Witch Bane (3 page)

Emerald loosed the breath she hadn’t
realized she’d been holding and peeled her hands from the pommel.
Her fingers gave way with a pained twang. Had they stayed where
they were just a moment before, she had no doubt they would have
been spotted.

“
That was close,” Fulrik groaned as he
sheathed his blade, nudging his horse forward so he could peer
through the open canopy. Emerald dabbed at her nose, glad to
breathe clear air once again. “They almost had us.”

“
I don’t think so,” Donlen answered
with a shake of his head, the gray tail of his hair dancing
serpent-like at his back.

Both Emerald and Fulrik met his eyes as he
turned his horse to face them.

“
There wasn’t but four or five men on
that tub, all clustered thick at the rear for some reason. There
wasn’t no one at the reins, neither. Near as I can tell, they were
all looking behind for something, not below at the woods.” He
glanced to Fulrik, his eyes narrowing. “If I was a betting man, I’d
wager the Lord’s money they were doing their best to be far away
from something that spooked them.”

Fulrik laughed. “The Red Guard running?
There’s nothing but sand and peasants the way they came. What would
they be fleeing from?”

Donlen shrugged. “Don’t know, but
I
do
know fear when I see it.
They were in too close and short too many men for everything to be
all right. When I was Red Guard, you stayed in your place on the
transports, the weight needing to be distributed properly for the
beasts to keep it in the air without tipping. While I couldn’t see
their faces against the sun’s light, those men looked worried about
something. I didn’t see no captain with them, either.”

The mercenaries’ gazes met and Fulrik’s
laugh rumbled quiet in his chest. “You’re serious?”

Donlen gave him a curt nod and waved off any
further questions. “Don’t matter none, I guess.” He looked to
Emerald. “It’s probably just Bourne and her resistance folks
causing trouble for the Council lackeys.”

“
Bold if it is,” Fulrik
muttered.

Donlen grunted his agreement. “We best get
moving, my lady. It seems our destination may well be closer than
we have been led to believe.”

Emerald saw the lie etched across his face
as plain as if he had spoken it, and knew his explanation to be
unlikely. While Elizabeth Bourne had been known to target the
assets of the High Council in an effort to harry them, she had
never sought open confrontation, to Emerald’s knowledge. After the
witch’s flight from Corilea, to the outlying lands that would
eventually fall under the whole of the Realm of Mynistiria,
Elizabeth had remained hidden, drawing little attention to herself
by using cat’s paws to carry out her whims.

If it had been Elizabeth who had assaulted
the Red Guard squadron, she risked bringing the whole of the High
Council down upon her, something she’d spent nearly twenty years
trying to avoid. It made no sense, for Emerald could see no way for
Elizabeth to triumph against the might of the witches in direct
confrontation.

She could feel the uncertainty of her escort
at the brewing conflict, their fear an almost palpable heat. Each
unconsciously fondled the pommels of their swords while their gazes
lingered beyond as though they might divine what had terrified the
Red Guard squadron. Fulrik appeared to accept Donlen’s word, at
last, perhaps not able to reason a better answer to the question.
She knew they all contemplated some variant of the same thought: If
Bourne had grown so brave and reckless as to challenge the Council
directly, what would she do with Emerald should she learn the truth
of who she was? And here they were, seeking Bourne out. It had to
be madness.

She could see that thought echoed on the
faces of the mercenaries. They wanted nothing more than to abandon
her, but they would continue on, only because they feared Victor
more than anything that might lie ahead. Of that, she was
certain.

It was her only certainty.

She nodded to Donlen, and Fulrik
sighed as he turned his mount and started off. The moist
clop
of his departure sounded loud
in the still forest. Emerald freed the reins from the tree trunk
and followed after, Donlen at her side. He settled in even closer
than before. His presence was slim comfort as she made her way
through the woods. With a witch ahead and a witch behind, Emerald
knew there was little his sword could do should either decide to
swoop down upon them. He, no doubt, knew that, as well.

She could only hope Victor had the
right of it, that she and her unborn son would be welcomed by the
people of the resistance and offered sanctuary. It had to be true,
for she knew the bloody fate that awaited her child back in
Corilea. She could never accept that; she
would
never.

Emerald spurred her mare on with a squeeze
of her legs. Fate lurked before her, and she hoped it was far less
cruel than the one she had left behind.

Three

Sebastian surveyed Deliton as the sun crept
below the distant horizon. Though he balked at his father’s
suggestion to scout ahead of the caravan, he was glad he had. From
his vantage point amidst the haphazard piles of chopped wood set
outside the village to dry for the coming winter, he watched as the
townspeople shuffled toward the town square, their arms loaded down
with a variety of packaged goods. They trudged forward in silence,
their chins lowered as they took ponderous steps. Their feet
dragged trails in the dirt.

A handful of Red Guard, with broadswords
out, were scattered along the dusty paths, which led to the square,
their eyes on the villagers. Despite there being so few soldiers,
it was easy to see how the people had been so effectively
cowed.

At the far end of the crowded square was a
grim reminder of the cruelty wrought by the High Council’s rule.
Dozens upon dozens of bodies lay in a twisted heap, gray limbs
dangling from it like withered vines. Lifeless eyes peeked out from
within the tangled mass of the dead, and a dark pool shimmered
beneath. Even from where he sat, he could see the flies swarming
about. He was grateful he couldn’t hear their incessant hum.

Sickened by the number of tiny bodies he
could see amidst the corpses, Sebastian turned away. Now was not
the time to be offended by something he couldn’t change. His eyes
narrowed as he glanced about the village. Though there was no
transport to be seen, there was sufficient room alongside where the
supplies were being stacked for one to land. Given the low number
of soldiers present, and the lack of a female officer, Sebastian
wondered if they had been part of the squadron that attacked the
caravan. He grinned without mirth. They would be waiting a long
time for the transport to return, were that the case.

Another two soldiers stalked the perimeter
of the village in wide, lazy circles. Shoulders slumped and weapons
sheathed, it was clear they were expecting no resistance. All the
better for him.

He watched for a few minutes longer to see
if their paths intersected. Once certain they did not, he crept
from the wood pile and inched toward the village. The setting sun
cast long shadows of the gathered huts, and he stuck to the
darkness as he made his way. He debated storming the square to
catch the soldiers off guard, matching their cruelty with
well-deserved brutality, but his father wouldn’t approve. Somewhere
out in the darkness, Darius waited to see how he handled the test
before him. Should the villagers die as a result of his attack,
Sebastian would be forced to concede his father’s belief that his
skills were not up to the task of taking on the witches. He wasn’t
willing to do that.

He reached the nearest of the buildings and
slipped into a narrow alley between just moments before the first
of the perimeter guards started his return trip. Sebastian loosed
his sword in silence and waited. The crunch of boots on dirt grew
louder, and Sebastian could hear the guard humming tunelessly as he
approached, giving away his location as clearly as if he’d called
out. As soon as the soldier rounded the corner of the hut,
Sebastian stepped behind him and wrapped his arm around the man’s
shoulders to slit his throat. The blade sunk into flesh as though
it were water, cutting clean. Sebastian felt a warm wetness spill
across his forearm, and the guard went rigid, blood bubbling from
his mouth. He pulled the man into the shadows and let him fall. The
man was dead before he hit the ground.

Sebastian looked through the jumbled maze of
huts to spy a glance of the square. The Red Guard and villagers
alike were oblivious. He grinned and slipped around the far edge of
town. On the other side, all eyes focused on the busy center, it
was easy to find a shadowed corner in which to hide. Minutes later,
the second perimeter guard sat hunched against a wall, the same as
the first, his life spilling out red across his chest.

Those two out of the way, Sebastian knew the
others would not go down quite so easily. Gathered closer together
than the perimeter guards had been, there was no way he could take
them out alone without being seen. He glanced about, looking for a
way to approach in order to minimize casualties among the
villagers. A thought popped into his head when his eyes alighted on
the wood pile.

Without a sound, he returned to the other
side of the village, avoiding the most likely route of travel
between the Red Guard positions and the pile. He examined the
nearest roof and eased himself onto it. The wood creaked under his
weight, but no eyes turned at the sound. Once he was sure he
remained unseen, he crouched low and sucked in a deep breath. He
cupped his empty hand and focused on his palm. His pulse fluttered
as he drew upon his magic. Drops of sweat formed at his forehead
and ran into his eyes. He blinked them away and willed his power to
take form, fighting back a growl at its resistance. At last, a
flicker of reddened-orange came to life in his hand.

He glanced at the tiny flame and shook his
head in disgust. It would work, but just barely. With one last
glance at the square, Sebastian cast the tiny fireball toward the
far end of the wood pile. It struck a log with a flash and rolled
into a crevice to disappear from sight. Sebastian sunk lower on the
roof and waited. A few seconds later a thunderous roar sounded as
splinters of burning wood were flung into the air. Tongues of flame
washed over the wood as the force of the explosion rattled the
pile. It shifted, and logs tumbled down in a great crash.

A second roar rose up in the square as the
villagers screamed in terror, their burdens dropped unceremoniously
to the ground. The Red Guard shouted them down and herded the
people together, forcing them to their knees with barked commands
and the points of raw steel. Once the villagers were subdued, all
but two of the soldiers broke off and took the bait, heading toward
the smoldering piles of wood. As Sebastian expected, they spread
out and made their way through the maze of huts, their eyes locked
on the flames.

As soon as they moved past his position,
Sebastian slid from the roof on the side furthest from the wood
pile. He ran low between the buildings, staying out of the line of
sight between the remaining Red Guard in the square and those who
had gone to examine the pile. Without a sound, he closed on the
square until he stood just feet from one of the guards. Sebastian
settled his grip on his hilt. It was time.

Little more than a shadow, he darted out
from behind the hut and thrust his sword into the first soldier’s
side. The blade slid between the man’s ribs and ripped through his
lungs on its way to his heart. The soldier grunted deep in his
throat and stiffened, collapsing as though he were boneless once
the blade was pulled free.

The second guard spun about and stared
wide-eyed as Sebastian went at him. He died with the look of
surprise etched upon his face, Sebastian’s sword driven through his
mouth. The point burst from the base of the soldier’s skull,
spraying the dirt behind with blood.

Though the cowed villagers had seen neither
of the Red Guard fall, their eyes downcast for fear of the
soldiery, the nearest of them cried out as they felt the shower of
warm fluid rain down atop them. Sebastian hissed for silence and
slipped back into the shadows, heading toward the remainder of the
Red Guard.

The soldiers stood warily about the burning
wood, clearly none of them having come to the conclusion the fire
was nothing more than a distraction. Sebastian restrained a laugh
as he closed upon them. The witches had been too long without a
threat to their reign. Their soldiers’ edge had grown dull so far
from the forge of battle. They spent their time killing children
and peasants and had become soft with no true enemy to test them.
For the Red Guard gathered oblivious about the wood pile, that
failure of discipline meant their death.

Sebastian was on the first before any of
them knew he was there. His sword ripped through the man’s back,
severing his spine. He struck down the last without so much as
having to raise his sword in his defense.

He shook the crimson remnants of their lives
from his shimmering blade and waved it above his head in hopes to
highlight it in the flickering light of the fire. He knew his
father would see and would bring the caravan forward. The villagers
in the square had only just begun to realize what had happened, and
were getting to their feet in a slow daze as he walked back toward
them, returning his sword to its sheath.

He pulled his hood from his face, slipped
off his mask, and approached the villagers with his empty hands in
the air before him. “People of Deliton, I mean you no harm.”