Thalgor's Witch

by Nancy Holland

  “If it was a sword, I would be dead.” She gave a gasp of pain. “If you cannot help me, please get Tya.”

  That “please” told him more than anything else how badly hurt she was. He didn’t trust his own head, still muddled by the tea, so he rushed to the room where Tya and Felyn slept.

  Tya refused to let him watch while she tended his woman’s half-naked body.

  “Should I fetch the herbalist?” He couldn’t bear to simply stand there while Erwyn bled.

  “Just go away,” she told him, her voice tight with pain as Tya’s inexperienced fingers spread salve on the wounds.

  He went into the main chamber to wait. Anguish and rage battled with the grogginess for control of his mind.

  When the wounds were cleansed and bound, Tya went to make Erwyn a cup of the same tea Thalgor drank earlier so she could sleep. He declined a second cup for himself and went into their sleeping chamber.

  “It was a sword.” Erwyn’s voice was still taut. “But not thrust deeply enough to kill.”

  “A warning?”

  “Or someone unused to wielding a sword.”

  “A warrior must be able to respond to every alarm, so his woman sleeps next to the tent wall. A warrior never expects an attack from within his own camp.”

  “Whoever it was attacked me, not you.”

  “But in such a way that I could not protect you.”

  “How else to do it? You are an imposing foe, Thalgor.”

  He paced the small chamber. “None of my men are cowards, to sneak around and attack a woman as she sleeps.”

  “Are you sure it was a man?”

  “It could be one of the men we captured.”

  “I healed them, Thalgor. I saw into their hearts.”

  He stopped and rubbed his forehead. “One of my people?”

  “Someone afraid of my power.”

  He looked down at her in the flickering lantern light, unsure of what it was he felt. Tya had dressed her in a clean gown. The old one lay crumpled and blood-soaked in a corner. He made a silent vow to burn it at first light.

  Tya came with the tea, and he knelt to help Erwyn sit up.

  “Take a torch and mend the tent now,” he told Tya.

  Erwyn made a noise to protest, but he waved her silent.

  “No one must know of this but we three, and the one responsible. Then none can say it was the men we captured. And to keep it secret will help me find who did it.”

  Tya nodded and slipped away.

  Erwyn drank the tea, then he laid her back on the bed and took the cup to the scullery. By the time he returned she was half asleep. He crawled into bed beside her. When he pulled her to him, she nestled closer and drifted off.

  He lay awake even after Tya finished mending the tent. Who in his camp would want to kill his woman? Dark thoughts, but better than the memory of the black moment when he thought he’d lost her forever.

  *

  Erwyn dreamt of battle inside the camp. No enemy attacked. Brother fought brother, father, son. Rygar and Gurdek were at each other’s throats. Panic ruled. The ground was soaked with blood.

  She woke as she had in the night, not sure of the source of the sharp pain in her side. She screamed. A second pain, sharper.

  She screamed again and sat up, fully awake.

  Tya and Felyn appeared at her side, eyes wide. Reality rushed back.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I had a bad dream.”

  The other two relaxed. Tya handed her a cup of warm broth.

  “Thalgor said you would not want a full meal.”

  Erwyn managed a smile, despite the burn of her wounds.

  “He was right.” She drank the broth gratefully and handed the cup to Tya. “Is it midday yet?”

  “Not quite.”

  Erwyn shot Felyn a quick glance. “Could I have a cup of the tea you made before?”

  One of the wounds burned deeper than she’d thought at first. Her magic could heal them more quickly, but pain made it impossible to use it just now. So she drank the tea when Tya brought it. She hoped that, even if she could not sleep, it would ease the pain enough for her to get up and find a stronger healing salve to put on the wounds.

  After Tya and Felyn left, Erwyn lay in the still room and listened to the sounds of life around her. Half-awake, the dream crept back over her, the death and destruction as clear as a vision. Again, the image of Rygar and Gurdek locked in battle with each other forced her to clear her mind.

  I must leave, she thought when the last wisp of terror faded. I must take Felyn to the Wise Witches as soon as the weather warms enough. Not for the child’s sake, but to keep Thalgor’s dream alive.

  And not with any hope she would ever return to this camp that had become her home, to the man she loved so deeply.

  Once she was gone from the camp, the suspicions Batte and Dara spread within the band would dissipate like fog in sunlight. No one could or would question Thalgor’s leadership on his own account. Only the fear of her magic, of her power over him, gave the distrust Batte sowed any room to grow among their men. If she left, her awful dream of the future would be erased.

  And all the joy would go out of her life.

  On that thought she slept again, and dreamed the Witch King stood beside her bed.

  “Do you not know a vision from a dream?” he asked her.

  Her mind was instantly clear despite the pain and the tea.

  “You are a dream.”

  “I am a vision.”

  “And the other, the battle inside the camp?”

  “Was a dream, a bad dream such as Felyn might have.”

  She wanted so much to trust his words she forced herself to doubt. “Why should I believe you? The battle was as real to me as you are.”

  “Trust your heart.”

  She closed her eyes and felt the truth resonate from the Witch King to her core. When she opened them, he smiled down at her and his smile eased the pain in her side.

  “Why have you come here?” she asked him.

  “You must stay with Thalgor. Only then will the warfare and wandering end. Only then will you find the answers you seek about Felyn, and about your mother.”

  “But the dream…”

  “Was a dream. I am the future.”

  She slept again. By evening her pain had eased enough she could use her magic on the wounds. The next morning only two ugly red welts remained, but she was still so weak that Thalgor insisted she remain in bed.

  In mid-afternoon she heard a woman call Tya from the door of the tent. Bored and restless, Erwyn went to see who it was.

  Dara stood in the main room of the tent. A pot sat on the table, so hot that steam still circled above it.

  “Hello,” Erwyn ventured.

  Dara jumped in surprise, and looked even more shocked when she saw it was Erwyn who stood there.

  “You are well?”

  “Yes. What did you want of Tya?”

  “I thought she might be too busy taking care of you to cook, so I brought a pot of stew for your dinner.”

  A cold prickle crept up Erwyn’s spine.

  “Why would she need to take care of me?”

  “Because you are ill.”

  “Clearly I am not. Why would you think otherwise?”

  Erwyn shifted her weight carefully so Dara would not know the wounds ached again.

  “Everyone knows you are ill.”

  “How can that be when I am not?”

  “You’ve not been out of the tent in two days.”

  If only she dared sit down. But something told her to stay away from that pot on the table.

  “Why would anyone watch closely enough to know whether I leave the tent or not? Perhaps I have been at an especially difficult birth. Or out in the woods practicing my magic. Don’t you know witches can make themselves invisible?”

  She stirred the air around her and smiled at the shock, then horror on Dara’s face when she seemed to find herself alone.

  Hidden, Erwyn w
ent to the pot Dara had brought. She didn’t have to smell the stew because as soon as she drew near it the cloud of steam over it turned black with warning.

  She stirred the air again. Dara screamed and jumped back when Erwyn reappeared across the room from where she vanished.

  “The stew is poisoned.” Erwyn kept her voice calm. “The mushrooms, I suspect. How careless of you to pick bad ones.”

  Dara took another step back. Afraid she might flee, Erwyn cast a quick spell that locked the other woman’s feet in place unless she moved forward.

  “It was an honest mistake.” Dara tried to step back again but could not. Her face went white with fear.

  “Was it? You must hope so, in any case. Do you not know of the curse that falls on any who cause the death of a witch?”

  “More witch lies,” Dara spat. “Batte warned me of them.”

  “He knows you meant to kill me?”

  Dara looked away. “Why do you insist I did? You can’t prove the stew is poisoned.”

  “It is true I cannot prove it was you who stabbed me.”

  Dara’s face flushed from white to red with anger.

  “And since I cannot prove it,” Erwyn went on, “and since no one is around to hear, I’d like to know why.”

  The other woman stepped forward and gave a hollow laugh.

  “Are you so dense, witch, that you do not know? Your brain must be as weak as the spell you cast a moment ago. Or tried to. You didn’t do it very well, since I can move now.”

  She took another step forward.

  “Hmmm.” Erwyn mimed a puzzled look. “Apparently I didn’t.”

  “Think, witch. If you lived, as you do, no one would suspect a woman. If you died, Thalgor would blame Batte, who would challenge him as he now refuses to do. One would die and the other would be leader. And that one would be mine.”

  Erwyn shuddered. She had faced evil before, but always based on passion, lust, or anger. This calculated, purely selfish evil chilled her to the bone. She felt no fear, but to breathe the same air as Dara seemed unclean. She undid the spell rather than have her magic touch the other woman.

  “Do you think Thalgor would have you again? Or that Batte would not know who caused him to kill his friend?”

  Dara smiled a serpent’s smile. “I am no witch, but there are ways of clouding men’s minds that do not rely on magic. The plan was foolproof because it relied on them both being fools.”

  “But I lived, and now know for a certainty who stabbed me.”

  “Which of us will be believed, if not by Thalgor and his henchmen, by everyone else? You, a witch, who says I, a woman, took a sword to you, or me when I say Thalgor stabbed you when he escaped for a moment from the spell you cast over him?”

  Erwyn sighed and shifted her weight again. The pain grew worse every moment.

  “Most likely few will believe either story.”

  “Which serves my purpose just as well.”

  “What about the poisoned stew?”

  “An honest mistake, as I told you. Those who don’t believe I tried to stab you will see no reason I should poison you.”

  “What if it killed Thalgor?”

  Dara shrugged. “If he dies, Batte will be leader. Besides, I hoped to find a way to keep him away from the tent until after you were ill or dead. It would not be hard to convince Batte he had some grievance Thalgor needed to address immediately.”

  “But what about the others–Rygar, Tya, Felyn?”

  “You can’t win a battle without a few dead.”

  Erwyn’s body shook with such disgust and rage she feared Dara could see it. She refused to give the woman the satisfaction of knowing her words hit home.

  “I know now the stew is poisoned.”

  “You suspect it is poisoned.”

  “I can see the death that hovers over it.”

  Dara tapped her cheek lightly with her hand. “Oh, yes, a witch. Luckily for me, no one else can see what you do.”

  “No, but if I can prove the stew is poisoned, everyone will be much more likely to believe you stabbed me as well.”

  “How could you prove it if no one eats it?”

  “Easily enough. Dump it at the edge of the camp. Depending on what kind of mushroom you used, the crows will either smell the poison and refuse to eat, or eat it and die.”

  “What if they eat it and fly happily away?”

  “They won’t, will they? Guards!” Erwyn called quickly when the other woman looked as if she might escape.

  “Please.” Panic replaced arrogance when two warriors appeared. “No one was hurt.”

  Erwyn raised her hand to the ache in her side. “No one?”

  She sent one of the men for Thalgor while the other remained to guard Dara.

  When Thalgor arrived and gestured for the guards to leave, Dara ran to him.

  “Thank goodness you are here. Your witch says I brought you poisoned stew when I only thought to make life easier for Tya.”

  Thalgor’s eyes met Erwyn’s over the other woman’s bowed head. Erwyn saw surprise, then understanding.

  “Why would Erwyn accuse you of something like that?”

  “Because it would weaken Batte’s position among your men. You’re too noble to use treachery against a friend who in good faith questions your decisions, but your witch is not.”

  Thalgor grimaced. “It is true at least that I am noble.”

  “So put it to a test.” Dara lifted her hands to his chest, but he stepped away. “Dump the stew at the edge of the camp. The crows will eat it unharmed, and prove it is not poisoned. Then no one ever need know of the witch’s evil accusations.”

  “Why not test it by eating some of it yourself?” he asked.

  Dara went pale. “I ate a bowl of it as it cooked. I can’t eat any more right now.”

  Thalgor cast Erwyn a questioning look. She gave a nod in answer.

  “All right, we will try your plan,” he said.

  The two women followed Thalgor through the scullery and out of the tent in an awkward procession. Dara carried the pot at arm’s length, as if afraid to breathe the cloud of poisonous steam Erwyn could still see hovering over it.

  He led them along seldom used paths to a large, flat rock just beyond the edge of the camp nearest the barracks, empty during the day except for the sleeping warriors who had night guard duty.

  Dara poured the stew out of the pot onto the rock. A flock of crows began to circle almost at once, cawing loudly.

  “There’s no need for us to stay.” Dara looked sideways at the two of them, then quickly away. “If we come back at sunset, it will be gone. That will be proof enough the witch lied.”

  Erwyn thought to point out she had not spoken at all, but chose silence instead.

  “Agreed,” Thalgor said.

  Dara quickly walked away, the empty pot still at arm’s length. She stopped at the edge of the camp and looked over her shoulder to make sure Erwyn and Thalgor followed her.

  When Dara went into her mother’s tent, Erwyn pulled Thalgor down a path back to the edge of camp.

  “Where are we going, witch?”

  “The long way back to the rock.”

  “Oh. And maybe on the way you can tell me what’s going on.”

  There were no bushes near the rock they could hide in, so Thalgor climbed a tree some distance away and helped Erwyn scramble up beside him.

  Soon Dara appeared and walked back to the rock. She kept looking over her shoulder and jumped at every scurry in the grass. She scraped what remained of the stew into the pot, then picked up two crows that had already died from its poison.

  Thalgor jumped down from the tree and walked toward her. “Your test worked well.”

  Dara screamed and dropped the dead crow she held between thumb and forefinger. But she quickly pulled herself together.

  “Well enough to fool Batte and the others.” She gestured to a small group of men that came toward them from the camp.

  Erwyn went to try to slow t
heir approach while Thalgor dealt with Dara.

  “I don’t think this will fool anyone.” Thalgor picked the dead crow up by one foot.

  Dara looked from Thalgor to Erwyn to Batte, who approached with a stormy look on his face. With a cry of panic, she turned and bolted into the woods.

  Erwyn expected the cloud of danger to thin. Instead it grew thicker and so dark she could barely see through the burning yellow-brown haze.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Batte started after Dara, but Tynor stopped him with a nod toward Thalgor.

  As Thalgor watched the men come toward him, he felt a chill creep from Erwyn’s body to his. He understood the reason when he looked into Batte’s eyes.

  “What have you done to Dara?”

  “Confronted her with her own treachery.”

  Batte spat at his feet.

  Thalgor saw the moment when he became the leader of the band on a battlefield not far away. The man who led after his mother’s murderer lay dead. Gurdek had fallen with a wound that might have been fatal. Batte, Gurdek’s second then, had caught an arrow clean through his sword arm. He’d turned to Thalgor, a bit younger but a head taller and untouched by the enemy. Thalgor had met his gaze and raised his sword. As he’d cried out to rally their warriors, Batte had echoed the cry and stood by him, despite his wounded arm, throughout the long battle that had saved their camp and made Thalgor their undisputed leader.

  Undisputed until now.

  “She tried to poison my family.” Thalgor’s tone was placating, despite the men who stood around them and listened.

  The eyes that had made him leader now condemned him in a stare of fear and rage. Next to that, what the others might think meant nothing.

  Batte shook his head. “She told me she wasn’t sure about the mushrooms. That’s why she came back here to clean up the stew.”

  Why is the man so blind? But Thalgor knew the answer. A woman was always the answer. Women brought nothing but sorrow and loss.

  “Out of compassion for the endangered crows?” he asked.

  “It was an honest mistake.”

  “Do I have to show you the wounds on my woman’s side?”

  “She is a witch, Thalgor, not a woman.”

  Thalgor was reluctant at the moment to disagree. “She is mine. As Dara is yours. Or as you think she is yours.”