Witches vs Wizards

by Adam Bennett

  “Ahh, good. You are awake,” drawled a smoky voice, surprising Isaac, and causing him to jump, pricking himself once more. “You may sit.”

  The thorny bramble retreated, his cocoon reforming into a vaguely square prison large enough for him to sit. A small hole formed in the thicket as he sat up, and through it Isaac saw a woman perched on her haunches before the cage. Dappled sunlight streamed through the cherry trees around her, the pink and white blossoms colouring the clearing. The smell of grass and flowering rose bushes mixed with the fragrant trees to form a heady scent that wafted on the unnaturally warm air, telling a tale of spring despite the snowy winter all around.

  The woman wasn’t what Isaac had been expecting. She looked nothing like the witch he’d seen in his dream, black and cracked and veiled in dark magics. No, she was nothing like the stories he’d heard from travellers passing through Junhill Ride while growing up. She was not some ugly old crone, older than the mountains themselves, and even more deadly. Nor was she the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, some temptress glamouring unsuspecting men with her otherworldly beauty, drawing them inexorably to their deaths, their blood keeping her eternally young.

  No, this woman, the witch, was just a woman. A woman who would not have raised a single eyebrow in Junhill Ride. She wore her long black hair in a half dozen braids, her hands were dirty with rich soil, her dress brown and neither new nor worn. She was… average. She might have been the most average woman Isaac had ever seen.

  Except for the fact that she’d trapped him within a bramble cage that she apparently controlled at her whim, and stood before four of the treemen that had captured Isaac in the first place, presumably at her command.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Isaac didn’t answer. He didn’t think the truth of his presence was likely to go down well. After all, he had come here to kill this woman.

  The thick vines constricted in. “I can make you talk. Or, you can tell me why you’ve walked into my domain. Don’t try to tell me it was a mistake either.” The witch lifted the heavy steel chain into Isaac’s line of sight and his hands reflexively went to his neck. She’d taken his armour as well. He could see it laid out on the grass off to one side. “You come into my home, armoured, if not armed, and wearing links of steel around your person. Only someone very smart, or very stupid would do such a thing. You are lucky that my gardeners took you captive rather than killing you. If you’d borne a blade, we likely wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  Isaac still said nothing. He had no idea what he could say that would get him out of this situation. He could hardly think. The thorns pressed in, uncomfortably close. His breathing was shallow and ragged. He could still taste blood in his mouth from the blow the gardener had dealt him earlier.

  “Very well, stupid it is… I suppose it’s no surprise. The chain is somewhat redundant if you’re wearing a shirt of steel mail. At first I thought you’d come to free the wizard, but his followers would be better prepared to face me than a boy with no sword.”

  Wizard? What was she talking about?

  The witch turned away and raised a hand. The cage of brambles tightened, drawing closer to him, growing ever tighter as the witch slowly walked away.

  He was about to cry out for mercy when he heard a crashing noise from beyond his line of sight. The witch turned to face the source of the commotion and three of the heavy treemen turned with her. They visibly grew larger and more imposing as the sounds continued, and began to make their way towards the threat. The cage stopped closing in on Isaac as the witch’s attention was dragged away from him.

  Dex strode into view, just visible through the small window in the bramble cage. He had a long slender spear in one hand, wrapped in a steel sheath for most of its length. Talent and Saef Scarless flanked him as Dex moved ever forwards.

  Branches from the cherry trees whipped out towards the group as if blowing in a non-existent gale, thrashing at the trio as they advanced. Dex’s spear was useless against the flailing limbs of the cherry trees but Talent and Scarless kept them at bay, swords slashing down over and over, hacking ever growing limbs away with each strike. The air was filled with fluttering pink and white blossoms as the branches regrew as quickly as the pair could hack them away.

  A pair of arrows flew over their shoulders headed right for the witch, fired by the twins as they came into view. An upthrust of grey stone burst from the ground at the last moment and the shafts shattered uselessly against it.

  The witch raised a hand and the twin’s short wooden bows warped and twisted in their hands, the wood growing and sprouting until the bow strings snapped. The twins discarded their newly living weapons and drew their blades, Chae her short curved sword, and Chell, two of his long knives. The bows took root, small branches bursting forth from the wood, sprouting leaves and flowers almost uncontrollably.

  A mighty bellow drew Isaac’s attention and he saw Gil charging into the clearing enormous axe raised high. He swung a mighty blow and buried the axe deep into one of the cherry trees, sending a wave of blossoms spiralling to the ground. The witch let out a great wail as the tree teetered under the weight of the strike and then toppled to the grass, felled with a single stroke of the hulking brute’s great axe.

  The witch raised a hand towards him as he advanced and Isaac saw the thick black chain around his neck turn first red, and then white as it transformed into molten iron. The rope of white hot metal sliced a ragged wound straight through Gil, the huge man decapitated in a single shocking instant. His still gaping mouth opened and closed, eyes rolling in their sockets as his head bounced and rolled in the lush green grass.

  With a shout of defiance, Rass charged towards the witch, his gleaming sword held high, shining plate armour resplendent in the pink light. He was cut off by one of the gardeners, who forced him on the back foot as his blade did only incidental damage to the great treeman’s arms, chest, and head.

  The gardener reached through the attack and almost casually speared Raceron through the chest with an arm that grew long and thin and sharp faster than the eye could see, plate armour offering no more resistance than paper. Rass coughed a great gout of blood, spasmed, and Isaac saw the light leave his eyes.

  Chae leapt up the side of the great creature and cut the beast’s head clean from its shoulders. Isaac let out a little whoop as the creature stumbled, dropping Rass’ dead body to the grass, but the gardener was soon growing a new head and turning to face Chae.

  A knife blossomed in its chest, thrown by Chell, and was quickly followed by a second, and a third. The great tree man shuddered and staggered and fell to the ground beside Raceron’s corpse, twitching and writhing as the branches that made up his body seemed to wither and die.

  Chae stared at the creature, but only for a moment. A second gardener strode towards her and she spun and buried her blade deep in its chest.

  Something about the steel sword being buried deep in its body disrupted the magics that had brought the creature to life and the great gardener toppled to the grass beside its dead brother and Raceron’s bloody remains.

  Chae turned to Isaac’s cage of brambles and freed him with a few quick slashes of her blade. Chell tossed Isaac his sword and made to help Dex, Talent, and Saef with the cherry trees. Isaac snatched the weapon from the air and smiled his thanks. Chae grinned back, looking up at him, the pink tinted light casting shadows across her elfin face. She was beautiful.

  Another treeman strode across the clearing and made to attack Chae from behind, but Isaac pushed her clear and slashed the gardener’s spearing arm from its body. He followed up with a piercing stab deep into the creature’s chest and it fell back, withering and greying with rot as it fell to the grass.

  He checked to make sure that Chae was unharmed and then turned back to the fight. Gil and Rass were dead. They were down to only seven. Tormell had said this was when the witch would be at her most dangerous. Something to do with the magic of numbers. Isaac could tell Chae how h
e felt about her when the witch was dead.

  Dex broke clear of the flailing cherry trees, twisting free of their tangling embrace as Talent and Saef hacked away with their swords against the neverending branches whipping at them. They were both a mess, scratched and bleeding relentlessly. Saef wouldn't be called Scarless after today, Isaac thought. Judging by the blood streaming from his face, he could easily be renamed Saef Scarred if he lived to see another day.

  Dex charged forward, spear raised, and plunged the steel bound weapon deep into the chest of the last of the great gardeners. He leapt over the dying creature and drew his short sword as he advanced relentlessly towards the witch.

  Isaac matched him pace for pace, advancing on the witch’s flank.

  She was backing away, arms waving furiously, brambles growing up to catch at Dex’s legs, but he was unstoppable, his sword flashing down at the thorny vines to free himself as quickly as they grew about him.

  The witch noticed Isaac and changed course, backing away from both of them now. Thick vines snatched up to catch Isaac’s legs. Grinding upthrusts of stone burst free of the earth blocking his advance. He cut himself free and circled the rocks as Dex did the same.

  Focusing on Dex, the witch’s arms waved rapidly as she retreated and the vines tangled thick around his knees and caught him at the elbows, trapping him firmly for a moment. She turned to face Isaac and brambles snagged him about the waist, holding him tight, but he’d closed the distance while she focused on Dex and the effort was futile.

  He lunged forward and thrust his sword through the witch’s heart. The brambles instantly ceased their growth and the woman crumpled to the luscious grass gasping and wheezing, Isaac’s sword lodged firmly in her left breast.

  She reached up towards him with a shaking hand and he caught it, thinking she was attempting to attack him with her last breath.

  Instead she wheezed and coughed up a mouthful of blood, staining her chin red. She looked up at him and Isaac clearly heard her whisper, although he doubted anyone else could have. “You don't… know what… you’ve done.” The witch coughed once more and then slumped back against the grass, growing still.

  Isaac wondered what she meant.

  Tormell walked up to stand beside Dex as he cut himself free of the last of the thick vines and smiled down at the dying witch. “Excellent work, Master Dex, excellent. Your service has been worth every last silver spear. Your work here is done.” He reached up and removed his chain from around his neck, dropping it onto the witch’s motionless body.

  Dex opened his mouth to reply but was cut off as a great purple and grey crack split the air beside one of the now silent cherry trees. The crack twisted and seemed to rotate in the air, forming a hole in the very fabric of reality. It settled, and through it Isaac could see inky blackness, split by occasional bursts of flame in the endless distance. A great howling emanated from the hole, the doorway, and the remaining members of the group turned to watch, slackmouthed at what they were seeing.

  A tall robed figure stepped through the doorway, and it closed behind him. He wore a beguiling grin on his handsome face but there was a glint in his eye that Isaac immediately disliked.

  The man looked about the clearing, taking in the destruction and death around him, grin still firmly in place. He waved a lazy hand in the direction of Talent and Saef, and they were suddenly engulfed in a roiling ball of flame.

  The pair of hardened warriors ran about screaming, setting the trees aflame before collapsing to the grass, burned to the bone, flames flickering hungrily over their bodies.

  Isaac cried out and looked back to Chell, about to tell him to get Chae away from here but there was something wrong with him as well. He had turned a pale shade of blue, the same colour the lake in Junhill Ride turned deep in the heart of winter. Tendrils of fog twisted and swirled from his skin. Chae stood behind him, similarly frozen in place, her beautiful angular face a mask of agony. Chell toppled over, hitting the upthrust of rock his arrow had struck earlier and he shattered into a thousand tiny pieces.

  Isaac started to shout, and Dex joined him, but only for a brief moment. The leader of the warband stopped mid shout and his eyes bulged. He clawed at his throat, tearing ragged strips from his own skin as his face turned blue, then purple, then black. He fell beside the witch, dead, his crumpled form a morbid parody of her own.

  Isaac couldn't believe what he was seeing. It had taken all of the witch’s efforts to fell just two of their number, and yet this strange man had killed five in mere moments. The steel links seemed to have no effect on his magic at all. Worse, the man had killed Chae. She stood there blue as ice, fog streaming from her body, face twisted with pain and Isaac knew she was dead. He’d never had a chance to tell her what she meant to him.

  With a pained shout, Isaac reached out, ignoring the thorns digging into his body, drew his bloody sword free of the witch’s corpse, and hacked at the thorny brambles that ensnared his legs and waist. He’d only managed a single blow when the sword was wrenched from his grasp, clattering against one of the granite spars that had burst from the ground during the witch’s final moments.

  The strange man approached. “I think I like you where you are, friend.” His tone suggested he’d never truly understood the meaning of the word. He waved a hand lazily, and the thick brambles encasing Isaac’s waist changed somehow. They took on a glossy sheen and new colours, shifting from an almost black green to a stripy yellow, white and red that reminded Isaac of a stone he’d found as a boy while exploring the sandstone cliffs to the southwest of Junhill Ride.

  The tall man smiled. “Yes, much better. We wouldn’t want a mighty witch slayer hunting us down, now would we?”

  The stranger turned to Tormell who was surveying the wanton destruction around him without much expression. “Ahh, my faithful apprentice! You have saved me from an eternity of torment and tribulation. I am free at last of that hateful witch’s prison. You shall have a gift of me. No! Don't answer now. Think on it hard. After all, we have all the time in the world.”

  Apprentice? Had everything Tormell told them been a lie? What about his brother? Isaac didn’t understand.

  The pair turned and walked out through the bodies littering in the clearing, past the frozen statue that had been Chae, out towards freedom, leaving Isaac behind shouting, screaming for them to come back, to set him free, his voice growing hoarse as fat snowflakes began to blow across the verdant green grass and settle on the delicate blossoms of the burning cherry trees.

  Ravenspire Nights

  Vince Carpini

  The ocean launched a nighttime attack on the sleeping city of Seameet, hurling a squall at the metropolis carved from the rocky coast over hundreds of years. Sheets of rain lashed the rooftops and frothing waves hammered the shoreline, claiming a grain of sand here and a sliver of dust there. Year by year, decade by decade, the water was patiently drawing Seameet into its embrace. One day, the city would be swallowed by the hungry sea.

  A seagull hurtled landward on the angry wind, a fish in its slender beak. The gale carried the bird over the docks at Eastborne, past the taverns and brothels of Newsham, then straight up the cliffs to the walled gardens and towers of Bexley.

  There was no warning before the owl struck, just a swirl of dappled brown, a twitch of talons, and the gull’s final cry lost in the storm. The fish joined a billion raindrops tumbling toward the city below. A single grey and white feather, streaked with blood, twisted in the wind before being pressed flat against a high window of the many-turreted Ravenspire Academy, home of the Seventh Circle of the Order of Magi.

  Inside, a man in dark clothes crept along a darkened corridor.

  ***

  Roran pressed his back against the wall and pulled an arrow-shaped stone from his bulging satchel. He chewed his lip and squinted his watchful grey eyes at the stone as it twitched spasmodically in his hand. He held it one way, then another, scratching his head through the knit cap that covered his unruly mop of thick dar
k hair. He’d considered trimming his locks, but the thought of devastated coeds stayed his hand.

  It was no use. The guidestone once led Zenyu the Recondite through the Maze of Shadow unharmed—but he had been a Mage of the Third Circle. The wizard’s gift of magic could impel artefacts to function on command. Without the gift, an artefact responded only when its particular appetite was sated by specific circumstances or emotions. Roran knew that with no magic to prod it, the guidestone would only respond when its bearer was in peril.

  He sighed. He’d spent weeks casing Ravenspire’s laboratories and display halls, mentally cataloguing the innumerable elixirs, reagents, and artefacts, and developing a carefully curated list of loot which met his stringent value to weight requirements.

  Pilfering everything had been easy; wizards’ power made them arrogant; they seldom locked things away. He’d already arranged to unload the loot with Pickles, his warty fence in Newsham. Roran had trusted the guidestone to lead him to an escape route that was rumoured to be hidden in one of the lavatories, assuming it would interpret his wish to escape as peril—but he’d been wrong. Filling his satchel had barely taken an hour—he’d wandered the halls for nearly that long again, looking for his exit.

  “Black goat’s balls,” he cursed, getting resolutely to his feet and stuffing the uncooperative artefact into his pocket. As he approached a junction in the corridor, he heard an indistinct scuffing of feet, ducked behind a centuries-old tapestry and peeked out to check his surroundings.

  There was nothing of note in front or to his right, but he did a double-take when he glanced to the left. An ancient suit of authentically damaged armour stepped off its pedestal, squeakily crossed the hallway and began making lewd gestures at a serenely smiling statue of Yurika, the Goddess of Timely Recollections. Roran blinked and shook his head, and the statue was suddenly back in its place, quite inert.