by Tim Marquitz
Witch Bane
Tim Marquitz
Copyright 2012 Tim Marquitz
Cover design by Carter Reid
(Check out his amazing art at: www.carterillustration.com/)
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Created in the United States of America
Worldwide Rights
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Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form, including digital, electronic, or mechanical, to include photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the author, except for brief quotes used in reviews.
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This book is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Dedication:
It’s been an amazing year, and I can’t thank everyone enough for the support. With every story I move a step closer to my goal of writing for a living, and it’s you, the reader, who makes this dream possible. I’ll never be able to fully express my gratitude, but thank you all so much.
To my family and friends, I love y’all more than you know.
Thanks to Bastard, Ryan Lawler, Mihir Wanchoo, and Lincoln Crisler for the constant support, handholding, ass kicking, and general, all-around kindness and advice that helps me to maneuver through the daily minefields of publishing. And to all the wonderful reviewers who take time out of their lives to read and critique my words, you are an indispensable and well-loved part of the machine that is my world, and I thank you for that.
To the readers who wish to support quality independent authors, here is a short, and by-no-means comprehensive, list of folks you should check out:
Lincoln Crisler
Edward M Erdelac
Malon Edwards
Nathaniel Connors
Jake Elliott
Naomi Clark
Yolanda Sfetsos
William Meikle
Nick Cato
Stacey Turner
Lee Mather
Greg Chapman
Mark Edward Hall
…and a million others
There’s a revolution in publishing in the burgeoning small and independent presses, the originality and passion unmatched. If you’ve the means, give these folks a chance
Witch Bane
One
Sebastian watched as the Red Guard rained down upon the trundling caravan. Griffins screeched above as streamers of rope dangled from a wooden transport bed held aloft by the great beasts. Glints of silver flickered in the sunlight while the naked steel in the soldiers’ hands set the tone.
There would be blood.
“Leave it be, son,” Darius said. “Our fight is elsewhere.”
Crouched behind a growth of thick foliage, Sebastian glanced at his father and saw the red blotches that marred his cheeks. The color highlighted the fury he somehow managed to keep from his voice. The sounds of battle still called to the old warrior despite his many years away from the battlefield.
Sebastian’s narrowed eyes returned to the unfolding horror, his breath cold in his lungs. He heard the crackle of his father’s knuckles behind him as he clasped the pommel of his sword. Darius spoke of restraint but his body readied for war. Like father, like son.
The Red Guard, the witches’ military, dropped to the earth, kicking up clouds of gray dust in their wake. They charged forward the moment their boots hit the ground, their mouths drawn in grim lines. They called out no warnings, nor offered any mercy, as they set upon the wagons. Their purpose was clear.
In sharp contrast to the taciturn approach of the Guard, panicked whinnies filled the air as malnourished horses fought their tack to be free. The shrieks of frightened children rose above the animals and the frantic shouts of the caravan men readying to meet their foe. The sound of fear grated against Sebastian’s sense of honor, instilled by his father, and he, too, found his hand at his hilt.
He held his ground as the first of the defenders fell, watering the thirsty dirt of the waste lands with his blood. The second and third were no different; these ragtag caravan men were not soldiers. The Red Guard cut through them with little resistance, silver blades turned crimson.
The women and children spilled from the wagons and darted between the carts and the flailing hooves of the terrified horses. They scattered and ran as their husbands and fathers died to defend them, but there was no compassion wielded by the Red Guard; only steel. Sebastian’s pulse thrummed as he watched a child cleaved in half, from stem to sternum, the young boy flung into the air. Mercifully dead in an instant, the boy’s body flopped lifeless to the ground, two pieces of sagging meat folded over on one another.
Sebastian heard his own voice rumble deep inside his throat, as though it belonged to some other. The line of his patience had been crossed. He bolted from the woods, fury driving him forward before he’d even realized it. His father’s growled complaint sounded at his back, but it was too late. Sebastian had already broken past the sheltering trees and had been seen by the soldiers that lingered in the transport above. As they called out to warn their comrades, Sebastian swept the hood from his head and loosed his cloak to flutter away while he freed his sword. The glistening silver-gray of its mercurial blade swam before his eyes as he charged toward the closest of the Red Guard.
The survivors of the caravan took advantage of Sebastian’s arrival and fled as the soldiers turned to face him, surprise at his boldness painted plain across their faces. Sebastian grinned without humor behind the mask he wore, the lower half of his face swallowed in its blackness. He could do nothing to bring the child back from the dead, but it was bitter satisfaction to know the boy would not go un-avenged.
He swallowed his anger and let its spark ignite the power he held in check inside. His thoughts cleared as his pulse slowed, his breath shallow in his chest. A gray pallor settled over his emotions, their energies withering away to be replaced by calm, cold reason. His fury faded and his magic roared to life.
A glimmer of green exploded around him, sheathing his body in a glistening cocoon, which clung to him like a second skin. The soldier before him stumbled to a halt at the sight of it, the blurred reflection in his wide eyes giving face to the terror he must have felt. Sebastian drew a line across the soldier’s fearful gaze, his eyes rupturing with a wet pop at the touch of the quicksilver blade. The man shrieked and crumpled to the ground, his hands clasped to his face. Blood and yellow pus gushed volcanic from between his fingers. His veins squirmed to life, bulbous serpents that danced chaotic beneath the skin, swelling until they threatened to burst. His scream was strangled into a wet gurgle as his throat constricted. Sebastian stepped away to face the next in line.
Despite the dead man at Sebastian’s heels, the second soldier came at him fast. He fell away even quicker. A rippled line of red split his face from forehead to chin. He dropped to his knees in shock, his arms falling limp at his side. Wet tendrils of flesh stretched and snapped as the left side of the soldier’s face peeled away from his skull and oozed down over his shoulder. The soldier collapsed an instant later, his last breath loud in the awed silence. Sebastian glanced to the rest of the soldier
s. He had their full attention.
The Red Guard captain broke the still, screaming for her men to advance as they faltered near the wagons. Sebastian met her glare and waved a challenge with his blade. If there was a fight to be had here, it would be with her. Unlike the men under her command, she would be possessed of some rudimentary magical skills, a requirement of her position. As the witches’ High Council only trusted women to lead their soldiers, and only other witches, Sebastian knew the Red Guard morale would collapse upon her demise. The rest were just men.
Her soldiers were slow to follow her order, their gaze drifting over and over to their fallen comrades. They advanced without conviction as the captain snarled and met their torpid pace. Even she appeared unwilling to rush ahead. Sebastian laughed at their hesitance.
“Should I drop to my knees and cry for mercy? Would that embolden you to come for me quicker?”
Flickers of red sparked across the fingers of the captain’s right hand, her sword gripped in the other. “I declare you abomination, warlock. By decree of the High Council, and the crown edict of the White Witch of Corilea, seat of Mynistiria, you are to be executed, your flesh cast to the pyre for purification.”
“Judge, jury, and executioner? My, how honored you must feel to bear such great responsibility. The Council holds you in high regard, it would seem.” Sebastian smirked and lowered his sword. “How many children have you condemned, captain? How many of my kind have fallen to your sword so your masters might live to see yet another stolen day?”
“More than you wish to hear of, and yet one more still.” The captain poked her blade toward him, sweeping her cloak from her shoulders. A crooked smile marred her lips, but it bore little confidence.
Sebastian stood his ground. “Then step from behind your brave words and pass judgment, witch. You’ll not find me asleep in a crib.”
The captain snarled and inched toward him, turning so her free hand was hidden behind the swell of her cloak. Sebastian remained still as she drew closer. He could smell the acrid stench of her building power and knew her plans as though she’d announced them. At the subtle shift of her shoulder, he darted left just as she whipped her arm about, loosing a bolt of fiery energy. She was faster than he expected.
Flames rippled bright against the green shimmer of his shield. He could feel the heat of her attack warming his cheeks, but its fury was dispersed across his defenses, becoming little more than smoke as he lunged toward her. He lashed out with his sword and the captain barely managed to bring hers to bear. Though she parried the blow, the tip of Sebastian’s sword etched its intent in a shallow groove across the reddened leather of her cuirass. Her eyes widened as she stepped away to reset. Sebastian let her go with a laugh. He had the measure of her arm.
She seemed to know it as well. “Kill him,” she shouted to the Guard, “He can’t defend against us all.” Her men appeared to disagree. They moved forward but had yet to shed their reluctance.
For all his skill, he knew better than to engage them all at once. Though his father might disagree, Sebastian was no fool. He feinted toward the captain and set her on her heels before circling off. He thrust his blade into the chest of an advancing soldier, and then ripped it free in a wide arc, flinging blood into the eyes of his closest companions. Sebastian stepped in low, slashing at each of the men as they flung their hands up to clear their sight.
A trinity of shrieks rose up in a strident chorus as the soldiers crumpled, each clutching desperate to their wounded manhood. Crimson bubbled down their thighs as they thrashed about in the dirt. Their pitiful wails rang in Sebastian’s ears.
Though the injuries delivered were little more than scratches, the remaining soldiers froze in place when they saw their placement and the frenzied boil of the quicksilver that festered in the wounds. Sebastian could see the sickened contemplation in their eyes as he prowled before them. None gave him any cause to fear. As he had expected, the fight had gone out of them; all but the captain.
He cursed as he scented the brimstone stink of witchery and heard the whispered sizzle of its release. He hadn’t thought she could summon more energy so soon, his own ability so limited it had biased his understanding of her skill. Furious at himself for having turned his back on her, Sebastian ducked and spun away as the mystical bolt flew over his head. It crashed headlong into the line of soldiers that stood rigid in its path. The man struck by the brunt of the bolt burst into flames. Reddish-orange tongues of fire licked away the flesh in an instant, stealing the breath from his lungs before he could even scream. He fell away in a flutter of blackened ash, the breeze swirling his remains about.
Those nearest the disintegrated solder were set ablaze in his wake. The magical fire leapt from man to man. It burned skin and leather armor with indifference. The men scattered as the flames spread, its searing bite contagious. A number of the wagons at the rear of the caravan caught its fiery disease and began to burn, as well. Sebastian growled at the unintended damage, but there was no time to worry about it.
He went after the captain. He’d be damned if he underestimated her again. She stared as the conflagration decimated her men and barely seemed to notice his approach. At the last moment, she flinched and backed away, her sword out in front of her in a wild parry. Their weapons clashed, and she stumbled with the force of the blow.
Sebastian muscled her blade aside and saw her raise her free hand as she staggered back. Shimmers of magical energy were readying in her palm. In too close to dodge the coming blast, he disengaged his sword from hers and feinted with a blow toward her head. As she moved to defend, he twisted his wrist and drove the point of his blade through her open hand.
The sword tore through her palm and discharged her magic in a geyser of reddish sparks. Blood gushed up around the blade and spilled dark over her fingers as he ripped it free. The captain clenched her teeth but did not scream. She waved her sword to ward him off, seeming to ignore the bubbling flux that rippled beneath the skin of her hand and wrist. Fear distorted her face but her eyes shone feral. She would fight to the end.
The killer in Sebastian smiled.
While the remnants of her men fled, a number of them climbing the ropes in a frantic race back to the aerial transport above, he knew she had yet to concede despite the odds against her. She was a warrior born. She would be a dead warrior soon, but he respected her courage, nevertheless.
Sebastian closed. He swayed back and forth as he approached, hoping to draw a strike, but she held her wits and kept her guard tight. His smile grew even wider as he enjoyed the moment, a live Red Guard witch so much more fun than the Shadow Dummies his father had created for him to practice on. He didn’t want the moment to end.
At the sharp pop of griffins’ wings, the captain’s eyes darted to the sky, for just an instant. That’s when Sebastian went after her. He half-stepped to her sword side to draw her off, and then shifted left as she committed to a counter. Her torso undefended, he slashed at her but drew his sword back at the last second, cutting a shallow groove through her armor and along the swell of her ribs. She snarled and danced away, her wounded arm clutched tight against her side. Blood seeped from the wound, leaking in rivulets down over her elbow. Sebastian grinned. The quicksilver was in her bloodstream, working to bring her down.
Sebastian let her retreat a few steps and reset. He stalked her without hurry. Just as he was about to advance again, he heard a muted twang at his back. The captain’s eyes went wide as a lash of air whipped past his shoulder. She jerked and fell back without grace, her body rigid. A cloud of dust billowed around her, and Sebastian spied the tail of a familiar crossbow bolt protruding from her cheek. Crimson pooled in the sightless pits of her eyes. He glanced back to see Darius stalking toward him, crossbow in one hand, Sebastian’s cloak gripped in the other.
“I see I’ve raised a fool.”
Sebastian shook his head. “I was about to finish her.”
“Were you? It looked to me like you were playing with her.” Dari
us slung his crossbow over his shoulder and came to stand before Sebastian. His dark eyes flickered with orange. “This is no cat-and-mouse game to be dragged out for your amusement.”
“Have you ever seen a mouse take down a cat, father?” Sebastian asked as he stifled a laugh.
“You’ll be the first should you continue to believe yourself invincible. Even the lowliest of witches are dangerous, and you’d best treat them so or you’ll spend your last moments with a charred ass.” He pointed to the distant transport, then but a blackened dot in the sky. “You let some of them get away.”
“Those cowards are no threat.”
“Perhaps not, but the women they’ll report to most certainly are.” Darius let out a huffed breath as he glanced about. The people of the caravan drifted closer to be by their dead. “We can stay here no longer. The Council will surely come for us.”
“Good. Let them. I’m tired of training, tired of waiting.”
“Have you listened to nothing I’ve said, boy?” Darius asked in a weary voice. “If you would honor your mother’s memory, you cannot throw yourself at the witches. It is stealth and surprise that wins us this battle, not brute force. You are not ready for such a war of attrition. That’s how the Council wins, trading their near inexhaustible assets for their foe’s finite resources. It would be the same with you.”
Sebastian stared at his father a moment, and then lowered his eyes at seeing the worry that darkened his features, though he could not let it go. “I’m sorry, but mother rots in her grave, and every moment her killers walk above and breathe the air they stole from her is a moment too long.”
