by Tim Marquitz
Emerald lowered her chin, her gaze dropping to her feet. “You hate witches?”
Without hesitation, he shook his head. Emerald looked up at him as he spoke.
“Certainly not all of them, child, but I have no love for the Council and its tyranny.” He gestured for her to walk with him. “There were once many good women in Corilea, my Alise but one of them, but there was also a poison. Power is a corruption that wears on a person, devouring them from the inside until there is nothing left but an empty husk, all the goodness and propriety eaten away. That is what has happened to the Council since they murdered my beloved. Honor is lost, and only the selfish desire for eternal life remains.”
She turned away once more as they walked, unable to face him for fear he might see the truth of what lay inside her. She didn’t believe Darius could know who she was and still be willing to aid her, but she knew she must watch her words. “Would you kill them, given the chance?”
A feral smile colored his lips. “I would…I will.”
A chill of fear prickled her skin and Emerald wrapped her arms about her chest to ward it off. Darius, apparently seeing her shudder, slipped his cloak over her shoulders with gentle hands, perhaps thinking she was cold. She forced a smile for his kindness, wondering how gracious he would be were he to learn she was the daughter of the woman who had slain his love. She didn’t have to imagine what he’d do, the look he’d given Victor a clear indication of the depth of his rage.
He put his arm protectively about her shoulder and urged her on. “Come, child, we had best move faster. We must reach the resistance camp before Elizabeth finds cause to move on.”
She nodded, doing her best to keep her thoughts calm while she matched his pace, her dagger still clutched in her hand, hidden beneath the general’s borrowed cloak. He had sworn to protect her, and she believed he would. She thought it best, though, that she find Elizabeth before something happened to bring the truth to light. The wrong words could turn her protector into a foe, in an instant. She’d already betrayed her mother and fled Corilea. She could afford to make no more enemies.
Eighteen
Sebastian’s eyes sprung open, the world before them blurred tides of light, which distorted his vision. Insects chirped in the distance, their noises mingling with the sounds of bells ringing in his skull. As his vision began to clear, he moved to get up. Pain rattled his frame, a snowstorm of flickering lights nearly blinding him once more. He bit back a groan and used a tree to leverage himself into a seated position. The rough bark tore at his back and every touch was its own tiny hell. After a few moments, the world seeming to sway around him, he managed to sit erect.
He heard a hiss in the foliage a ways before him, the sound followed by cursing. He didn’t need to recognize her voice to realize it was the Red Witch, still alive. Adrenaline sparked alive inside his veins at the memory of where he was. He looked down and stifled a groan when he saw a dark stain spreading along the side his tunic. The wound at his ribs likely torn open, he had clearly lost a lot of blood while he lay there unconscious.
The witch growled and cursed again, her voice even closer now. He could hear the snap of twigs and the flutter of leaves as she moved through the woods toward him, not bothering to hide her approach. She would be upon him soon.
Sebastian rolled to his side and was glad to see he’d held onto his sword. It sat heavy in his aching hand, but it was still there. He got to his knees and bit his tongue as a burning agony exploded at his side, the flesh tearing at the wound. Only his fear kept him moving, the Red Witch closing, her voice becoming clearer, her words sharper. Sebastian could barely lift his arms. There was no way he could fight.
His heart threatened to burst from his ribs as he desperately looked about, searching for some place to hide. Just a few yards away, he spied the crushed corpse of the Red Guard captain he’d dropped the tree on, her cloak splayed out amongst the branches beside her. Somehow or another, he’d gotten turned around. He cursed, realizing there would be soldiers nearby to help the witch; not that she needed it. He could hear her coming, foliage rustling behind him. He needed to move, or he would die on his knees.
He swore that wouldn’t happen.
Despite his body’s resistance, Sebastian got to his feet, pulling himself up with his left arm, barely noticing the skin he tore from his blistered palm doing so. His breath cold and stale in his chest, he staggered forward, circling past the trunk that had had laid him low. He hurried as best he could toward the fallen tree, certain any moment a blast of fire would strike him from behind and end his flight.
Unable to properly control his legs, sharp tingles running their lengths as though they’d been asleep for years, his feet dragged, every scrape echoing loudly in the woods. The witch had to know what direction he fled, and would find him soon. Even that couldn’t spur his feet on.
As he neared the fallen tree, he could feel his endurance fading. Were she to catch him now, there would be little fight left in him. It would be a slaughter. The blade of his sword dragged in the humus, carving a snake’s trail in his wake to lead her right to him. He summoned the last of his strength and lifted the sword as he stumbled into the branches of the downed tree. They tore at him and tugged at his tunic while he forced his way to its trunk. He could hear the witch calling to him, her words weighted with her fury.
Wedged between its neighbors, and propped upon the body of the captain, the fallen tree sat about a foot off the ground. Sebastian could smell the tangy scent of blood as he dropped to his knees, the leaves around the body stained red where the earth had yet to drink it in. He felt the cold wetness of it on his hands, and he glanced beneath the trunk. He had hoped to slip under its bulk but upon closer examination, he could see there was little room. He would never fit.
His eyes darted about and his mind seized on an idea. He tore a piece of his ravaged tunic and hung it openly upon the branches near the trunk, then kicked at the muddy dirt to pile it against the trunk to give it the appearance of him hiding behind it. He then scrambled as best he could over the body of the dead captain, worming under her cloak, which hung amongst the branches. He held his breath as the Red Witch burst from the trees, no more than ten feet from where he lay. Through a narrow tear in the sheltering cloak, he could see her.
Anger wasn’t the only thing visible upon her face. At some point before she had cast him aside, Sebastian realized he must have struck a clean blow. Her left arm hung limp at her side, the shoulder of her crimson robes torn away and stained dark with her blood. The flesh underneath was gray, the wound blackened and bubbling. Reddened tendrils crept like vines up her neck to disappear in the wild curls of her bright hair. Her lips were peeled back into a snarl, her clenched teeth visible as she marched forward, smoke curling up from the ball of fire clutched in her right hand.
Sebastian saw her glance to his cover and his heart stilled in his chest. He stayed silent, daring not even to think as he peered at her through the tiny rip. She glared as though she were looking straight at him, then her eyes swung away toward the trunk. He heard her muted laugh and caught sight of a flash as she hurled the fire at the tree. The fireball crashed into the trunk right above where he had piled the mud, the bark catching fire instantly. She drew closer, snapping the branches into kindling and scattering them with a wave of her hand, kinetic energy sweeping them from her path. Another ball built in her hand, and she crouched before the trunk, peering beneath it
Though he’d only hoped to misdirect the witch, leading her away from where he lay curled beneath the dead woman’s cloak, Sebastian couldn’t help but recognize the opportunity her exposed back presented. The inner voice of reason protested, but he brushed it aside. All she needed to do was turn and he would be spotted, the cloak doing nothing to hide him from where she crouched. He had to make a decision: risk all and die with his sword in his hand, or cower in the mud and hope she didn’t notice him.
He was too much his father’s son for it to be a choice.
&
nbsp; Sebastian tightened his grip on his sword, realizing he would not be able to get his feet underneath him quickly, or quietly, enough to surprise her. He grinned as he contemplated his only option, and was glad his father wasn’t there to see his last act. If he survived, he could tell whatever story he wanted to salvage the glory of the moment; it could just never be the truth.
Like a log, his sword held out over his head, he rolled from his hiding place and barreled toward the witch. She spun as he broke through the branches, falling onto her backside, her eyes going wide at the sight of him. He was on her before she could get up.
He swung his sword in an arc, the blade crashing into her side. Its edge cut deep, slipping between her ribs. She screeched as she fell to her side. Blood spilled from her wound. Sebastian gave her no time to recover. His momentum slowed by his sword wedged into her flesh, he got to his knees and ripped the blade free. She let loose another shriek, its piercing grate ending as he thrust the tip of his sword through her mouth. The witch spasmed once and went rigid, crumpling to the ground. The quicksilver sword pulled free as she fell back, blackened blood gushing up to swallow her tongue.
Sebastian stared at her, unable to believe she was truly dead. With a tentative touch, he reached out and set his hand upon her breast. He felt nothing against his palm.
He had slain the Red Witch.
The glorious thought echoing in his head, he knew he couldn’t remain there. The Red Guard would swarm the forest to find him, and he knew the rest of the Council would be close behind. He’d gotten lucky with the witch, their battle turning them around the flank of her forces, but fate would never cast such dice again.
As sick and weak as he felt, he knew he had to go. Once more he got to his feet, the adrenaline of the kill muting his pain, somewhat. It was just enough to allow him to set his boots on the path to flight. Each step was like dragging a headstone, but he swore he wouldn’t falter. He blew a soft kiss to the wind at the memory of his mother, amused that he thought of Athuul right then, and staggered on. No matter what stood in his way, he was determined to live until he could reach his father.
He could curl up and die after he’d seen the look on the old man’s face when he told him the Red Witch was dead.
Nineteen
Emerald clutched to her stomach as she walked, her dagger long since slipped into her waistband. Weeks on horseback had done little to prepare her for trudging through the woods on foot. Her back ached and her legs had gone nearly numb, sharpened tingles extending their length. Every step stirred them to agitated life. The general helped her along, but outside of him carrying her, there was nothing he could do to alleviate her discomfort, and she would never bring herself to ask that of him. She sighed. For all the horse’s jarring gait and the inevitable sickness it brought on, as well as the bruises the saddle had left purpled on her behind, Emerald wished for her mount now.
While the terrain had cooperated and not been too difficult, the ground steady and relatively unobstructed, the pregnancy negated all of that. Not so far along as to be burdened by the impending birth, the baby still inside sapped her energy, leaving her little for her own needs. Darius had been kind and shared his meager rations with her, but hard, salted beef was hardly the welcome meal. Though it kept her on her feet, Emerald had begun to believe that wasn’t a good thing. She slowed and came to a stop, resting against the roughened bark of a tree.
“Are you all right?” Darius asked as he came to stand beside her, his arm hovering just behind her should his support be needed.
She nodded. “Just tired, is all.”
“Understandably so.” He handed her a small waterskin, the cap already removed.
Emerald thanked him and swallowed a few mouthfuls down. The warm, gritty water settled heavy in her stomach. She handed the skin back with a sorry smile, trying not to look disgusted. “Have we much further?”
Darius took a drink and shook his head, capping the waterskin before he spoke. “No, not much.”
He held his arm out to her and she reluctantly took it, knowing what it meant.
“The sooner we move on, the sooner you get to rest your weary bones in relative comfort, child.”
She couldn’t argue his reasoning, no matter how much she wanted to collapse against the tree and sleep until she could keep her eyes closed no longer. With the general’s help, she began the slow march onward.
Despite the closeness to her goal, there was no excitement in her step. While she might be given the opportunity to rest her body once there, there would be no such reprieve for her troubled mind. As Deborah’s daughter, no matter her sacrifice to find the resistance, no matter her intent, she might not be welcomed among them. Even if they were to take her in, there would be questions as to her loyalty, further complicated by her connection to Victor. The resistance camp wouldn’t be the end of her journey, but only the start of an even more complicated one. She blew out a quiet breath, letting Darius guide her along, unsure if she was ready for all of that.
Hours later, her bleak thoughts had moved on to more mundane concerns. Her legs had continued their creep toward numbness, threatening to fail every dozen steps, or so. The muscles in her lower back had also seized at some point, becoming a pained knot that stabbed at her continuously as if it were a biting serpent. Worse still, her bladder thrummed. As she contemplated giving up, Darius did it for her.
His hand suddenly tight on her arm, he tugged her to a stop. He stepped past her, his crossbow swung up into his hands. Emerald covered her belly with shaking hands. She glanced about, wondering what the general had seen. It only took a moment to realize what it was.
From the trees, a number of armed men emerged. Emerald quickly counted twenty, but she could see the shadows of others lurking just within the gloom of the forest. If their intentions were hostile, there were far too many for the general to handle alone. She reached down inside herself to touch the core of her magic, readying it should it be needed. She hoped not.
“Hail,” a young man called out, his voice casual. His hands were empty as he held them out to his sides. He stared at Darius and his eyes narrowed. “You come again.” The tension in his voice eased a bit. He looked to Emerald, and then glanced toward the woods behind them. “Your companion has changed. Where is your son?”
The general eased his hand away from the crossbow’s trigger. He dropped the weapon so it hung from its strap. “Devlin, right?”
The man nodded.
“Sebastian is not with us. We encountered the Red Witch’s army and were forced to split.” He stepped to the side and gestured to Emerald. “This young lady seeks sanctuary amongst your group. Where might I find Elizabeth?”
“I’m not certain she wishes to see you, general.”
Darius smiled. “This isn’t about me, boy. This young girl needs your help—Elizabeth’s help—for she carries one of your own kind within.” He motioned to her stomach, drawing the man’s gaze. “Is it not your goal to build an army of warlocks to stand against the Council?”
“It is, certainly, Darius,” a woman’s voice answered for him.
Dressed in brown robes, the woman strolled from the trees, coming to stand before them. Her dark hair hung loose, drawing Emerald’s eyes to the blue that wound its way throughout. She had heard her mother speak of her many times, the words nothing Emerald felt the desire to repeat. This was Elizabeth who stood before her. Emerald’s moment had come at last.
“Greetings, Elizabeth Bourne. I am Emerald. I have come a long way to speak with you. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She bowed shallow.
Elizabeth nodded. “You are well mannered…for the daughter of my enemy.” The resistance men drew closer in a rush, weapons held before them.
Emerald’s eyes went wide, and without conscious thought, she reached for her power once more. Elizabeth knew who she was. Darius set a warning hand on her shoulder, the reek of brimstone subtle in the air. It was clear from his eyes that he had known, as well. She cursed her
stupidity.
Elizabeth raised her hands. “Be calm, child. I have no quarrel with you, lest you come at the whims of your mother.” She raised an eyebrow.
Her heart pounding, Emerald shook her head, letting her magic fade with uncertain reluctance.
“Good, then we have taken the first step toward understanding.” A soft smile broke across her lips. “Before I invite you into my camp, however, I would know why you are here, seeking comfort from me when you have the whole of Corilea at your beck and call.”
Emerald swallowed hard, clearing her throat. “Though I am born of the line of Altus, I have no illusions that my offspring—a boy—would bring much joy to my mother.” She pulled her arms away from her stomach to expose the swell of the child within.
Elizabeth gave an imploring look, and Emerald waved her forward. The woman drew close and bent forward, setting a gentle hand upon Emerald’s belly. Though she couldn’t be certain, Emerald thought she felt the baby jump at the woman’s touch. Elizabeth smiled, easing her hand away. Emerald’s stomach tingled where her fingers had just been, phantom tickles dancing upon her flesh.
“A boy, for certain, and seemingly possessed of power, as well.” She straightened, her smile having grown broader. “No, Emerald, I can’t imagine your mother would be pleased to learn you carry a warlock within you. I presume she does not even know you are pregnant?”
“She knows only that I am gone.”
“Then I must assume she would not immediately suspect you would be here, with me.” Elizabeth moved to her side and draped an arm about Emerald’s shoulder. “You are welcome among us, Emerald, rebel daughter of the line of Altus.” She drew her forward. “Come, you must be weary.”
Emerald breathed a sigh of relief and let the woman lead her off. Though she knew well enough the subject of her lineage would come up again, she was grateful to not have been killed on sight. No doubt Elizabeth had recognized her value to the resistance, as Victor had promised she would. Even were she not to become a true part of their group, the fact that she could be used as leverage against her mother was sufficient enough of a lure that Elizabeth would keep her around. While it wasn’t the most certain of plans, she could rest assured Elizabeth would keep her safe, at least until after her son was born. It gave her and Victor time to find an alternative, should it be needed.
