by Eve Redmayne
“Don’t do this!” His voice was raw. “For the love of family, don’t do this!”
She turned and gave him a smile so sinister, he knew their relationship lost. A brief incantation and flick of the hand and the potion tore from the blind man’s grasp. It hovered, mocking Orrin, before his lips parted, compelled by an unseen force.
Unable to close his mouth against her powers, the brew slid down his throat, instantly freezing him in place. He listened as the council limped away, knowing they took Jessica from him. His pleas echoed in his brain as the door closed behind the last witch.
Willow and Orrin eyed each other from across the room, each magically restrained so they couldn’t move so much as to scratch an itch.
The sun rose and fell, followed by the moon. And all the while, they remained paralyzed, tasting bitter futility.
The binding of their tongues wore off first. Just as the sun crested, a yell tore free of Orrin’s throat, full of agony and frustration. Though bound, he strained against the invisible cords only to slump in failure, still lying on the ground where his sister had left him. “Where are they taking her?” he asked.
“To the elves. Where else?” Willow’s voice was hollow.
“Wycliffe?” Orrin grimaced. So, the elf had come to take her back. “How do you know?” He continued to push, trying to weaken the ties.
“Your sister mentioned something about Jessica being married to the dwarf and how that wasn’t her problem, they’d deliver her anyway. I just put two and two together.” Willow blew a strand of hair out of her face and pushed against her own bonds, shifting ever so slightly.
“How can you move? I’m barely able to blink,” he asked. “Try picking apart the seams. Free your hands.”
Her fingers twitched, and a harsh laugh echoed throughout the cottage. “The enchantment’s already wearing off. The stitches holding the spell together have weakened. It must’ve been hastily brewed.” She twisted her wrists in opposite directions until finally… POP! The enchantment dissolved in violet waves.
She hurried to his side and plucked at the bonds. “Guess because you’re the son of a council member, they thought you needed something a bit stronger. The bands of energy are stacked one on top of the other and stitched tight. I don’t know that I can free you.”
Gods, he could kill his sister!
Willow’s knife glinted as she unsheathed it. Bit by bit, she un-picked the raw edges of the magical bond, focusing with her third eye, and meticulously pulling apart the layers of the spell. While working the seams loose, she nicked him with the sharp blade then nicked him again.
Orrin bit his tongue. He likely couldn’t do any better, and unlike Myst, wasn’t deluded into thinking Willow’s powers weren’t great. They’d grown up together as children, had the same instructors, been witness to the work each could do. And he’d never forget some of the things he’d seen come out of the young witch. She’d free him.
When the final stitch snapped, he sprang to his feet, brushed away the violet waves, and raced to the door. “It won’t budge!” he growled, straining against the lower latch, the top-half open, taunting him. His temper flared as he stomped around the cottage, rattling every window.
“Oh sure,” Willow grumbled as she examined the enchantment on the cottage, “use shit magic to freeze us, give us hope of escaping, then use something powerful on the cottage. Arseholes.”
Using his third eye, he scanned the spell’s seam. After scrutinizing the faint lines of magic, as his fingers traced along the magical boundaries, he slammed his fist into the wall. “I can’t see any weak spots.” Eventually, he plunked down before the door, closed his eyes, and calmed his breathing.
Willow stared at him and huffed, “Meditation isn’t going to get us out of here!”
“You always were too impatient. Sometimes it’s best to try and figure it out instead of just charging in and getting both horns stuck.”
“You’re right, I’ve always preferred relying on my instincts. You were always the more observant student,” she said, pacing behind.
The day drifted by in slow measured ticks of the clock. Around mid-afternoon, Orrin stood from his cross-legged position. “Someone approaches.” He watched through the open-half of the front door, his bulk blocking Willow’s view. She pushed in beside him, green eyes anxious.
Three riders tore into the tiny glen, horses’ chests heaving as they sucked air.
“Dwarves,” Willow gasped and smiled at Orrin, as if to share in the relief. “He survived.”
Sure enough, the dwarf prince sat tall upon his black stallion, cloak wrapped tight to ward off the chill of the early spring day, his eyes hard. With a sigh of defeat, Orrin turned away, leaving Willow to greet her guest, his failure complete. He’d not freed himself in time, and now Jessica’s husband would play the hero, not he.
CHAPTER 30
Quivering with excitement, Willow stood before the door and watched Braum leap from his horse. His expression grew dark as he scanned the yard then strode onto the porch with huge, limping strides.
“Prince Braum,” she welcomed, ducking her head, and unable to wipe the grin off her face. Any witch loved to see the fruits of their labor yield a successful harvest. Plus, he looked hale and handsome. “She’s not here,” she said, answering the unasked question.
His brows drew in as if trying to figure out not whom, but what she was, and from the look of things, he’d concluded, perhaps an insect? She ran a hand through her hair, hanging in disheveled, red tangles, and smoothed her rumpled shirt.
“She’s not here? Then she was here.” His voice grew louder. “Where’s she now?”
Golden eyes pierced her with such ferocity, Willow took a step back, hands held before her. “Taken. I’d love to tell you everything, but, first, can you manage to get us out of here?” She shrugged. “I’m afraid a spell has imprisoned us.”
He eyed the yard as though looking for a trap. “Why would I let a witch out of a bespelled cottage?” His eyes narrowed in recognition. “Especially the witch who left me to die last autumn. I assume you’ve been placed there for a good reason.”
What a suspicious creature. She dipped into a mocking curtsy. “Indeed, we were.” A smile slid across her face, she didn’t blame him one bit. “We were ensorcelled for aiding your lovely wife.”
He stepped closer, frown deepening. “Then it was you who healed me?”
She nodded and turned her gaze to Orrin. “My companion and I assisted Jessica, and I must say you’re looking fine.” He certainly didn’t have the appearance of a man recently in death’s grip. His coloring was good, he stood straight and tall, and if not for the slight limp, she’d never have guessed at his previous condition.
And as to the limp, well, that was curious. The spell should’ve cured him of any affliction. Well, nothing to do about it now. He still had use of both legs, and she figured a slight imperfection wouldn’t concern him overmuch.
“Get us out of here and we’ll find Jessica together,” she said, hoping they were only bespelled from getting out, and not from others getting in. The witches wouldn’t leave them to starve to death, would they?
He pulled back on the latch. When nothing happened, he jerked harder.
Willow sighed and began to pace as she considered the predicament. She glanced at Braum, still tugging on the door then over to Orrin, slumped before the fire. “Orrin, I have an idea.”
“Go to hell.” He spoke so softly, she almost missed his response.
Without delay, she hurried over and smacked him on the back of the head. “If anything happens to her, you’ll be the one I blame.” Her gaze moved back to Braum, now pulling the handle with brute force, the tendons in his neck bulging with effort. “He will as well, and if those neck muscles are any sign, I’d worry about him ripping your head from your body with his bare hands.”
“I wouldn’t care if he tried,” Orrin said between clenched teeth, but stood and followed, then clarified, “He’d never
succeed, but let him try.”
Softening her approach, she said, “Let’s do this for Jessica.”
He slashed a hand across his face, hiding eyes red-rimmed from what could only be weariness as well as grief. “What’s your idea?” he asked.
Across the threshold from Braum, Willow tapped the door, a sly twinkle in her eyes. “The door opens outward.”
“And?” Orrin’s voice dripped with exasperation.
“Obviously to bypass the spell, we need to go about it an unexpected way.” She turned an assessing eye on Braum. “So, big man with the big muscles, you think you’re strong?” Her grin widened as his biceps flexed. Though lean from his infirmity, nothing could hide the rippling bulges visible under his shirt.
“What of it? I’m not interested in playing your witch’s games right now.” He canted his head to the side and considered her.
“Oh, just everything.” After consulting one of her scribbled notes, she dashed about the cottage and grabbed a feather, a handful of dried herbs, the brown candle she’d used to bring back Jessica’s shade, and her incense burner.
When the scent of poplar filled the air, she looked at Orrin out the corner of her eye. “Do as I do.” She turned to Braum. “When I say kick, kick that bloody door in as hard as you can. Opposite the way it opens.”
He gave her an uncertain nod.
The pressure in the cabin built as Willow hummed, her eyes focused on the distant trees. The volume grew louder, and a breeze rustled through the evergreens. She cupped a wisp of smoke within her hands and blew it out the door. The wind suddenly howled, and treetops bowed violently, causing Braum to turn in alarm.
Swaying in time with the gusts, Willow hummed the words to an incantation. The winds picked up, obscuring any sounds. She caught Orrin’s eye, who nodded and took over. He continued to hum rhythmically, his hands directing the unseen force. Willow reached into her basket, grabbed the feather in one hand, lavender in the other. She looked at Braum who gave her a curt nod, indicating, he too was ready.
Hair and scarves billowing about, she raised her hand triumphantly in the air. The feather fluttered, trying to escape her grip. Lavender at the ready in her other fist, she shouted over the howling winds, “As I will it, so let it be!” And tossed the flowers into the air.
“NOW!” she bellowed, clutching the feather as purple petals fluttered around her.
Braum braced himself on his weaker leg and kicked the half-door with all the force he could muster. The door rattled in its frame, and his eyes widened as a gust of wind aided his kick.
“Again!” Willow ordered.
Again, and again he kicked, cheeks set with grim determination, each time aided by the wind. His golden hair whipped about his face as the door shuddered. With a final, brutal jolt, the door shattered and flew backwards against its hinges.
The wind died as Willow closed the spell. “Let’s get going.” She blew out the candle that had remained lit during the maelstrom and placed the other items back in the basket.
Mouths agape, the men stared at her.
“Where’d you gain the power for such a spell?” Orrin hissed, halting her with a hand on her arm. “What was that demon magic?”
The words hurt, but she understood where they came from. Manipulating the elements wasn’t done. She gave him a wry smile and patted his hand. “I learned a lot shadowing your girlfriend.”
He jerked back at the word ‘girlfriend’. The taunt had been unnecessary, and she regretted it instantly.
Braum’s eyes bore into the back of Orrin’s head. He’d also heard it and didn’t appear pleased.
“Let’s go!” Willow urged.
***
Orrin moved to follow when Braum lifted his hand.
“Wait!” Braum hissed, signaling his men to dismount and head for the woods. “I hear men on horseback. You two, stay in the cottage, I’ll be over there. Don’t give any signs you can get out…” he waved his hand at the shattered door, “despite this.”
Orrin scowled as Braum disappeared around a snowdrift and into the dark forest. He gave Willow a jaundiced look. “I’ve been ordered around too much, and now by the man, I consider my enemy? I’ve had enough!” His body stiffened at once before he breathed, “Elves! Maybe thirty of them. But why are they here, now Jessica’s gone?”
A band of mounted elves entered the yard, armed to the teeth, and Willow shook her head.
“Hello, the house,” the leader shouted as he removed his helm. His sharp, elven ears twitching, assessing every sound.
“Hello,” Orrin answered through the broken door. “Aren’t I glad to see you, sir.” He bared his teeth in a poor example of a smile. “My wife and I have been spelled and are bound to our cottage. As you can see from the door, we’ve been trying to get out. Might we have some assistance?”
“Ellys,” one man said from the rear, “it’s the house we were told about.”
Ellys raised a black brow and considered Orrin. “I believe you are correct, Vastian.” He strode up to the porch and appraised the carnage. “What’s happened here, man-witch?”
Orrin narrowly refrained from rolling his eyes. The elf said ‘man-witch’ as though it were an insult. “Man-elf,” he responded in kind, “as I already said, we’re trapped and have been attempting to free ourselves. The door was a casualty of our efforts. Will you help us or not?”
“Oh,” the elf smirked, “certainly not.” He turned and laughed, his men joining with him. “Letting you rot where you stand sounds just about perf—”
His words cut off as an arrow sang through the air, embedding into his Adam’s apple. Blood burbled out his mouth as he gasped for air that wasn’t forthcoming. Eyes bulging, he stared at the witches as though they had somehow brought this about. Other soldiers fell in rapid succession, clutching at grotesquely protruding shafts, their screams stunted by death as a hailstorm of arrows flew from woods.
“Dwarves!” one soldier shouted, examining the fletches of an arrow as the elven ranks broke
“The prince!” another voice cried, victoriously. “We thought we’d lost his trail, but this must be him!”
Willow glanced at Orrin. “They followed Braum here.”
“Let’s do what we can to help.” Orrin stepped up to the threshold, ensuring his toes stayed well within the doorframe. “Whatever you do, stay in the house. It may save us.”
She swallowed. “I’ve never been in an actual battle before, but I don’t think the odds are in our favor. Dozens of elves versus two witches and three dwarves, one of whom was recently mortally ill.”
“I’ve been in many battles.” He tried to still the hope that Braum might die in this skirmish, leaving him to rescue Jessica. Instead, forced himself to focus on the fight ahead. Every male witch entered the army as a boy of twelve, he was well-prepared for the fight ahead.
“I don’t have many weapons.” Willow showed him the bow she used for hunting.
Orrin kept his eyes on the elves, noting where each stood.
“Oh wait, I have this!” She grabbed a pouch stashed deep in a cupboard and threw a handful of powder out the door. A fog descended, bringing the visibility down to almost nothing. Men caught up in the dense haze shouted in panic and others in anguish. “Hope that was elf, not dwarf,” she said, trying to peer outside. “Now what?”
“Aim your bow and if you’re certain it’s not me, shoot.”
Arrow knocked, she raced to the window. “Where are they?” she asked just as an elf strode passed.
An easy shot, Orrin waited for her to strike, but she hesitated. He moved to grab the bow from her hands and handle the matter when the string sang. The boy—for he couldn’t be more than fourteen— clutched the shaft protruding from his abdomen.
“Oh, Christ!” Willow gasped and pressed quaking fingers to her lips.
Orrin’s shoulder’s stiffened. She’d picked up that curse from Jessica. Shit, he had to save her!
The young soldier gazed up, smooth cheeks tr
embling, as he fumbled to tear the arrow from his gut. Hands scarlet, he sank to his knees. “You?” he mouthed at Willow, watching white-faced from the window.
“He’s so young.” Her voice quaked as she watched the young man work his mouth soundlessly, his life flowing from him in a steady river of red.
Orrin put his hand on her shoulder and said gently, “The first kill is always the hardest.”
Tears glistening in her green eyes, she turned away from the dying boy. “I didn’t even question it. He was there, so I shot him. Oh goddess, what’ve I done?” Her face crumpled.
Orrin led her away from the window. She sank to the floor, eyes deadened. “Stay here,” he ordered, “I’ll handle it.” She plunged her face into her hands and began to weep.
The chaos outside had escalated, so he left Willow, unable to spare her any more attention. Squinting into the haze, he watched elves fighting each other in confusion. Every now and then a dwarven figure darted by, but he couldn’t tell who was who. So, he closed his eyes to see through the blinding haze with his witch’s sense.
Braum lived, unfortunately, as well as one other dwarf, their auras glowing steely-blue about them. About fifteen elves remained in the fight as well, their auras green. In the distance, Baum grappled an elf, green haze blending with blue.
Intently focused, the realization struck Orrin that he could kill Braum himself and blame it on the elves. By the grace of his witch’s senses, the dwarf prince stood out clearly. No way he could miss.
CHAPTER 31
Knife in hand, Orrin crept from the cottage, eyes shut, relying fully on his second sight. Focused on Braum, he stumbled as an elf bumped into his side. The man turned, startled to see Orrin out of the cottage. His mouth opened to sound the alert, but Orrin was ready and plunged his knife into the elf’s chest, silencing him.
Fourteen elves, he thought grimly and wiped the knife clean on the man’s shirt.
