Witch Bane (28 page)

Thirty-Eight

Sebastian woke with a start. He didn’t know
how long he’d slept; only that he had awakened cold and wet, with a
mouthful of mud. The rain had come at some point during his slumber
and had flooded his hideaway, sending him scrambling back into the
woods, coughing the gritty wetness from his lungs.

Lightning danced in the sky above and
something in him stirred, though he knew not what it was. He could
see the brilliant shimmers through the canopy, its leaves weighted
down by the incessant downpour. Though he’d woken to a breath of
water, the rain was cleansing as it washed over him.

He peeled Shade’s stolen garb away and cast
it into the crevice, needing it no longer. It had served its
purpose. Naked, with only his sword in his hand, he left the
assassin’s identity behind, likely to be washed away before the sun
rose in the morning. He felt rested in body, though his heart still
carried the burden of his father’s death.

With nowhere he needed to be, for his
revenge upon the witches was complete, Sebastian found himself
headed back to where Darius had died. The torrential storm clearing
the path of Red Guard and likely sending them scurrying for cover,
he encountered no one on his way. After what seemed a lifetime of
trudging through the mud and cloying humus with bare feet, he found
the place where the Lord had struck his father down.

Darius’ body lay as it had then, face to the
earth, undisturbed, with only the blood rinsed away by the rain.
Save for the puckered black line of ruined flesh that ran along his
spine, he looked as though he were only sleeping, cleansed as he
was. There was a peace that seemed to linger about him.

Sebastian stumbled over to his father and
fell down beside him. Sebastian turned him over and pulled him into
his arms, the stiffness of death nearly gone from the old man’s
limbs. He was pale, with a tint of blue, and cold to the touch, as
he lay heavy on Sebastian. Decay had yet to set in, the rain having
washed away the scent of what little had started. Sebastian could
smell only wet hair and the leafy scent of the foliage that
surrounded him.

He clutched to his father and the tears
returned, joining those of the heavens that streamed cold down his
cheeks.

“
They’re dead, father…the witches who
killed mother are dead. We killed them all,” he whispered through
panted breaths he could barely catch. Though he couldn’t be certain
of the Green Witch, he believed she could not have survived her
wounds, the quicksilver fast in its fury. Besides, his father would
know the truth of it and what had been done to avenge
Alise.

Their mission had
ended
.

The thought was like opening a grave, the
dust of what had been cast to the wind. Everything Sebastian had
ever known, had trained for, lived for, was gone now; his purpose
ended. His father had raised him to be a weapon of revenge, the
sword of retribution for the wrong visited upon his mother. Now
that the witches were dead, there was nothing left.

He could hear his father’s voice in
his head:
Get used to it, boy. This is
what warriors do.
It was no comfort.

Sebastian thought of the Lord and a
simmering fire of anger warmed in his gut as he imagined striking
the man down. Thoughts of Emerald followed soon after, and he
wondered if he truly could kill Victor, leaving the girl alone in
the world, stealing the father from their unborn child. He’d
already killed her mother, as Deborah had his. Emerald would suffer
already for his vengeance, as would the boy, who would one day grow
to be a warlock. They were a kindred spirit, he and the child. He
felt it in his heart their paths would cross, and the boy would
know what he’d done. One of them would die that day, blood spilled
for no cause that made any sense.

Sebastian shook his head, wiping away his
tears. He had no future he could see clearly, no direction. He was
lost.

He stood, drawing his father’s body into his
arms. For the moment, there was nothing for him to do but honor his
father’s memory and to give him a proper funeral.

Darius cradled against him, Sebastian set
his feet upon the path to the waste lands. It was where his father
had taken him after Sebastian was born and his mother was slain; he
felt it only right that it should be where he laid his father to
rest. For Sebastian, it had been the only home he’d ever known.

If there was to be peace for Darius’ spirit,
he would find it there.

Thirty-Nine

Emerald sat within her quarters, what had
once been her mother’s, and stared out the great window before her.
Winter had seemingly come overnight, flurries of crystalline
snowflakes dancing beyond the glass, twisting and swirling in the
breeze. The panes frosted by the frigid temperatures outside, she
could feel only the warmth of the fire that crackled in the hearth,
and the heat coming from the bundle swathed and set in her lap.

She looked down at the tiny baby that slept
so quiet, its eyes squeezed tight against the waking world. His
tiny nose twitched like a mouse’s, and Emerald felt a smile tugging
at her lips. Despite her adventure, her son had been born in
Corilea, where he belonged, and not even the Council had dared to
defy his birth.

“
Valerius,” she spoke his name in a
whisper. He whimpered quiet in his slumber, as though he knew he’d
been spoken to, and went silent once more, burrowing deeper in to
the blanket that eclipsed him.

Emerald pulled him to her breast, feeling
the life of him, his heartbeat thrumming against hers. He shifted
into her, as if to be closer, while he continued to sleep, a tiny
smile brightening his lips. Emerald let her gaze drift from her
soft, pink son, back to the storm that flailed furious outside. Her
smile fell away.

As the current White Witch, her word had
become law across the whole of Mynistiria. Through Victor, using
him as her mouthpiece and letting his conscious dictate the rest,
she had undone much of what her mother had set in motion before
her.

Warlocks were no longer to be hunted, and
children would no longer to be bled in the hunt for immortality.
There had been much resistance from the remaining Council members
who had grown fat upon the idea of eternal life. Though they’d
capitulated at last, learning the extent her mother had gone to
provide them with their succor, they gave in more out of fear of
Victor than out of respect for Emerald’s decree or even the horror
of the act. She was certain there would come a time when they acted
against her, having tasted the fruit of eternal life.

She had made many enemies on her return; far
more than she’d made friends. It hadn’t been much of a surprise,
her life among them before she became the White, a lesson in
political corruption. Emerald knew who and what they were, her
fellow council members by no choice of either. She knew the bad
blood would surface soon enough.

She sighed. She hadn’t wanted any of this.
All she’d desired was to have her son in peace, to have Victor, and
to live safe and happy beyond the petty politics of Corilea and the
High Council. Instead, here she sat, mired in all the things she
hated far deeper than she could ever have imagined. As the White
Witch, a position she had never intended to press her claim for,
she was in the center of it all, the target of the populace and the
witches, and every creed in between.

While her acts of kindness had endeared her
to the majority of the people outside the great city’s walls, the
rot and ruin left to her by her mother had been widespread and
would be difficult to cut loose. Emerald worked to restore the
realm to its past beauty, but the land had been scarred by fury and
distrust, the blood of Deborah’s cruelty staining it deeply. There
was much Emerald could not accomplish in this lifetime, let alone
the next.

Forever she would bear the blood of the
woman who oppressed the people and forced them to their knees.
Emerald would never be free of the history that came with the name
of Altus, but that was her lot now, like as not. Fearful she resign
the throne to another of the witches and watch as the circle turned
upon itself once more, she felt obliged to remain. It was a burden
she would never carry well. She was not meant to rule, and if no
one else knew it was so, she did.

She let Victor hold the reins often, more so
with every passing day—his confidence sufficient for them both—so
she could focus on Valerius. He would need to be strong to face the
world he’d been born into. One day he too would inherit the throne,
a change enacted by Victor to help promote the acceptance of
warlocks among the Council and its supporters. Emerald hoped the
world would turn by the time he was grown, the cruelties she’d
witnessed at the hands of her mother forgotten in the glories of a
new age and cast aside in hopes of a better life for all.

Emerald laughed at her thoughts. She knew
she dreamed, but if not her, then who else? She would see her world
at peace, if only for as long as she could command it to be so.

She glanced down at Valerius again, the
smile once more upon her lips. There was still time to rescue
Mynistiria from itself.

Forty

The snow fell heavy, covering the earth
under a thick blanket of white where Sebastian had laid his father
to rest these many months past. Still he came to pay his respects.
He sat upon the cold, wet ground, staring at the blank canvass the
sky had laid before him. It sparkled in the illuminated gloom of
snowfall.

He felt no tears upon his face this visit,
as he had for so many before. Sebastian had, at long last, grown
comfortable with fate’s decision to take his father. His mother
needed the man more. He understood that now, distance having dulled
the edges of his loss. The wound would never fully heal, but it
would not sear his heart so greatly as the hands of time crept on.
It was little comfort to think such a way, but Sebastian had little
other comfort to fall upon.

Alone, he made his home the woods, as he and
his father had before they’d set out for revenge. The new White
Witch, Emerald, had done some good for Mynistiria since her
ascension to the throne; no longer did desperate people flock to
the savage waste lands to flee the tyranny of the Council and the
Red Guard. She had begun to rebuild the shattered realm, laying out
terms of peace to quell the fury left behind by her mother’s rule.
Emerald appeared born of another woman, her edicts far from the
rough-handed cruelty the people had grown accustomed to. It would
take them time to adjust to kindness, as well.

The resistance had vanished, those not
killed in the prior White Witch’s last stand, had returned to their
homes to blend once more into the citizenry. Mynistiria no longer
needed a resistance force, and none were quick to claim membership
for fear of retribution.

Though he’d heard tale the army still sought
his head, he had seen none of them in search, and none had come to
try to take it from his shoulders. That suited him well enough.
There was enough blood on his hands, and he felt little interest in
showering them with more. He had lost much since his father died,
his desire for battle but one of such things.

Staring down at the snow, he drew his
fingers through the cold wetness, knowing his mark would soon be
swept away by the storm. He sat for a long time in the silence; his
clothes soaked through, his hair dangling wet in his eyes. Nothing
waited for him beyond this moment.
No
one
waited. He wondered if he might just stay there,
letting the snow wipe him from existence as it had the earth,
drifting away in the cold embrace of the world.

The crunch of heavy boots behind snapped him
from his depressive reverie. He didn’t bother to move, knowing full
well who it was that stood at his back. No one had come near the
wastes in months, the promise of a happier life once more centered
upon the inner realm. Only one person would come this far to see
him; only one person could find him so easily.

“
What do you want, Victor?” he
asked.

He heard the brush of leather on cloth, and
spied the vague shadow of something tossed into the air just before
it landed in the snow before him. He glanced up at it and saw that
it stared back through sunken, black sockets. Wild hair hung about
the pale face, and Sebastian recognized the Green Witch’s head.
Death had come for her, having cut it from her neck cleanly.

“
I thought you might want proof of her
end…for your father.”

Sebastian drew in a slow, deep breath, the
frigid air biting at his throat. “Thank you.” He felt his anger
warming his cheeks in spite of the snow that fluttered down to cool
it. He kept his hand from his sword. “Emerald? Is she well?”

“
She is, as well our son: Valerius,
she has named him,” the Lord answered, drawing no
closer.

Sebastian nodded. “Good for them both. Give
her my regards, and my apologies for what I had to do to her
mother. I would hope she understands.”

“
She does, boy, though there are
political ramifications to be considered, which she can do nothing
about.”

Sebastian grinned, glad not everything in
the world had changed. “If the Red Guard wishes to find me, they
need only to look.” He held out his arms to show he did not hide.
“And you, Lord, what are the ramifications for you?”

“
I believe that rests in your hands,
now.” His voice grew quieter. “I would not have you come to Corilea
to settle the score, for fear of who might pay for our conflict. As
such, I have come here, to you. If you would have vengeance, I ask
that you take it now so no others suffer for it.”