Tell us all you know.”

  Talian thought. “With the attacks they staged tonight, they were to destroy Lord Penllyn and his heir. And the heirs to Mechain and Meirionnydd as well.”

  “I was at Caer Penllyn,” Enid said, “when Lord Fadog led his men in a surprise attack. Lord Penllyn, his heir, and…” she paused, then straightened her shoulders. “The heirs to Meirionnydd still live.”

  Talian jerked his eyes up to her, then tried to bow where he sat.

  “My Lady,” he said formally. “I had no idea…” he swallowed again and wouldn’t raise his eyes to her. “I’m sorry. I beg forgiveness. I didn’t know you were Lord Meirionnydd’s daughter…”

  “I am a prisoner,” Enid pronounce. “Just like you and Mair. Our duty is to help each other escape.” Talian raised his eyes and gave a slow nod. Enid smiled. A thin, weak smile, but one with a hint of confidence. Good girl. She had to be the one to act, to plan. I couldn’t help her. Maybe, the two of them…

  “Tell me of what they said about the wedding,” she asked.

  “The Witch Hunters said Fadog disappointed them,” Talian added. “The Witchers had loaned Fadog a score of their men to pose as his guards.”

  “Lady Mair slew them herself in about two minutes.”

  A score? I thought to myself. Surely it was longer than two minutes?

  “Lecerf and Bechard must have been the ones who tried to kill us with the magical orchard,” Enid said.

  “Kill you?” Talian replied. “They wanted to capture her.” His voice was quiet in the still rock walls of the catacombs. He and Enid had scooted towards each other as far as their chains would allow. Human companionship means so much when one is isolated. I wanted to be down there with them, not locked in my own mind, unable to do more than blink.

  Talian went on. “The Witchers were at a wedding in Penllyn. They seemed quite put out that her Ladyship,” he nodded at me, “did something at the wedding that ruined their plans. Apparently, they wanted to show that they alone were the masters of evil and protectors of the land.”

  “The ghosts,” Enid said, putting her hands to her cheeks. “They summoned the spirits themselves! Lady Mair and my husband came to save us.”

  “But they were not real ghosts. It was only an illusion. I heard them say so.”

  Enid frowned. “We be
lieved the spirits to be real…”

  “The Seeker, Beck…”

  “Bechard.”

  “Yes, him.” Talian looked at me. “He’s the one that cast the spells to make things not as they seem. He made an orchard appear and did something with two of the dead that the older guilder had summoned.”

  “The black fighter and the lady on the golden chair,” Enid said.

  “Yes. They asked me about the story of Geraint. They’re from the continent, you know. They’ve never heard our stories. Apparently they heard a bard or someone tell the tale of Enid and Geraint at the wedding. I told them what I remembered of it, but had no idea why they were asking.”

  “The Lady Gwenhwyfar told the story, or the first part, at my wedding that night…” Enid’s voice trailed off. “Yes, the guilders were at the wedding feast by then. They must have thought it would make good bait and get us to fight.”

  “The old one, he had his doubts you would,” Talian said. “He yelled piss and vinegar at the other wizard for a long time when their plan didn’t work.”

  “Lady Mair fought their fighter, and when the woman brought the horn…”

  “She was supposed to take the horn,” Talian interjected. “Its touch was supposed to make her unable to move. The spell Lecerf put on it was to block her muscles from her mind as she is now.”

  Enid laughed. Just enough to change the mood in the dim, damp chamber for a second or two, before the gloom pressed in again.

  “Mair shattered that horn with her sword and The Lady’s magic. ‘I’m not that stupid,’ she said.” Enid laughed again as she quoted me in a serious voice. “There was a blast that knocked us from our feet.”

  Talian chuckled just a little. The first smile I had seen on his face.

  “The old one was furious about the horn. He let the Seeker know he had wasted several days putting his magic on it.” He looked at me. “But he already had the torc. Once they learned she had a magic sword, the old wizard was convinced they had to capture her ladyship alive… or whatever she is.”