Witch Bane (2 page)

Those nearest the disintegrated solder were
set ablaze in his wake. The magical fire leapt from man to man. It
burned skin and leather armor with indifference. The men scattered
as the flames spread, its searing bite contagious. A number of the
wagons at the rear of the caravan caught its fiery disease and
began to burn, as well. Sebastian growled at the unintended damage,
but there was no time to worry about it.

He went after the captain. He’d be damned if
he underestimated her again. She stared as the conflagration
decimated her men and barely seemed to notice his approach. At the
last moment, she flinched and backed away, her sword out in front
of her in a wild parry. Their weapons clashed, and she stumbled
with the force of the blow.

Sebastian muscled her blade aside and saw
her raise her free hand as she staggered back. Shimmers of magical
energy were readying in her palm. In too close to dodge the coming
blast, he disengaged his sword from hers and feinted with a blow
toward her head. As she moved to defend, he twisted his wrist and
drove the point of his blade through her open hand.

The sword tore through her palm and
discharged her magic in a geyser of reddish sparks. Blood gushed up
around the blade and spilled dark over her fingers as he ripped it
free. The captain clenched her teeth but did not scream. She waved
her sword to ward him off, seeming to ignore the bubbling flux that
rippled beneath the skin of her hand and wrist. Fear distorted her
face but her eyes shone feral. She would fight to the end.

The killer in Sebastian smiled.

While the remnants of her men fled, a number
of them climbing the ropes in a frantic race back to the aerial
transport above, he knew she had yet to concede despite the odds
against her. She was a warrior born. She would be a dead warrior
soon, but he respected her courage, nevertheless.

Sebastian closed. He swayed back and forth
as he approached, hoping to draw a strike, but she held her wits
and kept her guard tight. His smile grew even wider as he enjoyed
the moment, a live Red Guard witch so much more fun than the Shadow
Dummies his father had created for him to practice on. He didn’t
want the moment to end.

At the sharp pop of griffins’ wings, the
captain’s eyes darted to the sky, for just an instant. That’s when
Sebastian went after her. He half-stepped to her sword side to draw
her off, and then shifted left as she committed to a counter. Her
torso undefended, he slashed at her but drew his sword back at the
last second, cutting a shallow groove through her armor and along
the swell of her ribs. She snarled and danced away, her wounded arm
clutched tight against her side. Blood seeped from the wound,
leaking in rivulets down over her elbow. Sebastian grinned. The
quicksilver was in her bloodstream, working to bring her down.

Sebastian let her retreat a few steps and
reset. He stalked her without hurry. Just as he was about to
advance again, he heard a muted twang at his back. The captain’s
eyes went wide as a lash of air whipped past his shoulder. She
jerked and fell back without grace, her body rigid. A cloud of dust
billowed around her, and Sebastian spied the tail of a familiar
crossbow bolt protruding from her cheek. Crimson pooled in the
sightless pits of her eyes. He glanced back to see Darius stalking
toward him, crossbow in one hand, Sebastian’s cloak gripped in the
other.

“
I see I’ve raised a fool.”

Sebastian shook his head. “I
was
about
to finish
her.”

“
Were you? It looked to me like you
were playing with her.” Darius slung his crossbow over his shoulder
and came to stand before Sebastian. His dark eyes flickered with
orange. “This is no cat-and-mouse game to be dragged out for your
amusement.”

“
Have you ever seen a mouse take down
a cat, father?” Sebastian asked as he stifled a laugh.

“
You’ll be the first should you
continue to believe yourself invincible. Even the lowliest of
witches are dangerous, and you’d best treat them so or you’ll spend
your last moments with a charred ass.” He pointed to the distant
transport, then but a blackened dot in the sky. “You let some of
them get away.”

“
Those cowards are no
threat.”

“
Perhaps not, but the women they’ll
report to most certainly are.” Darius let out a huffed breath as he
glanced about. The people of the caravan drifted closer to be by
their dead. “We can stay here no longer. The Council will surely
come for us.”

“
Good. Let them. I’m tired of
training, tired of waiting.”

“
Have you listened to nothing I’ve
said, boy?” Darius asked in a weary voice. “If you would honor your
mother’s memory, you cannot throw yourself at the witches. It is
stealth and surprise that wins us this battle, not brute force. You
are not ready for such a war of attrition. That’s how the Council
wins, trading their near inexhaustible assets for their foe’s
finite resources. It would be the same with you.”

Sebastian stared at his father a moment, and
then lowered his eyes at seeing the worry that darkened his
features, though he could not let it go. “I’m sorry, but mother
rots in her grave, and every moment her killers walk above and
breathe the air they stole from her is a moment too long.”

Darius put a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder
and squeezed tight. “I would see my dear Alise avenged as well, but
not at the cost of my son. Can you understand that, boy?”

After a moment he nodded, saying nothing as
the bravest of the caravan men who’d survived the onslaught came to
stand a respectful distance to their side, motioning for their
attention. Darius handed Sebastian his cloak and turned to face the
man with a grunt. Muffled wails sounded in the background, the
women crying over their dead. The horses uttered frantic snorts and
whinnies as they were led from the wafts of smoke that swirled
about them.

Dressed in little more than rags, stained
with the dirt of the waste lands, and much more beyond, the caravan
man bowed. His eyes stood out bright against the grime that filled
the wrinkles of his face and the dark rings that encircled them.
“Praise the One for your arrival. I am Callum, once the sheriff of
Odenshir, and now the leader of the sad caravan of homeless
vagabonds you have just rescued.” He gestured to the cluster of
wagons that escaped the fire’s touch. “We have little to offer you
but all we have is yours, in thanks for what you’ve done for
us.”

Darius waved him off. “We need nothing. Save
what you have for your own.” He glanced to the sky before looking
back to the man. “You should gather your people and be gone from
here. Come dark, the Red Guard will return with a fury. It’s best
you weren’t here to bear the brunt of it.”

Sebastian slipped his cloak on as Darius
turned from Callum and motioned for his son to come along.

“
Sir?” the man called out, daring
another step forward.

Darius sighed and glanced over his
shoulder.

Callum swallowed hard. “Are you part of the
resistance?”

“
No.” Darius shook his
head.

“
We were to join them,” Callum spit
out before Darius could turn away again, “but we lost our guide in
the attack. We do not know the way.” He drew a step closer, his
hands held out before him. “Please, sirs, I beg of you. If you know
where we might find one of the resistance camps, I would ask you
take us there.”

Darius glared at Sebastian before his gaze
drifted back to the man. “We know nothing of the resistance’s
whereabouts. I’m sorry.”

Tears welled in the man’s eyes. Darius
growled and leaned toward Sebastian, pulling him in close with a
handful of his cloak. “For all your good intentions, this is what
comes of playing the hero,” he whispered. “We travel for Deliton.
Bring them along or send them on their way, but the choice is
yours; as are the consequences, boy.”

His father released him and strode away.
Sebastian sighed as he pulled his hood over his head and turned to
the man. “If you would be safe, come with us to the village of
Deliton. We can offer nothing else.”

Callum bowed, obviously grateful for
anything. “Thank you, sir.”

Sebastian nodded and watched as his father
continued on. “Best hurry and get your people moving, Callum. My
father does not intend to wait. Should you fall behind, do not
expect us to slow.”

The caravan man muttered his understanding
and ran off to ready his people. Sebastian stared at Darius’ back.
He could feel his father’s anger and disappointment still. For all
the ease of his first true battle against the Red Guard, he knew
his father was right. He wasn’t ready. Had the captain been a witch
of the High Council, Sebastian would have been dead and his mother
would know no justice. He could not afford to make such stupid
mistakes if he would see the scales righted.

He drew his hood further down over his face
and followed after his father. Though they were only two days out
of Deliton, in the fullness of a warm spring morning, the trip to
the village would be a long, cold walk for Sebastian in the wake of
Darius’ anger.

Two

Emerald shifted uncomfortable in the saddle
while her horse navigated the course of gnarled roots and low-lying
foliage, which grew thick along the forested path. Far from the
silvered spires and bustling streets of her home, the capital city
of Corilea, the forest seemed desolate. The open sky hovered above
the clearing, the afternoon sun bright and warm. She clutched to
her stomach as she was jounced about, willing the bile that rose in
her throat to settle. Its bitter taste flooded her mouth. She
swallowed hard against it and drew up tight on the reins to settle
her mount. It would only slow their journey further were she to
vomit; again.

“
Everything all right, my lady?”
Donlen asked as he pulled along beside her.

She glanced at him and nodded, though she
doubted her face reflected even that simple optimism. He stared at
her with dark eyes that seemed intent upon believing her lie.
Neither he nor his mercenary companion, Fulrik, had been paid to be
her nursemaid, and it was clear neither wanted the task. Their sole
purpose was to accompany her to the resistance and to ensure she
made it as whole and hale as a pregnant sixteen year-old could be.
It had been a difficult trip, so far. The month away from the
comforts of Corilea had felt like a lifetime. She was not used to
such harsh conditions.

Her stomach churned, and she forced a dim
smile to assure the soldier again. She’d shared more of her
weakness with them than she ever intended. Donlen grunted and let
his mount fall back a few paces, though he still hovered closer
than when they first began their journey. Despite his lack of
interest in being her caretaker, it had been made apparent his life
depended on his making sure she was well. Victor had made it very
clear.

An easy warmth flooded her belly at the
thought of her love, and the flimsy smile at her lips gained
strength. Her nausea eased a bit and she slouched in the saddle.
Like the gentle embrace of her down-feathered mattress and furs, he
too had been left behind in her rush to flee. But of all her
comforts, she knew he would once again be hers. After she found the
resistance, and had undergone the nullification ritual so that she
could give birth to their son without fear of harm, Victor would
come for her. He had told her so, his words wrapped in his sweet
kisses.

She ran her hand over the mound of her
stomach, willing her thoughts to penetrate to her son inside. They
would be together again soon; they would be a family, despite the
machinations of her mother.

The sharpened spear of a griffin’s cry
pierced her reverie. A chill sprang upon her, prickling her skin.
Her horse started at the sound and reared back, whipping its head
about to peer wild-eyed at the sky through the opening in the
canopy. Donlen was at her side before she’d even thought to tighten
her grip upon the reins, his years in service to the Red Guard
honing his instincts. He pulled them from her hands and galloped
forward as she clung to the pommel. Her horse resisted for but an
instant, but Donlen’s mount was bred for war. More than twice the
size of her mare, his horse lowered its head and bulled forward.
They were at a run just a moment after.

Emerald held on with all her strength, her
knuckles standing out white against the deep brown of the pommel.
Then as quick as they started, Donlen brought them to a halt
beneath the shady cover just beyond the clearing. He wrapped the
reins of her horse about a branch and pulled his blade from its
sheath in what seemed a single movement.

Fulrik closed in beside Emerald with his
sword already in his hand. His barrel chest strained the thick
leather of his cuirass, each whistled breath drawing a creak from
the straps. The huffed exhalations of his horse washed against her
cheek as the mercenary inched closer, its heat sweltering. She
could taste the foul stench of it and her stomach groaned its
displeasure.

To distract herself, she followed the stares
of the mercenaries and was glad to see little but the thick
overgrowth of foliage weaved above her head, the open sky several
yards ahead of where they waited. She narrowed her eyes and peered
through the gnarled branches, her eyes jumping from one patch of
tiny blue to another, but she saw nothing more than empty sky. Just
when she was ready to give up, a dark shape blurred the blue to
black.

She followed it between the green cracks and
crevices of the leaves, until it broke over the clearing, and spied
one of the beasts whose call had alerted them. Her heart fell still
in her chest. She could see the bottom of the troop transport
clearly as it sailed past, casting its shadow across the forest
floor. The whip of griffin wings floated to her ears as the Red
Guard carrier continued on, its darkened wake trailing directly
over the clearing they had just abandoned. The men atop were little
more than black shapes against the bright sky. A moment later, they
were hidden once more by the trees.