Witch Bane (18 page)

Alongside Jonas was another man, similar in
stature, though what Jonas carried in muscle, the second carried in
fat. Sebastian could see the slick sheen of sweat at the man’s
broad forehead, a large sack hanging over his shoulder. Sebastian
could see the ends of leathered greaves protruding from the bag,
the crimson coloring a clear indication of what lay inside: Red
Guard armor. The realization hit home, an angry flutter alighting
in his stomach. Deliton hadn’t been the first time they’d donned
the disguise of the enemy.

“
You should have just left it at the
village, like I told you, fool. The witch isn’t going to reward you
for lugging a few suits of battered leather back to the cache. It
isn’t worth a damn copper in the shape it’s in.”

The fat man started walking. “Who’s to say
she won’t?”

“
I am,” Jonas growled at his back,
rushing to catch up. “Didn’t you hear me? You’re wasting your
time.”

“
Mine to waste,” the fat man replied,
saying nothing else.

Jonas shook his head and followed along
behind, stomping his feet. After a moment, they had slipped out of
sight, but the noise of their passage still sounded clear. With no
idea where his father was, or even where the resistance had set up
camp, Sebastian presumed one of the two would know. Since the man
still lived, the quicksilver from the wounds Sebastian had given
him not killing Jonas, it made sense he would have to know where
the camp was in order to have been healed. Even if he didn’t know,
he owed the old warrior a beating, at the very least, for what he’d
tried back in Deliton.

Sebastian checked his wound, noticing it had
stopped bleeding, and then started off after them. Still hurt and
moving slow, he was grateful the fat man traveled with Jonas. The
old man was stealthy, able to move quietly despite his bulk, but
there could be no covering the sounds the other man made. He crept
like a boulder tumbling down the side of a mountain, twigs snapping
at his every step, leaves crushed and rustling in his wake.
Sebastian had no fear of losing them as he trailed behind, or that
his own passage would be noted. He only worried, as did Jonas,
apparently, that his companion’s elephantine stomp would alert the
Red Guard and bring them running. Fortunately, either none heard or
they believed him a wild animal, too large to risk
investigating.

After what seemed to Sebastian like several
hours, the men surprising him by traveling without pause, they at
last slowed, coming to a stop as they reached the base of a great,
rocky hill. Sebastian grumbled in silence, glad to rest a moment,
his quick nap nothing more than a reminder of how exhausted he was.
His side throbbed as he peered through the leaves and watched as
the two resistance men approached the worn down side of the hill,
its tall face steep and covered with rocky protrusions. Jonas felt
along the rock wall, as if looking for something. Sebastian’s
stomach sunk as he thought the men might try to climb the wall. He
blew out a quiet breath when he realized that wasn’t what they
intended. There was no way he could follow them if they had.

Jonas fiddled with the stones, and Sebastian
recognized a pattern in his movements. After a few moments, the
wall shimmered and grew translucent, darkness welling up as its
face faded away. A black shadow moved behind it, the blur of its
shape becoming apparent as a man as the last of the stone
disappeared.

“
Hurry up and get inside,” the young
man growled at Jonas.

Sebastian recognized the man as one of the
resistance warlocks whose name he did not know. The warlock spun
away and vanished into the tunnel that lay beyond the false, stone
face. Jonas hurried after him, the fat man waddling behind.

Unsure if he could remember the sequence
Jonas had manipulated to open the wall, and uncertain if it were
rigged with an alarm of some kind, Sebastian thought it best to
risk entering before the wall returned, illusory or otherwise.
Holding his side so he could move faster, he darted out from behind
his cover once the bag-carrier shuffled into the tunnel. He slipped
along the hill, moving quickly toward the opening. He saw the first
glimmers of magic about the portal and pressed forward. Unable to
see what lay past the cave mouth, he made the choice to step
inside.

He hit the opening just as the wall began to
shimmer back into existence and slipped inside without hesitation.
A cool darkness greeted him, but nothing else.

He leaned against the tunnel’s wall and
breathed deep, stretching his side painfully, as the stone took
shape once more beside him. He stood without moving, letting his
vision adjust to the gloom, his eyes slow to respond. He could hear
the men in the distance, Jonas’s voice and the warlock’s in casual
conversation echoing back at him, the fat man’s huffed breaths as
he lagged behind. He caught the warlock’s name when Jonas called
him by it—John—and heard the creak of a door opening. He heard it
close a few moments later, the curses at the fat man’s slowness
muffled behind it.

Once he could see clearly, Sebastian drew
his sword and started down the tunnel. It was roughly hewn, the
walls jagged with protruding edges. Only the floor was smooth, a
light layer of dust stirred as he walked, the blurred footprints of
the men laid out before him.

The massive entrance shrunk down from its
ten feet high apex, to a little less than seven. The tunnel’s width
also narrowed, leaving it at about three feet across. Plenty of
room to walk through without worrying about bumping the walls, but
it made the prospect of fighting inside of it daunting. It was the
perfect ambush point. That was the thought that stayed with him
until he reached the end of the tunnel, where another uncertainty
faced him.

Instead of a single door, there were three:
one directly ahead, and one on either side of the corridor, all
wooden with metal banding. The dust on the floor had been so
agitated by the movement outside the doors, each swinging outward,
there was no way to determine which one they’d taken, though he
felt certain they had all gone through the same one. That didn’t
help much.

Sebastian leaned his ear against each, in
turn, listening to see if he could pick out sounds beyond the
doors, but the wood was too thick. He could hear nothing, No clues
to help him determine which door was the correct one, he chose one
at random, settling for the one to the left. He made a cursory
examination of the hinges and frame to see if he noticed any signs
of a trap. He hadn’t expected any, the wall trick an effective
screen, so he wasn’t surprised not to find anything.

Grateful for that little piece of luck, he
tugged at the rope handle and pulled the chosen door open just the
tiniest of cracks. Images of a sword blade being thrust into his
eye flashed through his mind as he peered through. He sighed at
seeing the gloom of yet another tunnel, and thankfully, not the
point of a blade. He listened another moment, and though he could
hear a muted shuffling sound, he heard no voices.

A wish on his lips for the door to be quiet,
he eased it open and slipped inside.

Twenty-One

The White Witch stared at the green sea of
trees as the transport circled about to land. She clutched hard at
the rail, the dark splotches on her hands standing out against the
pale white. She glanced over at Gracelin and saw her own fury
mirrored in the woman’s expression, her eyes narrowed, her upper
lip pulled into a sneer. The wind from the griffin’s wings did
little to cool her mood, a messenger having caught their transport
shortly after they’d left Corilea, delivering the news of
Carrance’s death.

Deborah swallowed hard against the
uncertainty that threatened to overwhelm her. Of all of the
witches, Carrance was most suited to the gritty needs of combat,
the master of the Red Guard. She, more than any other witch, often
left the comforts of Corilea to venture out into the world and test
her magic on the field of battle. If there was a warrior among the
Council, it would have been Carrance. To learn she had been slain
by Alise’s son, the fact confirmed by the surviving Red Guard on
the ground, was a chilling portent of things to come.

There could be no coincidence that he had
struck out against Carrance. With General Darius alive, and his
abomination of a child trained in the arts of war well enough to
hold off Shade and to slay a witch of the High Council, it was
clear what the pair intended; they had come to avenge Alise.

A chill prickled Deborah’s arms at the
thought. She had believed she and her accomplices could put an end
to Darius and the boy before things got out of hand, but Carrance’s
death had brought with it a sickening uncertainty. To complicate
things further, she could only keep the news of the Red Witch’s
death from the rest of the Council for a short time. If she
couldn’t silence the warlock before then, there would be far too
many questions asked for the truth to remain hidden.

She grunted as the transport settled
with a
thump
. A soldier
opened the restraining gate and stepped away, allowing her and
Gracelin to debark. A Red Guard captain met them at the tree line
and motioned for them to follow, not daring to meet Deborah’s eyes.
They strode through the woods, a path having been cleared for their
arrival. Deborah chuckled at the consideration; how easily they had
prepared the way to her greatest failure. After a few long moments,
they came upon a fallen tree, the subtle scent of magic still in
the air.

Shade stood on the far side of the downed
trunk, staring at something Deborah could not see. She knew without
asking what it would be, so she steeled her nerves and strode
around the near end of the tree when she was ready. Gracelin
followed behind. Shade noticed them and took a step back to clear
the way. Deborah narrowed her eyes as she saw the red-stained
ground and the body at the center of it. She forced herself not to
look away and heard Gracelin hiss at her shoulder.

Carrance lay upon her back, her glassy-eyed
face to the sky. Her mouth hung open in an exaggerated wideness,
her cheeks split with a crimson smile. Blood formed a pool in her
mouth. Flies fluttered about the opening, sipping at the claret.
Her arms were splayed out to her sides, and one of her hands was
clenched rigid, as though she were grasping at the air. The other
hung as lifeless as the woman herself. Deborah closed her eyes a
moment, attempting to catch her breath. It was too much to take in
at once.

She heard Gracelin step away and opened her
eyes to see her hand over her mouth, making quiet gagging sounds as
she moved toward the far trees. Deborah fought the urge to follow,
her stomach roiling with sympathetic pains. Knowing the Guard and
Shade were watching, she held her ground and examined the body once
more, keeping her face expressionless.

The material at Carrance’s shoulder had been
cut away, at some point. A festering black wound covered the flesh
beneath. Striations ran serpentine up her neck and down into the
folds of her clothing. The red of her robes was stained darker
about her right side, a puckered red groove cut deep between her
ribs, standing out against the paleness of her skin.

“
It was the warlock for certain,”
Shade said.

Deborah turned to face her, grateful for the
excuse to look away.

“
He wields a Quicksilver blade, which
would explain the blood poisoning about the shoulder wound. The
blow that killed her, though, was the one to her mouth. There’s
none of the infection surrounding it.”

“
He killed her in close?”

Shade nodded. “The captain of the reserve
squadron tells me the Red Guard engaged first, sending the warlock
fleeing. He struck down a number of the men and toppled the tree
here upon the captain, scattering the Guard. Carrance then attacked
at range, and though there were no witnesses to the specifics of
the battle, it’s clear the warlock managed to get inside her
defenses to deliver the fatal blow.”

Deborah glanced at Gracelin who returned to
stand beside her. The Green Witch’s face looked sickly, but her
eyes burned with fury.

“
He struck her down in fair combat?”
Gracelin asked.

“
It appears so.” Shade drew her hand
along her own ribs, approximating the wound on Carrance. “The
warlock is right handed, so given the direction of the wound he was
directly in front of her when he struck her. That injury likely
stunned her and is what allowed him to finish her off.”

Deborah drifted away from her fallen friend,
motioning for the assassin to follow. Shade moved alongside,
Gracelin coming along slower once she noticed they had moved. The
White Witch waved away the soldiers that clustered about, shooing
them off so she might have privacy. Once they were gone, she turned
to Shade.

“
I need you to find this warlock,
now.”

The assassin nodded, and turned to leave.
Deborah grasped her shoulder before she could leave.

“
I know you believe you can slay him,
but be cautious. Though Carrance is…” she swallowed and corrected
herself, “
was
…not nearly the
warrior you are, you know her skills. If this abomination can kill
a witch of the High Council in direct combat and walk away, then he
is a threat to all of us. Do not engage him unless you are
absolutely certain you can take his life. If you cannot kill him
clean, you are to alert me or Gracelin, and we will end him
together. Do I make myself clear?”

Shade gave a shallow nod. “I
understand.”

“
He is, no doubt, in league with
Elizabeth’s resistance group. Find them and you will find the
abomination, as well.” Deborah met the assassin’s eyes, doing her
best to impress her seriousness, and then waved her off.