The Witch (Dragon Eyes Book 1)

by Kristina Hlaváčková

  “You are a bad liar, son! Do not insult my intelligence with unnecessary pretense.” It was true that his son’s endeavor was rather entertaining, but the king’s look was ice cold. He watched a servant lay a full goblet before him on the table, bow, and leave quickly. That was strange. Established practice was to pour drinks from the same bottle to the king, his son and the taster. Because the king was convinced most poisons had a tendency to settle down quickly, the taster was served last and tasted the drink quite some time before the king even touched his goblet in case the toxic effect was slow. The taster automatically moved from his post, but the king stopped him with a vivid gesture. In surprise, the man halted.

  “Prove your words with action, then, and taste from my goblet,” the king said icily, convinced his son would try to weasel out of the task. Nitram, however, gave him a stoic look and stood up to walk around the table.

  “We had to find a new cook, Father. You lured the old one into one of the secret rooms, where he died of hunger. Uninformed about our customs, the new cook has prepared a tonic for you. I had it tasted by my own personal taster before the drink was brought to you,” Nitram said, before taking a long drink from father’s goblet.

  The king watched him suspiciously. Could his unfledged son have anticipated this situation and used an antidote? He gestured to his taster, who drank obediently, smacked his lips as tribute to the delicious taste, and returned to his place. As it seemed, the drink did him no harm, but the old man refuse to take any risks. He began to eat, leaving the goblet unnoticed for the time being, waiting to see whether anything would happen to the taster or his son. Nitram smiled and began a lively conversation with his father.

  The king finished eating and looked at his taster, who stood in his place looking rather bored. Seeing that, the king lifted the vial, sniffed the drink inside, and looked at his son, who paid no attention to him. Admittedly, the liquid smelled interesting and very tempting. He tasted it. And found it to be delicious. So he drained it. Nitram smiled to himself.

  Standing up from the table, the king took a few well practiced shuffling steps. And collapsed, dead. There was a surprised look on his face as he hit the floor. Finally, his son had managed to get the better of him.

  Not moving a hair, Nitram sat motionless for a moment, watching his father’s body, as servants gathered around it. Then he looked at the king’s taster, who was suddenly very pale.

  “From now on you will serve me,” Nitram told him.

  ◆◆◆

  Mountains were changing in front of Breta’s eyes. And she didn’t like it. Meadows, where she used to collect herbs, were often trampled by marching soldiers. More and more valleys emanated smoke. Orgs and other monsters previously unheard of appeared in the country, destroying everything in their way. Their footprints covered those of game, which retired deeper and deeper into the mountains. No more could she carelessly go wherever she wanted, no more could she wonder the slopes without seeing anyone. Forests were being chopped down. Soldiers destroyed whatever they came upon, took what they wanted. And then there were the Black Saurians. Breta had not seen them in years. Now they were back, drawn by the power of the Citadel. Even now a dark shadow flited in the sky above her. Rumor had it the old king was dead, but nobody really knew whether or not it were true. No one had seen the old eccentric for years, but things had changed now and weird things were happening around the Citadel.

  Visiting the city market, she stood by her cart momentarily used to display herbs, tees, spices and medicines. Her cloak cape was pulled deep over her face. From under its shadow she watched the marketplace. Most of all, she watched people, though there weren’t many here. The marketplace was unnaturally empty and dark, the place wasn’t bustling like it should be. Only a few lonely stalls were in the area near to the Citadel walls. Though their occupants did shout to call attention to their goods, they didn’t seem to put their heart into it. All the buyers were moving fast, huddled into their coats, their eyes downcast, and their transactions abrupt and curt. Nobody took the time to socialize, no one tried to find out news or communicate them. Doing everything to hasten their errands, they returned to the relative safety of their homes. People were scared! People tried not to attract any kind of attention to themselves. And there were far too many soldiers patrolling the city.

  No one seemed to even notice Breta. She was one of only few women at the marketplace, the only one to be standing at a stall, selling goods, the rest of the sellers being men. Even the stand selling fabrics was attended by a guy, who evidently didn’t know the ropes. He was just as nervous and jumpy as everyone else. Breta never had to shout out about her merchandise. All she had to do was appear, and women would find their way to her. Nelson used to say it was like magic and she repeatedly warned him not to say it out loud because it might get her into a lot of trouble.

  The woman who stopped by Breta’s stall was accompanied by her obviously disapproving husband. None of the women present were alone, not even the maids moved around without male protectors, which led to Breta attracting more attention than usual. Her customer looked at her husband and then turned pleading eyes to Breta, who gave her a light smile and reached under her counter to pull out an inconspicuous sachet. A second look at the woman made Breta think for a moment, after which she handed over another two little pouches of herbs.

  “Make a brew of one spoon in a big mug of water and drink it hot every evening before sleep. If it makes you qualm, add a pinch from the dark pouch,” Breta instructed.

  “And the white one?” her customer asked quietly.

  “That’s spice,” Breta answered, gave a faint smile and beckoned to the woman’s husband, who gave her a reproachful look. His wife blushed, smiled, paid quickly and rushed off.

  Breta had a talent. She could always tell her customers’ problems and most times she was able to help. Which was probably exactly why people suspected her of being a witch. Suddenly, the woman had halted, said something to her husband and returned to the stall. Reaching for the closest spice bag, she whispered: “Thank you. You should leave. It’s dangerous here. Definitely don’t stay after dark.”

  “Linda!” her husband hollered.

  “Thanks again,” whispered the chubby, little Linda and waddled off quickly. Breta frowned and looked towards the Citadel walls. Linda was right. It was dangerous here and she had seen enough. Breta began to pack quickly.

  Suddenly he was standing there. So suddenly, it caught Breta by surprise freaking her out. Nobody had ever managed to sneak up on her before! He appeared by her stall with his cape pulled low across his face, hiding it in an unnaturally deep shadow. She lifted her head to look at him and noticed people were running away, some even leaving their goods behind. The whole market was almost instantly empty. Breta’s heart was in her throat, her mouth went dry. She tried to penetrate the shadow cast over his face, but could not. With his hands behind his back, he was contemplating the content of her cart. He radiated power. Unnatural, deadly power. The air around him seemed to … sputter with invisible charge. She felt the hair on the scruff of her neck stand up.

  When he moved, he gave the impression there were no joints, nor bones, in his body. A hand covered by too long a sleeve began to rummage through the unmarked pouches. Breta glimpsed fingers. They were long, thin, bony and black, covered by oily, tight skin. His nails were unnaturally long, looking more like claws. Almost as if hypnotized and unable to move, she watched that hand. It took her a moment to realize something was happening. Someone, or something, was trying to force their way into her mind. She looked up from the bony hand and found two, piercing cold eyes watching her from under the cape shadow. They were dark, snakelike, eyes. So dark, they were almost black. There were no whites in them! Breta swallowed hard. She had to get away! And fast!

  “Interesting merchandise,” hissed the man. She hoped it was a man and shuddered.

  “Are you looking for something specific?” she asked and her voice sounded strangely dry and choke
d.

  “You are very beautiful.” He eyed her hungrily. Despite her gripping fear, she managed to pull herself together. Whatever it was he was looking for, it was not on her cart. She had to get away! Which was exactly what she had been working on before he appeared; her things were partially packed. Now that she had slightly managed to come to, she resumed packing. A knife she carried in her sleeve was in place, she checked. Her merchandise and the cart were replaceable, she could leave them here and run. Staring reproachfully at him, she refused to answer. Usually, this look of hers sufficed to force people to retreat. However, her current visitor simply returned her gaze. It was unnerving that she couldn’t see through the shadow of his cape, not even from this close. How could she read a face she could not see?

  “Thank you, but I see you haven’t found what you are looking for. If you will excuse me, my husband is waiting for me,” Breta said icily.

  “Your perfume is quite interesting.”

  “Your lady might appreciate meadow flower soap or a perfume,” she tried to escape her fear through what she knew best.

  “Do you know who I am?” His voice had an apparent mocking tone. It was quite obvious that he was enjoying her uncertainty. Although she had no idea, who he was, Breta was certain she knew what he was. He was extremely dangerous. While talking, she quickly packed her most valued goods into a sack, then pulled from under the counter a few cloth wrapped vials. She gave him the first one to sniff.

  “That is not the one. I am interested in your own essence. You haven’t answered my question,” hissed the cape. Breta straightened her back and looked directly into those cold eyes of his. She took a deep breath and held it. Reaching for a small, inconspicuous flacon, she bent over the counter and smiled, handing him the vial. He pulled the stopper out and sniffed. And froze.

  Breta acted fast, grabbing the prepared bag and marching across the square as fast as she could without actually running. She tried not to think about what was going on behind her.

  A stupefying odor entered the stranger’s nostrils. The effect of the potion was almost instantaneous, paralyzing him. As he stumbled, the vial dropped out of his hand. Breta heard it smash on the cobblestones, spilling all its content. The smell hit the man full in the face.

  Breta reached the mouth of a dark street and looked over her shoulder. A caped figure was standing shakily, leaning on her cart. His head hung low, but he was still standing! Why wasn’t he collapsed on the ground, stunned, unable to move, unconscious or even dead? Gripped by fear, she ran.

  Stringy, black hands with long claws that were leaning onto the counter clenched into fists, their claws leaving deep gashes in the wood. Straightening, the caped figure laughed. It sounded like a rattling chain.

  “Interesting. Very interesting. We shall meet yet again, bitch.”

  After sunset, streets were dark and deserted. Apart from the Citadel and the main square, there were almost no lights in the city, only an occasional torch or lantern above a door. After dark, the city seemed to have died. Everyone hurried home so night wouldn’t catch them outside. Because most windows were shuttered and doors safely locked, most houses appeared abandoned. Neither laughter nor singing sounded from the pubs. Even they were empty.

  At night, strange wiry, black reptiles with almost see-through oily skin appeared above the Citadel, spitting fire. Though none had ever landed in the city, people were afraid of them. One of them was circling above the Citadel right that moment. Nelson and Breta watched him from their make-do camp in the mountains.

  “We shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have left you alone,” Nelson fussed and she caressed his cheek gently.

  “Everything is OK,” she tried to put him to ease, unsuccessfully. Originally, she’d intended not to tell him about her strange customer, but was unable to hide her fear and had to explain how she lost her cart and most of her merchandise.

  “The soldiers have happened! Rumor has it the Citadel has a new ruler. And people are disappearing, mostly women, beautiful women, and children too. Some have been led away by the soldiers even in broad daylight. People are dying,” he continued. Breta nodded. The city was giving her the creeps. Neither was she able to get the hooded stranger off her mind; he scared her to death. Wind brought a foul, cadaverous stench to her nostrils. It came from the city below them. Nelson could not decide whether it was more dangerous to stay the night in the mountains, or if the city would have been worse. They had tried to find lodgings, but nobody would take them in and Breta felt it safer not to stay close to the Citadel. Fear was spreading fast. People mistrusted even their neighbors they had known for ages, let alone strangers.

  ◆◆◆

  Breta had never told him what exactly happened in the market. Though he suspected she was keeping something to herself, Nelson didn’t insist. Breta however, was troubled and restless, afraid. And that was so unlike her. It made him uneasy. More so, he was sure someone had followed them on their way home. Being a hunter, Nelson used all his skills, did everything he could think of to shake their shadows off. But had he been successful? The doubt haunted him as much as Breta’s badly hidden fear.

  More and more soldiers were crisscrossing the country. They came to the village more often still and with them came fear. Most of all, his wife had stopped walking through her beloved mountains. Breta spent most of her time in the village, and even inside the house with her father-in-law, though there was no love lost between them. Breta was getting paler by the day, and growing worry showed in her eyes. Only when looking at him, her expression changed, softened. At him, she always smiled. For him, she was always there, helping him whenever and with whatever she could. It didn’t really surprise Nelson when she first came to help him portion his quarry. Under her hands, the house changed into a clean, welcoming place, into a home. Even so, there were times when he regretted bringing her here, taking her away from her home. As if she were wasting away without her mountains.

  She felt his gaze and lifted her head. And smiled at him. Nelson pulled her towards himself lovingly and Breta kissed him gently on the cheek.

  “You’re pale,” Nelson fussed. His wife answered him with a smile, with a strange look in her eyes.

  “There’s no need to worry,” she stated.

  “You’re not feeling well, lately,” he was not about to be calmed easily and Breta was glad he paid attention.

  “That sometimes happens to women in my condition.” Again, she smiled at him. It was very interesting to watch Nelson’s expression change from confused through thoughtful to understanding, astonishment and finally, glee. Lifting her happily in the air, he twirled.

  “How long have you known?” At last he found his speech, as he gently stood her back on the ground. Happiness was written all over his face, he beamed at her. There was no need to tell her he was happy.

  “A few weeks.”

  “You must be careful.”

  “Yes. And that is what I wanted to talk to you about. No offence, but we should be thinking about our own house. No, wait. I don’t want you to leave the village. We would just live alone. It would be better for the little one. At least we would stop getting under your father’s feet.” She paused. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so direct, but she was afraid for the baby. There was no way she would be willing to stake her child’s wellbeing.

  Verendt hatefully watched his daughter-in-law setting the table. By now, she was used to his malevolent behavior, but things had gotten worse when he found out they were to move away to their own cottage. She loved Nelson, and was happy to carry his child under her heart, but at times like this she regretted not convincing him to stay in the mountains with her. As she was thinking that, Nelson walked in from the courtyard.

  “What’re you doing here?!” Verendt spat at him.

  “I still live here, don’t I?” Nelson retorted irritably. He was getting sick of his father’s invectives.

  “Wait!” Breta’s voice sounded into the tense silence. She was watching Verendt. �
��What have you done?” she asked him directly. The butcher’s restlessness was obvious, he was fidgeting, and kept averting his eyes to the front door.

  “What?” That was Nelson.

  “What have you done?!” Breta barked again. Then she looked at the door. It wasn’t latched. She stepped forward to lock it, but was too late. The door slammed open, soldiers piled in. Breta froze.

  “What do you want? You have no right to be here!” Nelson warned them, reacting quickly, standing in front of his wife to protect her as the soldiers spread throughout the room around them.

  “She will come with us,” announced the patrol captain.

  “No!” Nelson returned resolutely, his hands clenched in fists.

  “Step aside, Nelson. If you let them take her, they’ll leave us alone,” Verendt prompted.

  “You betrayed us!” his son barked at him. Meanwhile, Breta watched the soldiers. The argument was giving them time to spread evenly about the room. Nelson was unarmed. She took his hand gently.

  Nelson turned to his wife, who was looking pale with her eyes wide open with horror, but she seemed resolute. He kissed her trembling lips, caressed her cheek lightly and whispered: “Run!” Then he span around and flung himself against the soldiers. Breta screamed, wanting to come to his aid. Nelson fought like a tiger, but his hands were bare and his adversaries were armed with swords. He yelled at her to run. She didn’t want to, but she tried. Her father-in-law knocked her down. Instead of helping his son, he grabbed for her and knocked her down.

  Nelson took down three men, before they managed to strike him to the ground. Breta strained to get up to help him, but her father-in-law hit her again. She saw her beloved husband fall to the floor, hurt and bloody, as the soldiers stabbed and slashed at him. His last look belonged to her. In his eyes were his love and the knowledge that he had failed to protect her. Breta struggled, as several hands reached for her. Though she scratched and kicked, she was groggy from being punched. Someone hit her again, in the face. She fainted, collapsing to the ground.