Witch Queen

by Kim Richardson

  I had learned that the great rebellion to overthrow the priests had started in Anglia two hundred years ago, and that the leaders from all but two of the other realms of Arcania had been planning in secret for years. Romila and Girmania had not participated. Had the Romilians and Girmanians been in league with the necromancer priests all this time?

  I was all too aware that we needed to cross both their realms to reach Witchdom. I’d tucked one of Rose’s maps inside my saddlebag, and I knew that if we continued our steady pace, we would reach the border of Romila in about ten days.

  I cringed at the icy fear I felt, and I pushed it back. I wouldn’t let it take over. I stole a glance at the faces of the men. Even in their silence, I could almost hear their fear. It was in the shadows of their eyes, the gauntness of their faces, and in the tension along their shoulders.

  Young Garrick was the worst. His jaw was clamped tightly, and he appeared to be in pain. His eyes darted around nervously, never settling on anything for longer than a fraction of a second. I felt sorry for him, and I wondered why he had volunteered. He cast a glance my way and I quickly turned away, afraid that he would sense my own fear. That couldn’t happen. I was leading them. I couldn’t risk them seeing the terror in my eyes. Leaders weren’t supposed to be frightened. They were supposed to lead. And that’s what I was going to do.

  As we rode, I stared at the vast landscape that spread on either side of the main road. The warm red and yellow hues of fall were missing. The trees stood gray and leafless, like skeletons. The few leaves that still hung on the branches were blackened and spotted with dark stains. The lands surrounding Soul City had been hit the hardest by the black blight. Death and disease affected everything.

  I cringed as we passed withered and blackened farmers’ fields that looked as though they’d been burned, and I clamped my mouth shut as swarms of flies and locusts hit my face. I nearly gagged as one hit me in the eye and clung to my eyelashes. Resisting the urge to open my mouth, I pulled the insect out of my eye and tossed it into the wind.

  There were no horses, cattle, sheep, or goats—no animals at all as far as I could tell. Come to think of it, I hadn’t spotted any birds or heard any bickering squirrels either. It wasn’t natural. None of it was. The acrid smell burned my lungs. It smelled of bile, rotting flesh and death. The infection of the black blight had spread for miles beyond Soul City.

  Torak snorted loudly and shook his head. I felt his legs quicken beneath me, as if he, too, needed to pull us faster down the road and away from the rotting lands. Horses were much cleverer than people let on or knew. When the Eternal Bogs had risen against us, Torak and the other horses had fled to the shelter of Gray Havens. I knew without a doubt that Torak’s instincts recognized the unnatural evil of the necromancer priests’ black magic. He couldn’t stand the smell or the sight of the blight. And I didn’t blame him. Torak’s aversion only deepened my own sense of dread and urgency.

  We rode on steadily for four days. At first we met a few travelers, mostly farmers and merchants pulling carts stuffed with provisions. Their faces were gaunt, but their clear eyes showed that they had not yet been infected with the black sickness. But as the days went by, we met fewer and fewer travelers, until the main road was deserted except for us.

  At night we rested and made camp. Max built a fire and made tea while the rest of us ate our scarce provisions of dried meat, stale bread, and cheese. We took our meals in silence, and I slept away from the others.

  On the fifth day, we came to a crossroad that went down into a green valley with winding rivers and other intersecting paths. I could see a surprisingly vast city was nestled on the floor of the valley. Grand limestone structures similar to those in Soul City reflected red and gold in the setting sun, and the city looked both frightening and beautiful.

  This was Erast. It was the home of Prince Landon Battenberg, the late real royal prince of Anglia. I felt anger, guilt, and sadness as I remembered Prince Landon. I had let a pretty face creep into my heart. My mind had been clouded because this wealthy and beautiful man paid flirtatious attentions to me, a poor and wretched woman from the Pit. I had listened to the lies from his hot, sensuous lips, and I had fallen for his regal charms. I couldn’t blame his damn family wine anymore. I had fallen for him, and it had cost me.

  I couldn’t believe I had let him kiss me and touch me, only to have him leave me for dead. I had been so stupid and weak.

  A tall, square structure rose in the center of the city, an enormous pillar of white stone that dwarfed the buildings around it. Even from the distance of the crossroad, I could see a red and gold flag on the topmost turret, the royal seal of Anglia. It was clear that Erast had supported the late prince’s claim to the throne of Anglia, and I wondered what these people had had to sacrifice for the high priests to allow them to make such a bold statement and fly the Anglian flag.

  Although it was substantial, the white-stone structure wasn’t a castle. The priests would never have allowed them to build a real keep. I suspected that flying the flag was as close as they could get to suggesting that the real monarchy belonged in Erast.

  The city seemed quiet from up here. The grasses were green, and the trees rippled with a myriad of red, orange, and golden leaves. No black stains. No blackened anything. Perhaps the black blight hadn’t reached Erast yet. Perhaps they’d been lucky.

  Or perhaps we just couldn’t see it.

  The longer I stared at the city, the more I felt that something was definitely off. I just couldn’t figure it out. There was nothing out of place. The city gleamed under the sun like a giant jewel, and yet I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread. The hairs on the back of my neck rose, and I felt the same foreboding I had felt when I had spotted the giant wave of gray mist rolling onto the beaches of Anglia’s western sea. At first I couldn’t see the evil that lurked in the mist, but I knew it was there. I felt it.

  Call it my witch’s intuition, but I knew something evil was down there, just as I knew that if we went down there we wouldn’t come back.

  And then as if answering my suspicions, the wound at the back of my neck throbbed and burned like holy hell. It was warning me, just like it had warned me of the high priests’ black magic inside the golden temple. The necromancers’ black magic was definitely in Erast.

  Leo appeared on my right side. I knew he wanted to talk. I gave a firm tug on the reins and slowed Torak to a walk. I knew all too well what he was about to ask.

  Leo stared at the city down in the valley. “Do you think we should warn them? It doesn’t seem like the city’s been infected yet.”

  My throat felt dry as the others slowed and gathered around us, close enough to hear our conversation. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to this leadership thing. I did my best not to cringe in my saddle because what I was about to say was difficult.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” The words were out of my mouth before I could control them.

  “Why not? We could save thousands of lives.”

  I wanted to say, Because of the witch blood in my veins, I can sense the evil down there, but instead I voiced, “If we go down there and tell them that their beloved prince is dead at the hands of evil necromancers skilled in black magic, they’ll hang us all. They’ll blame us for his death.”

  I looked at Leo and hoped he could see it would be madness to go down there.

  “They won’t believe us. They won’t believe a group of wretched folk from the Pit. That’s what we are to them: thieves, whores, murderers—to them we’re Anglia’s trash. Besides what proof do we have? They won’t believe us.”

  “Maybe not at first,” said Leo, the tension growing in his voice. “But they might listen after we reasoned with them. It’s worth looking like fools if we can save lives.”

  The anguish in his eyes made my stomach tighten. “Look. I get it. But truthfully, we can’t risk getting caught. Don’t underestimate the necromancers. They wouldn’t leave one of their precious cities unguarded. W
e can’t risk going in and getting caught. We have to keep moving before it gets dark.”

  “There are families and children,” said Will.

  I was surprised at the emotion in his voice, even though his hard, square face remained hidden beneath his thick cowl.

  “I don’t give a shit about the noble bastards,” he continued. “But it doesn’t seem right to leave the little ones and the women like this.”

  They were the longest three sentences he’d ever spoken to me. I knew this was important to him. And like Leo, Will wouldn’t look directly into my eyes. They weren’t getting it. They all looked at me like I was some heartless bitch.

  Would they never trust me? Would I always be a witch and an outsider because I was not like them?

  I had to tread carefully. They might have volunteered to come with me, but I wouldn’t put it past them to pack up and leave at any moment.

  I was more than capable of imagining black-veined children with soulless, ebony eyes and peeling rotten flesh. My voice, when it came out, was hoarse and shaky.

  “You don’t understand. It’s not that I don’t want to help. I do, I really do. But the best way to help them is if we keep going. The sooner we get to Witchdom the sooner we’ll get the help they need.”

  The words felt like a lie on my lips, and I hoped the men didn’t recognize my lack of conviction. The truth was that I doubted our chances of getting any help at all. And it frightened me.

  “I’ll go,” said Garrick.

  My gaze shifted to the young man. His soft, tousled brown locks fell around his face and over his cheeks, making him appear even younger than he was. There was innocent hope in his eyes that I knew I’d have to crush.

  “You can’t.”

  “I’m a fast rider,” he pressed.

  He ignored the frown that deepened on my face and sat straighter in his saddle. His eyes darted back and forth between the other men, and I recognized that he was attempting to prove himself to them.

  “I know I don’t look it,” he went on as his eyes turned back to me and didn’t stray, “but I am. Besides, if any of the black or white robed bastards are down there, they won’t be looking for me.”

  “He’s right,” said Leo as a ripple of understanding flashed across his face. “If the high priests are looking for you, Elena, they’re looking for a woman. Not a young lad. It might work.”

  They still kept referring to the necromancers as high priests, as though they imagined they had a chance against them. I fought to keep my frustrations at bay because I needed their help to get to Witchdom. It was a suicide mission to go down there. I needed them all if we were to make it.

  “It’s already too late,” I said, straining to keep my voice calm. “There’s nothing we can do for them now.”

  “It’s not too late!” insisted Garrick. “I’ll ride hard, and I’ll meet you back on the eastern road before the sun sets. I can do this—”

  “You can’t!” I shouted. Torak shifted beneath me and I forced myself to calm down. “It’s too late,” I said, more controlled. “The city’s infected. It’s already reached them.”

  Silence.

  They all stared at me with looks of disdain that they took few pains to hide. There was something else, though, something I couldn’t quite understand.

  “But how would you know?” Leo asked.

  “Because,” I began and braced myself for what was coming, “because I can feel it.”

  The men looked at each other furtively. I didn’t have to be a mind reader to know exactly what they were thinking.

  Magic bearer. Witch. Evil.

  I wished Jon were here, and my heart gave a painful jolt at the thought of him. They’d listen to him. They wouldn’t question him or second guess his motives. In spite of their silence, I could feel the weight of doubt and fear in the air. One by one the men steered their horses away and galloped down the east road without a single word or a second glance in my direction.

  I sat still on Torak and watched them leave me behind. Although they did not go down to Erast, and I had kept the group of us together, I almost shouted to them to go back to the Pit. But I didn’t. Pricks.

  My hands shook as I found the comfort of Torak’s reins. Before I felt them, hot tears had spilled down my face, and I didn’t bother wiping them away. I would not let them or anyone make me ashamed that I was a steel maiden, strong and magic.

  I pressed my heels against Torak’s sides, and we tore down the road.

  We rode in silence for the next few days, and no one spoke more than a few words to me when we made camp and ate. It was clear our little group of rebels doubted my leadership, and I had to bite my tongue countless times when I wanted to shout to them to go back to the damn Pit. It was only the thought of Jon that kept me sane. He needed me. Although I wanted to lash out at them, I couldn’t. They already feared and mistrusted me, and I didn’t want to make the situation worse.

  We rode past sunset and well into the night on the ninth day. The road had handled the bulk of trading traffic between Anglia and Romila, and the dirt was so tamped down that there was barely any dust. The air was cooler, and I welcomed the sweet smell of pine trees, damp earth, purple coneflowers, daisies, and black-eyed susans.

  I had kept to the rear after our little dispute near Erast. I didn’t feel like leading a group of men who clearly doubted me and the value of our quest. For a time I only listened to the sound of their horses tearing up the dirt road in front of me, but then my ears picked up the unmistakable sound of hooves behind us.

  In a heartbeat, I whipped Torak around with my sword in my hand. My heart slammed against my chest as I waited, straining to hear that sound again, but only the rustling of leaves in the breeze answered. Even Torak didn’t seem to pick up anything, and I trusted his hearing better than mine. It was probably nothing. I was being paranoid.

  The others had stopped, too, and were peering behind me for my imaginary threat. But I dismissed it with a wave of my hand, and we were moving again.

  We made camp. Dark and impenetrable forests and mountains rose to the east, the borders of Romila. At the pace we were going, we would reach them by morning.

  For a while, the men mumbled in low conversations without looking in my direction too long. So far, Leo had been the only one brave, or stupid, enough to speak to me. The tension in the group was getting to me. They were getting to me. How could we go on like this? We had to trust each other. Even though I wasn’t the most social person, I knew we didn’t have a chance in hell without trust.

  I had enough to deal with. I didn’t need this shit.

  I jumped to my feet and yelled to no one in particular, “If you’re going to keep being pricks, and if you keep avoiding me like I’ve got the plague, then go back to the Pit! You’re no use to me. Get out of here. Leave!”

  I swore loudly enough for all of Anglia to hear, unable to stop the angry words that spilled out of my mouth. Such arrogant and ignorant fools! Why where they even here? I clenched my shaking hands into fists until they hurt, until my fingernails cut into the soft flesh, and I felt the wetness of blood around my fingers. I didn’t care that I’d lost my temper. I’d had enough of this.

  I let out a shaky breath as I made my way back to where I had tied Torak, my only true friend.

  The trouble was, someone else was already there.

  CHAPTER 6

  IT HAPPENED SO FAST I barely had time to blink. The silver tip of a sword winked at me through the semi-darkness.

  I jerked to the side, but not fast enough. Pain seared in my side as the sword punctured my left hip. I spun as I drew my sword, and I managed to deflect what would have been a fatal blow to my head. The force of the blow sent me crashing to my knees. I shifted and sent a powerful kick that caught my assailant in the knee with a horrible crunch. He staggered back and I had time to jump to my feet.

  My tears burned as I tried to focus on my attacker. He was tall and built like a tree trunk, with thick arms and strong hands
. The tip of his giant sword was stained with blood, my blood. He moved with the surety and grace of a seasoned warrior. A thick leather baldric stuffed with a collection of daggers, short swords and hunting knives was strapped around his shoulder and wrapped around his body. He was geared for war. He looked at me hard with small, cruel eyes as I lowered myself into a fighting stance. In spite of the darkness, I could see the royal orange and yellow colors of Romila on his tunic and cloak. We hadn’t even crossed their borders, and yet the Romilians were out for blood.

  But why? The Great Race was over. Why was this Romilian trying to kill me?

  As far as I knew, Romila hadn’t been at war with Anglia for over four hundred years, before the age of the priests. Unless this was something else entirely…

  My thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of male voices. The clang of metal rang in the cool air as my comrades arrived and drew their weapons. I could feel the tingling heat of my healing power work through my body as it pulled and stitched my skin back together.

  However, the big Romilian kept his eyes on me, never wavering to look at the others. It was obvious that I was his target. He was a single Romilian against a witch and six rebels. He must have had a death wish to continue as he was. But then twenty more giant Romilians spilled from the shadows of the forest. We were surrounded and seriously outnumbered.

  “You!” spat my attacker. His lips were parched, and his breathing was shallow. The hatred in his eyes was enough to make me stiffen, but there was no black fever in them.

  “My Madolina and Imilia are dead because of you!” His thick accent made his words sound forced and sluggish, as if he were drunk.