by Lana Nielsen
Elspeth was inexplicably strong. Her hair was like a younger woman’s, only white. And her teeth and nails…
“You know a lot about witches and what they are like,” Arithel remarked.
Fallon’s eyes flashed towards her. The candlelight illuminated his hooded gaze—his pupils were eerily large.
“I hear stories from the entire world over, Arithel. Morden has taught me much. It’s not difficult to accurately assess a situation with that in mind. After all, you had obviously figured out that Elspeth was using illusions to deceive you,” he said. “There’s no need to be accusatory.”
Arithel laughed. “What would I even be accusing you of?”
Fallon was silent. He glanced at Darren and looked at the other side of the room. He squinted.
“There’s a girl over there. I can’t believe we didn’t notice,” he remarked.
“I noticed the corpse. I’m not sure much good will come of poking around it, though. No need to immerse ourselves in further un-pleasantries.”
Fallon ignored her and walked over to the girl. He held his light over her body. It was actually not a young girl, but rather a grown, albeit diminutive, woman. Her hair fell over her shoulders like a waterfall of copper. Fallon cautiously turned the woman over, revealing a beautiful face with full lips, arched brows, and a dainty speck of a nose. The woman was dressed questionably for the weather. A black leather corset was drawn tight over a red dress with short, capped sleeves. Full breasts sat like half-covered globes above a square neckline. Arithel immediately felt an odd sensation of jealousy.
Fallon felt for the woman’s pulse.
“No point,” Arithel said. “No doubt she’s been down here quite a while.”
“She’s still alive—barely.”
“Oh,” Arithel said softly. She remembered what Elspeth had said earlier, that she was an immoral bitch. Arithel didn’t want to be like that. She didn’t want to be responsible for this red-haired woman, but she would be proving Elspeth right if she didn’t attempt to rescue her.
“I suppose we’ll have to drag her out along with Darren. I can get her; she doesn’t look too heavy.”
Fallon shook his head. “She’s too far gone. A pity,” he said as his gaze swept over the length of the woman’s curvaceous body.
Arithel noticed and was deeply irritated on a base level.
“We can at least give her a chance, leave her out in the forest in case she recovers,” Arithel said.
“I suppose that is only fair,” Fallon said. He heaved Darren across his shoulders. He grunted under the weight, which was no surprise considering Darren’s broad, muscular frame. Fallon slowly eased up the stairs. Arithel could tell he was trying to make the task appear more effortless than it was; his legs quaked with each step. She glanced down at the woman and lifted her up like one might carry a child. She had expected more of a strain on her arms.
“Of course, you would be light as a feather. I’m sure the boys loved picking you up,” Arithel mumbled to the unconscious woman with inappropriate bitterness.
Arithel and Fallon carried the bodies outside. Elspeth said nothing as they passed. Arithel laid the woman on the ground beside the porch stoop.
Fallon shifted Darren’s weight. “Let’s take them to the edge of the yard. I’m not done with Elspeth yet.”
Arithel lifted her brows. “What do you mean?”
“You’ll see,” he said simply as he laid Darren on the ground beside a tree. Arithel dropped the woman next to Darren. She pushed the woman’s head back so that it wouldn’t be squished against her shoulder.
Fallon retrieved their belongings from the house and Madroste from the stable. Arithel held onto the horse’s reins as Fallon packed everything onto the saddle.
“Sorry you didn’t get enough rest, old girl,” he whispered to the horse.
Arithel wondered why he would bother talking to the animal at all. She was still not accustomed to horsemanship.
Fallon searched through his pack and recovered the purse that contained the flame accelerants he had purchased in Lindelwood. He brought out his artifact, removing its protective silken shroud.
Arithel decided she’d call it a hand-cannon.
“Watch them,” he told Arithel as he fitted his hand around the device’s grip.
“Er, all right.” Arithel said. “You know, you could just kill Elspeth. No need to waste your supplies or attract attention by burning the house down.”
Fallon knitted his brow. “You of all people should understand that it needs to be done. The evil here must be stamped out. This place is remote enough that no one will notice the smoke.”
“You might need the powders for some other situation later on—I’m just saying. Be careful. Don’t burn your fingertips off because you’ve never used that stuff before,” Arithel said as she stared at Darren’s seemingly lifeless feet.
Fallon smiled a bit. “I will be.”
He went to work, pouring silty grey powder in an erratic line across the porch. He went inside the house, away from sight. The wind carried the sharp smell of the accelerant towards Arithel.
She heard Elspeth scream some incoherent string of words. Moments later, Fallon walked out the front door with a candle in his hand. He casually dipped the fiery wick into the powder. Part of the porch was immediately engulfed in a low flame. Fallon ran off the porch and into the yard as the entire trail of powder of caught fire, curling its way inside towards Elspeth, who was still bound to her chair. The blaze grew taller with each second. The powder crackled and sparked as some of the flames began to take on an otherworldly, greenish cast. The wooden planks of the porch crashed and bowed as the inferno intensified. A thick cloud of smoke drifted towards Arithel. She coughed, covering her mouth with the edge of her cloak, and backed up.
Beams of the roof crackled as they caught alight. Fallon watched it all with a contented expression. He fired the hand-cannon towards an arc of particularly robust flames. For a glorious minute, the entire blaze was illuminated with an electric blue wreath. After the brilliant color faded, the inferno rapidly consumed the interior of Wearywindle. Elspeth sang a scratchy, high pitched ballad as she burned. Eventually that defiance subsided. All Arithel heard were muffled pleas for forgiveness from Agron.
Fallon returned to Arithel and repacked the powders along with the hand-cannon. She was mesmerized by the sight and sounds of the fire even as Fallon lost interest. The light from the blaze made the sky look as though it was already early dawn.
Chapter Thirteen
Glorun stalked the corridors of the palace. It was well past midnight—she was not sure where she was going or what she was doing. She had stirred from her sleep, awakened by a cold draft blowing down the chimneys and smothering the light of her hearth. It had stormed for three days and was so cold and snowy that the dungeons had been opened for the townsfolk and their livestock.
The gods had their eyes on Staska. She knew it was Wulfdane’s fault. He had already forgotten his child and let Malina waste away in her misery. He sent no aid to Paden’s warriors, besieged by the Empire in both Kaldemar and the lands near the Shadow Mountains. Instead he frittered away his time, wandering about the ruins while planning a great hunt in the far north—‘the greatest autumn hunt in Dusaldr history’—or so he called it. He planned to take his fiercest hounds and his finest warriors. He boasted that he would come back with one hundred reindeer and fifteen white bears. He would venture beyond the curve of the earth, to the treeless ice flows of the wastelands. Any leftover meat, he had announced, would be given away to the poor.
Most of the court thought his quest an expensive waste of manpower. They mocked it behind his back. Glorun agreed with them, but their words still infuriated her.
She crossed the catwalk between the Great Hall and the King’s Tower. She braced herself against the gales, which were so strong they probably could have lifted a child right off the platform. She glanced down at the city streets, many hundreds of feet below. They we
re empty and all the shops were boarded up. For a moment, she found herself wishing that Staska would stay like this, forever. She liked the cold and the quiet.
When Glorun entered the tower, she saw a figure moving through the shadows. She heard a door close and quickly extinguished the light of her lantern. She followed the sound to its source.
When she arrived at the queen’s bedchamber, she heard low voices. This was intriguing; Malina had not spoken in weeks. Glorun peered through the keyhole.
Malina was talking with someone as she knelt before an idol of Rionna, goddess of fertility. Dozens, maybe hundreds of candles illuminated the room. Malina was clad in some of her finest clothes. A circlet was set about her brow and sapphires were in her ears and on her fingers. A mink cape fell about her shoulders. Her gown was of the brightest white, set with swirling gold brocade. Glorun wondered why she was dressed like she was going to make a pronouncement to all Staska.
Glorun pressed her ear to the door. She recognized the other voice—Morden. Her heartbeat quickened. What business did he have in the Queen’s room?
Glorun listened to their conversation.
“I beg of you, lay with me. You are a wise man, you are favored by the gods, you will sire great sons for Paden.”
“We both have sworn oaths of loyalty to the crown. It matters not what our hearts desire. When I moved here, I decided to take on your ways. I am done breaking pledges,” he said.
“Please, Morden. Just this once. Wulfdane will never know the difference. He’ll just be happy to have a living son. There is no other way…”
“My answer is the same as always. If you are bound and determined, seek out someone else for your scheme. I will not say anything.”
Malina sobbed. Morden was seated on her bed. She threw herself at his feet.
“You don’t understand. His seed is cursed. He will discard me just as his father discarded his first queen.”
Morden leaned down to stroke Malina’s hair. He took the circlet off her head.
“You look radiant in all your finery. Go tomorrow and walk among your people. They love their queen when they get to see her. They know you have a calming presence on the crown.”
“That is fair counsel.” Malina lifted her head. “I need a good night’s rest, though. I tire of hearing Nielof whisper in my ear,” she said, referring to the god of death.
“Of course,” Morden answered, producing a vial and needle from his bag. Malina gave him her hand. He flipped it over so the crook of her elbow was facing him. She closed her eyes and he injected his medicine into her veins. She immediately sighed and collapsed onto her bed.
Glorun had seen him do the same thing for her brother after particularly bad fits of rage.
Malina was as still as death, but Morden easily manipulated her body into a more comfortable sleeping position.
Glorun decided she best go now. What she had seen made her mind race. It appeared there was finally a way to get rid of the shrew queen and the doctor too. They would finally pay for the lies and malice that led to the expulsion of Meldane.
Just as Glorun started down the hall, the queen’s door flew open. Morden stormed out.
“Where do you think you’re going, Princess?” he called. Before she knew it, his hand was on her shoulder.
“I go where I please.”
“I’ve told you to stop eavesdropping. You’re not a child anymore. You’re going to get in trouble for it one day.”
“You’re the one who should be worried about trouble, not I,” Glorun warned.
Morden let go of her. “What did you hear?”
“That you and Malina intend to betray my brother.”
“You heard no such thing from me and you know it.”
“We’ll see what Wulfdane believes. The queen would not be dressing up and throwing herself at you if you weren’t in her bedchambers to begin with.”
“I’m a doctor…” Morden started, then seeing Glorun’s satisfied smirk, he changed his approach. “Tell your brother what you will. I wouldn’t want to be the bearer of bad news right before the hunt, especially if I were you, a well-established nuisance to begin with.”
Glorun was stung by his words. She stomped her foot without thinking. “My brother loves me.”
Morden threw his hands in the air. “Do what you will. Just know that Wulfdane is in a happy mood right now.”
Glorun huffed, knowing he was right. There was no telling how Wulfdane would react; her brother was sensitive at best, volatile at worst.
“When I am Queen, I will send you back south,” Glorun declared as she walked off.
Morden only laughed.
Glorun was furious and attempted to will herself into one of her fits. She wanted the doors to fly open, the wind to whirl, the ice and thunder to burst in from outside while the mirrors in the hall shattered into a thousand shards, piercing Morden’s arrogant face. Perhaps, when he was bleeding out on the ground, her brother’s long-lost wits would find their way home.
Chapter Fourteen
Darren roused from his stupor a few minutes after dawn. His muscles had been twitching as he slept, which Arithel took as a good sign. She was in a kind of trance; Darren’s sudden yawn startled her. She had been too bewildered by the events of the night to sleep.
She crawled over to his side and gently tapped on his forehead. His eyelids fluttered open as he lazily jostled his right leg.
“Darren?” Arithel got close to his face.
He yawned again.
“Aye… it’s me,” he murmured.
Arithel sighed with relief and helped him sit upright.
“Are you feeling better?” she asked. “Do you remember what happened?”
Darren crinkled his eyes and pressed his hands to his brow. “Oh, sure I remember—up to a point.”
“Tell me,” she urged.
“My throat is a bit parched,” Darren croaked and extended his hands out for water. Arithel retrieved her canteen. He attempted to squeeze the pouch but only succeeded in spilling water on his chin.
“Er… I’m still a bit weak. Would you mind helping me?” Darren asked. Arithel nodded mechanically.
She held the flask to his mouth as he parted his lips. A white film covered them and his breath smelled foul. Arithel squeezed the canteen and a steady stream of liquid flowed into his mouth. After a few seconds it went down the wrong pipe. He coughed.
“Sorry,” she said, setting the flask by her side.
“It’s fine,” Darren answered, still wheezing. “Thank you, Arithel. Very much. I was so thirsty.” He smiled at her. He threw himself upon her and hugged her heartily. The tight embrace surprised Arithel so much it nearly knocked the wind out of her. Normally Arithel couldn’t keep a straight face around the farm lad but this was different—there was something incredibly sincere and winning about his demeanor.
“Well.” Arithel laughed nervously as she broke free of his hold. She noticed a shadow overhead—it was Fallon, glaring down at them.
“It’s lovely that we are all reunited now. We have all survived quite the trial. We can now re-commit ourselves to the successful completion of our journey, yes?”
Arithel and Darren both edged away from one another. “Aye,” she said.
“Who is she?” Darren blurted. His shaking finger pointed towards the red-haired woman.
“We don’t know,” replied Fallon.
“You don’t remember her from the cellar? She wasn’t far from where we found you,” Arithel said.
“Oh,” Darren answered in a dumbfounded tone. “Of course. That was one of the last things I recall, seeing her in the corner. I thought she was dead.”
“What else do you remember? You were supposed to tell me—I mean us,” Arithel corrected herself.
“Too much,” Darren sighed. “Elspeth somehow transformed herself into a young woman for a while. She—she kissed me.” He grimaced.
Fallon smirked. As dreadful as it must have been for Darren, Arithel also cou
ld not help but to find the mental image somewhat comical.
“She told me a lot of things too. I’ll have to pick my brain for the next couple of hours. I know she was a witch, that’s for sure. Just like my mum.”
“Aye, she was a witch all right. She used her illusions on me too. Don’t feel ashamed of having been overcome by her,” Arithel said.
Darren partially buried his face in his hands. “My sins were my ruin…”
“Completely unnecessary information. Get to the point,” Fallon quipped.
“Oh, relax and let him tell his story,” Arithel said.
“She made me drink her wine, but that isn’t what poisoned me—I don’t think. She kept scratching me with her nails.” He gestured towards the cuts on his face. “It was all so bizarre. She put my blood into the cup and drank it. The main thing she kept saying was that she needed my blood for something, that it was the perfect kind of blood, she could smell it from afar. . .”
“Go on!” Arithel said.
“My limbs went stiff and I was dragged to that awful basement. That’s all I recall.” Darren shook his head.
“I have got quite the tale for you, then. I’ll tell you what she did to me. It might help you remember more,” Arithel suggested.
“Not right now, Ari. We all need to get moving again,” Fallon said.
She nodded with a heavy sigh. They all prepared for travel.
“What about the woman? The two of you don’t just plan to leave her out in the cold, do you?” Darren asked.
“Uhh… well…” muttered Arithel.
“Darren, we can’t afford to take her with us. We only removed her from the cellar to give her a chance at survival. We’ve done all we can,” Fallon said.
“No, you haven’t. You’ve done nothing! She could have relatives looking for her. We could take her to a temple, get her a doctor. They will understand if we simply tell them what happened,” Darren ranted, an incredulous look in his eyes.
“No one would believe us. More than likely we’d find ourselves implicated for harming her,” Arithel pointed out.