Thalgor's Witch

by Nancy Holland

  In a scant moment of quiet, he looked back to where Gurdek talked with his second and the messenger. While Thalgor watched, three arrows struck the side the second had turned toward the enemy. The man fell dead at Gurdek’s feet. The pain on his old friend’s face cut through Thalgor like an enemy sword.

  A slow, cold rain had begun to fall. The smell of mud mixed with gore and hot metal filled the misty air. Men easily slipped in the muck to their death. Unfortunately, the enemy held more of the rocky ground, Thalgor’s warriors more of the bare earth below it.

  The man he sent to Gurdek returned with an arrow in his shoulder and an expression of near panic.

  “All our men already fight, except the few who stand guard around the camp,” he reported. “Gurdek has sent for them, but that will leave only old men and boys in their place.”

  A wave of utter blackness swept over Thalgor, as devastating as it was unexpected.

  With an effort, he kept his face free of emotion as he nodded at the messenger and told him to find the surgeon to tend to his wound. When the man was gone, Thalgor looked up and down the battlefield and saw what he had missed in his focus on finding the enemy leader.

  Gurdek’s men, to his right, were holding their own, but they made no headway against the enemy. The line of Batte and Sett’s men on his left had broken. The enemy had gotten through in places and now battled some of their men from two sides. As the guards began to arrive from the camp, Gurdek sent them to close the broken line, but they were too few, too late.

  Soon, Thalgor saw, the line would break entirely and they would be surrounded. Defeat was inevitable. His daughter would be born, live, and die some other man’s slave.

  If they allowed Erwyn to live at all.

  And he could do nothing to protect her. He could only continue to fight in the cold, mud and rain, killing and grieving now with equal passion and equal despair.

  The enemy’s leader made his way toward him, but Thalgor doubted killing him would do more now than slow the tide of defeat.

  But kill him he would.

  The two leaders raised swords against each other. Their men moved away from where they stood, some out of deference to their strength and valor, some simply out of fear.

  The enemy glanced away for just a moment to appraise his men’s advantage.

  Now. Thalgor brought his sword down hard, but it struck only his opponent’s shield, as his sword stuck only Thalgor’s.

  They fought on that way, blow for blow, until Thalgor’s arms grew numb, his breath hot and tight in his chest.

  Just when he began to doubt he could ever kill this man who would soon take from him all he loved, a stir ran through the warriors on all sides. Both leaders froze and looked as their men did at a rocky outcropping just to one side of the battlefield.

  A man stood on the highest point in a shimmering silver robe. The Witch King.

  Beside him stood Erwyn.

  Chapter Eleven

  His woman’s pregnant body made a perfect target. Thalgor vowed to kill this Witch King with his own hands, vision or not, for putting her in such danger. Before he finished the thought, an arrow flew from the enemy ranks and pierced the shimmering vision, which immediately disappeared. Without her companion Erwyn, in her dark cloak, all but disappeared as well.

  Thalgor sighed with relief as his opponent’s sword swished past his right ear.

  Without having to think, he took advantage of the near miss to thrust his sword up under the man’s shield. He struck him deep below the ribs. The sword that had barely missed his ear came back down and knocked Thalgor’s shield into the mud as the enemy leader fell to the ground with a terrible crash.

  No. The crash was thunder. Thunder in the dark time?

  Again the battlefield stilled. Most of the men on both sides looked at the sky. Thalgor looked at Erwyn.

  She circled her hands in the air to create another ball of glowing white light. When she threw it to the sky, thunder rocked the air again and the rain became a downpour. Then she raised both arms and fire shot from her hands to strike the ground like lightening between the two lines of warriors locked in battle.

  Some fought on despite the bolts of white heat. Some stood still. Some on both sides ran.

  One of the lieutenants of the leader Thalgor had just killed rushed toward him, sword raised. Thalgor prepared himself for the blow, his shield lost in the mud, his own sword still stuck deep in the dead leader’s body.

  As he prepared himself for death, Erwyn cast a flash of light and fire at the attacker’s feet.

  The man jumped back from the lightening, slipped in the mud, and fell on the sword of one of his own fallen men. It must have lodged near his heart because a fountain of blood sprang from the wound, then stopped.

  Thalgor freed his sword and dug about in the mud for his shield. As the word spread among his men that Erwyn was the source of the flashes of light, they ceased to run and began again to fight.

  The enemy, for their part, began to run in earnest.

  “Should we follow?” Batte appeared at Thalgor’s side.

  “No. We’ve lost enough men for one day.”

  He looked up to find Erwyn gone.

  It was late before he could return to his tent. He had plans to set, wounded to visit, new widows to console, weary men to assure of their bravery even without a victory.

  The tent was silent as he entered and crossed toward the chamber he shared with Erwyn.

  Gee appeared from the dark and blocked his path.

  “She is exhausted,” the old woman told him in a hushed voice. “And she bleeds.”

  “She was wounded?” His heart pounded with terror.

  Gee shook her head.

  The full horror of the old woman’s words hit home.

  She bleeds.

  “No!” An anguish he never expected coursed through him like the lightening Erwyn had created that day. He took a step toward the sleeping chamber, intent on punishing her in a thousand ways for the crushing pain she’d caused him, but Gee still blocked his way.

  “Out of my way, old woman.”

  He was barely able to keep from putting his hands on her to move her from his path.

  “I saw being leader of this band turn my own son into a brute,” Gee said. “I’ll die before I let it do the same to you.”

  “No!” He held his hands up in impotent rage. “No!”

  He ran blindly from the tent to the battlefield. The rain had stopped, but the enemy dead lay covered with mud. In the light of the half-full moon, he pulled his sword and began to hack his way through the inert bodies, blow upon blow upon blow, until he was covered in blood and filth. Finally, beyond exhaustion, he stumbled to a patch of clean grass and slept.

  An icy chill woke him at dawn. Someone had covered him with a cloak. Rygar sat on a rock nearby, half asleep. He’d brought Thalgor fresh clothes and water to wash.

  When he was clean and dressed, Thalgor put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Nothing to say, Brother?”

  “There are no words to name the grief I feel, Brother.”

  They stood like that a while, both weeping silently.

  Finally Rygar said, “There will be others.”

  “Other women?”

  They turned to walk back to the camp.

  “Other children for you and Erwyn.”

  “No. I will give no more of my children to the witch. She is too careless of them.”

  “What was she to do, Thalgor? Let us all die?”

  “You defend her?”

  “I defend your love for her.”

  Thalgor swore violently. “You know what I once saw, what I once endured, what I once did. Do not speak to me of love.”

  “Thalgor…”

  “Or of the witch. She killed my babies with her magic. How can I touch her after that, much less love her?”

  “Thalgor…” Rygar tried again, but his brother gave him a look so dark he fell silent.

  *

  E
rwyn knew when Thalgor returned to the camp because her head began to throb so badly she thought it might split open. By the time he reached the tent Gee was already packing food in a basket for her.

  When she saw him, Erwyn wished fervently for the ignorance she had lived in for the last few months so she could not read his thoughts so clearly.

  “Leave my tent,” Thalgor said, then added to Rygar’s obvious surprise, “The archer will provide another.”

  “There’s no need.” Erwyn managed to keep the quaver out of her voice. “I go to the forest to recover and to grieve.”

  “Alone?”

  “I will take the child with me.”

  “How will a child be of any use?” he asked in a tone that sent Felyn scurrying to hide in the folds of Gee’s gown.

  “She will keep me company. She can tell Tya when we need more food.”

  His frown deepened. “Why can you not recover in camp?”

  “I need peace. Here there is too much anger against me.”

  “I have a right to be angry!” He took a step toward her.

  The pain in her head doubled and her stomach twisted.

  “Not only your anger. Some blame me for not seeing what would happen. Some blame Sett and his men, and blame me for encouraging you to take marauders into the band. Some blame me for not ending the battle sooner. Some blame me for not healing in its aftermath. I have no more magic, Thalgor, only enough second sight to make peace impossible for me here.”

  “Am I supposed to keep my people camped here until you decide we can move on?”

  “Whether you will abandon me and the child in the dark time is something only you can decide.” Nothing in his face answered the unspoken question in her words, so she went on. “I do what I must do to care for myself and my magic.”

  He sighed. “We will need to stay here, in any case, until we have regrouped from the battle and our wounded are healed. Let us hope you recover no more slowly than they.”

  The pain that split her head was met with a pain that all but split her heart. She managed not to cry out.

  “I grieve, too, Thalgor.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Stay out of my mind, witch. And stay out of my tent. A witch’s grief means nothing to me.”

  He turned away from her and left.

  But later, as she wrapped her cloak around her, Gee handed her a dagger.

  “From Thalgor,” the old woman said. “For protection.”

  The knife felt alive in her hand. She wanted to throw it–and the omen it brought–away from her, as she would a snake.

  But she heard the Witch King’s voice in her head say, “It is his heart.”

  She wrapped her hand around the hilt of the dagger and slid it up the sleeve of her gown, then tied the hilt to her wrist with a cord. The metal, strangely warm, pulsed against her flesh.

  Her body still protested the loss of the life it once sheltered. She and Felyn were barely out of sight of the camp when Erwyn needed to stop and rest.

  She lowered herself to the ground and leaned back against a tree. She used the resting time to sew a small, narrow pouch in the sleeve of her gown to hold the dagger near her hand.

  By the time it was done she felt strong enough to move on. She called Felyn from where she’d crouched down to sort through the leaves the tree had shed before the dark time came. The child brought an especially beautiful red one and handed it shyly to Erwyn.

  Although the attempt to cheer her up only made her grief more clear, she put the leaf in the pocket with Thalgor’s knife and told the girl, “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

  Erwyn rose awkwardly to her feet. A fallen branch lay nearby, the perfect size for her hand. She broke off both ends to make it the right length to carve into a staff with the dagger. One gift from the child, one from Thalgor. Would there be a third?

  The thought buoyed her a bit. With that lightness and the stick, she climbed the hill to see the forest in the valley below, the trees spread so no part of it was completely dark, almost as if planted that way on purpose. Halfway down the hill, Felyn waited, singing softly to herself.

  They made slow progress, but as the dark of the day became the dark of night, they were well into the forest. They found a fallen tree near a stream to shelter them. Erwyn made a small fire and they shared a meal of the food Gee had sent with them.

  Erwyn’s body ached from tiredness and from its loss, but the long walk made it so she could sleep, her cloak wrapped around both of them for warmth.

  In the night she woke from dreams of the battle. Her mind flooded with memories of the pain that grasped her as she stumbled back to the camp, the soul-wrenching despair when she realized her loss. She wept silently until dawn, careful not to wake the child huddled next to her.

  When Felyn woke, they ate a cold meal, then Erwyn, who still ached too much to walk far, sent the girl to find the witch’s circle that should lie in the midst of any forest.

  While she was gone, Erwyn peeled the bark from her staff. The dark honey color and fine texture of the wood reminded her of the way Thalgor’s hair spread across their pillow while he slept, patches of bark the brown of his agate-colored eyes.

  She took the knife and began to carve, not his face, but the face of the Witch King.

  She would grieve the loss of Thalgor when the deeper wound had healed. He was not an innocent, and he was never hers.

  Felyn came back at midday to share another cold meal and lead Erwyn to the circle she had found, uncertain whether it was made by witches or not.

  Erwyn entered the circle reverently and found the flat, half-hidden stone in the center that proved it was what she’d sought. She cleared the grass and weeds away from the stone and lit a fire.

  Felyn hovered at the edge of the circle, perhaps aware of how sacred this place was, perhaps unsure of Erwyn’s mood. Or both. Erwyn summoned the girl to her side.

  “Do you remember the ritual for the dead we did before?”

  Felyn nodded, eyes wide.

  “Can you help me again this time?”

  Rather than nod, the girl slipped a small hand into hers.

  “I wish to give the girl child I lost my mother’s name. Because she was your mother, too, you must agree.”

  Felyn replied in a voice rusty with disuse, “I agree.”

  Erwyn could not stop the tears that began to flow at those reedy words. Felyn threw her arms around her waist and began to cry, too. They stood there a long time in shared sorrow.

  Finally Erwyn noticed the fire was dying. She stepped gently from the girl’s embrace and asked her to add more wood. Felyn wiped her face with the edge of her cloak and did so, while Erwyn opened the bag of herbs she’d brought.

  The ritual, often interrupted by tears, lasted until the thin dark-time daylight was gone. Erwyn lit a long piece of wood from the fire to serve as a torch so they could find their way back to the fallen tree, then used it to start a fire for warmth and to keep animals away. Too tired to cook, they ate another cold meal and rolled up together in Erwyn’s cloak.

  Felyn slept at once, but Erwyn’s eyes refused to stay closed. She’d expected the ritual to ease her grief. Instead it made her loss more real, just as the name she had given her lost child made her more real. Worse, the ritual forced her to acknowledge that she would not, could not, have acted differently, even if she had known for certain the child would not survive.

  As the Witch King had said as he led her to the battlefield, she’d risked one life for many. Not to save Thalgor or Rygar or their band, but to save Thalgor’s vision of a world where none would wander, where no more battles would be fought.

  She drifted into sleep as the green line of dawn began to form in the east. She dreamed again of the image with the half-formed face that had appeared with her mother and the Witch King the night she tried to flee from Thalgor’s camp in the last dark time. This time she knew at once who it was.

  “Forgive me.” She could not look the apparition in its eerie face.

&
nbsp; “It was my fate,” the vision said. “As Thalgor is yours.”

  “No!” The word spoken aloud shocked her awake and frightened Felyn so much she began to weep.

  Erwyn made a hot breakfast for them, then carved some more on her staff while Felyn played among the trees. They were almost out of food, so as the sun warmed the day they headed out of the forest in the direction of Thalgor’s camp.

  They moved more quickly this time. Erwyn’s staff made it easier for her to walk, and her body was slowly healing, even if her heart was not. She stopped at the same tree just out of sight of the camp and sent Felyn to bring Tya with the food.

  The two returned together soon after midday. Tya brought not only a basket of food, but also a warm meal.

  “Thank you.” With an effort, Erwyn pulled herself out of the melancholy she had sunken into while she waited.

  “No, I should thank you.” Tya smiled and offered Erwyn some of the meat she brought. “A day away from the tent is a gift.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Better to ask what’s right. Thalgor rages at everyone and everything. His suffering distracts Rygar so he barely remembers to smile at me, and grieves Gee so she relies on me more than ever to do the work for them all. Gurdek and Batte argue endlessly, so the whole camp is upset. There are still many wounded from the battle, which casts a gloom over everything. This is the most quiet I have known since you left.”

  “Is Thalgor well?” Erwyn asked in spite of herself.

  “He eats little and sits up most of the night to stare into the fire. But he is strong. Gee worries more about his temper than his health.” Tya paused, then cleared her throat and looked away. “The woman called Dara visited him yesterday.”

  “Oh,” Erwyn squeezed past the pain that threatened to strangle her. “Did she stay long?”

  “No. Like everyone else, she managed to have him quickly in a rage. But I thought you should know.”