by Tim Marquitz
John burst from the trees just a few feet before him, his eyes darting left and right with manic fervor. Sebastian knew then his power hadn’t failed him. John growled and ran, clearly not having seen Sebastian. As much as he hated to harm the warlock, Sebastian understood he could not contain John, as weak as he was. There would be no leaving him alive. With no choice left, Sebastian leapt out and drew his quicksilver blade across the throat of the warlock.
The shadows faded, John turned to Sebastian just as the blade cleaved through his neck. He stumbled, wide-eyed, grasping at his throat as he tumbled forward, crashing face first to the earth. Sebastian didn’t watch him die. He had no stomach for what he’d done.
He left the man behind as he fled the fire, which burned behind him, hoping the flames rid the forest of any evidence of the warlock’s death. Once away from the obscuring smoke, he sheathed his sword and took a quick moment to find his bearings. He determined the direction Jonas had fled and followed after. Through the exhausted haze, he ran, forcing his body beyond the pain. It was a trick his father had taught him, a means of extending his energy past his normal limits. He would suffer for it later; if he survived.
Sebastian flew through the trees, staying low and letting nothing slow him. Trusting in Jonas’s sense of self-preservation, he felt he knew the direction the man had gone. It was now a matter of speed and endurance. He was certain of the first, so that was what he put all his effort into.
He had run for nearly ten minutes, his lungs like burning coals in his chest, when he spied the old man stomping into a clearing just a dozen yards ahead. Sebastian pushed even harder. His mind registered a sound beside him in slow motion. Powerful arms wrapped about his torso and locked tight before he could even think to react. A massive weight on top, he was forced to the ground, a hand pressed over his mouth to muffle any noise. Stars whirled before his eyes and he wanted to vomit, only holding back to keep from choking.
Sebastian was rolled into a seated position, strong legs locking over his to keep him in place, his head forced in the direction of the fleeing Jonas. Lost in the fugue of pain and confusion, he heard the old man cry out and watched as a shadow landed on his back. Swift blows sent the man toppling to the ground. Jonas lay there stiff, the dark shape standing over him.
Sebastian recognized the assassin: Shade.
She bent down and pulled Jonas up, tossing him over her shoulder as though he weighed nothing. She took a moment to glance about, and then headed into the woods, back the way she’d come. She was gone from sight almost immediately, leaving behind no sign of her passage.
Certain whoever it was that held him had no intention of killing him, because he could have done it already, Sebastian simply waited and tried to catch his breath.
At long last, his captor whispered in his ear, his voice raspy and rough “Sit still and do nothing stupid, and I’ll release you.”
Sebastian nodded, and the man slid his legs away, getting to his feet behind Sebastian before releasing the hold on his mouth. Once he heard the man step back, Sebastian got to his feet and faced his captor. Though he didn’t recognize him, there was no doubting his calling.
Broad-chested and powerful, the man’s arms were like great oaks extending past the armored sleeves of his brigandine mail. His forearms were covered in swirling tattoos, and Sebastian could sense the power in the man. A plain sword hung from his belt, off the left hip, and a great axe was slung across his back, the silver of the blade peeking out from the wild black of his hair. The strap was buried beneath the flowing beard that hung over his chest. Sebastian let his gaze drift upward and gray eyes met his stare. A palpable anger stirred in their depths.
“You are a fool, boy,” the man told him, his tone of voice so similar to Sebastian’s father. It spoke of an authority that silenced any response Sebastian might have formed. “You and the other would have led the witches straight to the resistance.” He growled. “Be grateful I pulled you away when I did.”
Sebastian nodded, glad the behemoth had stopped him, but still uncertain as to why. The man must have seen the question on his face.
“You are the son of General Darius, are you not?”
He stared at the man a moment before finally deciding to answer honestly. “Yes, I am. Sebastian. And you are?”
“I am Victor Graves, though I suspect you might know me as the Lord of the Hunt. No doubt your father has spoken of me, and likely quite unkindly.” A crooked smile broke beneath his beard.
Sebastian had heard of the Lord, his name attached to nearly every story his father ever told him of the witches hunting down warlocks. He had been the man who scented their trails, leading the witches to their kill. As the Lord had said, it hadn’t been kind words his father had spoken. Sebastian felt the heat at his cheeks.
“The hunter of warlocks appears suddenly to rescue one.” His hand went to his sword. “You’ll forgive me if I doubt your sincerity.”
The Lord kept his hands out in front, his smile not dimming. “So much like your father.” He shook his head. “You know well enough I could have killed you had I wanted to. Better still, I could have let Shade take you.” He laughed as if imagining it. “She’s a might bit angry with you and would love nothing more than to carve you apart, piece-by-bloody-warlock-piece. That’s not to mention what the witches would do once Shade had her fun.”
Sebastian tightened his grip on his hilt.
“Once more, had I wanted you dead, or hung upon the walls of Corilea, that’s where you’d be, so calm yourself.”
“I’m supposed to believe you saved me out of some sense of altruism, oh servant of the Council”
“Hardly, boy. Darius has done me a great service, so I return that favor by sparing you the bite of Shade’s swords.”
Sebastian grinned. “Then I guess we’re even.”
The Lord’s grin grew wider. “Again…hardly. Your father and I are, at least as far as you’re concerned. You, on the other hand, owe me for the stupidity you almost inflicted upon those at the camp.”
“I—” Sebastian started, but the Lord waved him to silence.
“While I have saved you from facing the witches’ interrogation, Elizabeth’s pet will soon find good cause to give up his master’s location, regardless.”
“As soon as he regains consciousness, most likely,” Sebastian corrected. “Jonas has no loyalty to anyone save himself.”
“Then it is best that you are on your way now, boy. I need you to warn Elizabeth before her dog awakens to change sides.”
“What do you get out of this?”
“My concerns are my own, boy, but if you need a reason you need only to remember your father is there among the resistance. Should the witches find the camp, he will die the same as the rest…if fate smiles on him, that is. Do not waste time with questions.”
Sebastian stared at the man, recognizing the truth of his words, regardless his cause. He nodded. “Tell me where they are, and I’ll do as I’m asked.”
“Good.” The Lord rattled off the location of the camp, repeating it twice. “Once you arrive, tell Emerald I will find her, no matter where they go.”
His eyes narrowed, Sebastian wondered what connection the Lord had to Emerald, but there was no time to ask. “I will.” He gave a shallow bow and focused his will once more to ward off the pain that was sure to come.
Without another glance at the Lord, Sebastian ran into the trees, following the directions he’d been given. He worried about the Lord’s motives, but knew well enough the Red Guard flooded the forests, looking for both him and the resistance. Had the man wanted his death, he could have easily stood back and let Shade deliver it. No, the Lord had his reasons for sparing Sebastian and they had to do with Emerald. Tired as he was, though, nothing made any sense.
He concentrated on his feet, keeping them in line, step after step. If he made it to the resistance camp before the witches found it, there would be time to wonder about the rest.
Twenty-Four
/> The screech of griffins drew Deborah’s eyes to the sky. She watched as the incoming transport swung above, coming about to land. She spied the green of Gracelin’s robes amidst the red of the Guard as the transport hurled past.
She turned to a nearby soldier, pointing to where the griffins were coming down. “Bring the Green to me as soon as they’re down.” The soldier darted off.
She couldn’t help but smile. Gracelin would not have returned so soon without good news. Deborah paced as she waited, shooing the gathered soldiers away. She wanted privacy when the other witch arrived. She didn’t have long to wait.
Gracelin strolled toward her through the trees, her hands clasped before her. At her back was Shade; over the assassin’s shoulder squirmed a large man. He blustered as they drew closer, his complaints only making Deborah’s smile widen. Gracelin came alongside her, saying nothing, as Shade dumped the man in front of Deborah. A hand on his shoulder, the assassin spun him about to face the White Witch.
He swallowed hard, his grumbled complaints suddenly silenced at the sight of her.
“Let me be clear: I’ve no interest in the underlings of my enemies. They can live or die as fate has decreed,” Deborah told him. “Answer my questions, and speak true, and you shall live. Defy me and your torment will last a hundred lifetimes beyond the point you divulge your secrets. I will have my answers either way, so choose which path you would go down. Choose well and choose quickly.”
“I see only one path,” Jonas answered. “What would you know?”
Deborah could see the willingness in his eyes, the desperation that clung as sweat to his brow. She chuckled. “If all of the resistance men are as smart as you, then I can see an end to our conflict coming soon.” She squatted down before him, Shade at his shoulders. “Tell me where I can find Elizabeth.”
He did, without hesitation. For every question, he had an answer, spilling his soul to buy his own longevity. Deborah found within him a kindred spirit; a man who understood the value of his life, willing to do anything to hold onto it. He spoke honestly of all he knew, guessing openly at that which he didn’t. After a short while, Deborah had everything she needed to end the resistance and cement her place upon the throne.
The resistance man’s breathless confession having run dry, Deborah called a captain and a number of soldiers over. “Take him to the rear, but treat him well.” She looked to Jonas. “You will be our guest until we have confirmed your words. Once we have our proof, you will be set free to live your life as you see fit, as long as you never again find yourself in conflict with the Council’s whims. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly,” Jonas stammered.
Deborah waved him away, the Red Guard soldiers leading him off while she motioned for the captain to remain. Once they were gone, she turned to the captain.
“Prepare your forces for battle. When we are certain of the resistance’s location, we will strike.” The captain bowed, readying to leave. Deborah stopped her. “Once we have confirmation, I want that resistance scum cut apart. I want him to suffer. Can you handle that?” The captain smiled and left, the White Witch turning to Gracelin. “You and Shade will lead an army directly at the resistance—”
Gracelin’s eyes narrowed, drawing closer. “I thought we were to do this together?”
“We are, but I have little faith in the resistance man’s words. While he no doubt spoke as true as he knows, I cannot believe Elizabeth would put so much of her trust in a male, let alone one as spineless as he. She might well be leading us astray, and I would have a force in reserve should that be so.” Deborah grinned, setting a hand on Gracelin’s shoulder. “The end is upon us, at long last. I have no doubt you and Shade can handle Elizabeth and her pet warlock. I have another mission to accomplish. I will be nearby to lend a hand, should that be necessary, but either way, we shall reign victorious.” She waved them away. “Now go and ready your forces. We have a war to win.” She smiled as they left, turning to stare off into the woods after the witch and assassin were gone.
Soon, her rule would be absolute. With Carrance dead, only she, Gracelin, Darius, and his boy knew of Alise’s true fate. There would be but two after they fell upon the resistance camp. After that, she could worry about Graves’ indiscretions and find Emerald. With Gracelin and Shade at her side, Elizabeth dead and gone, there would be no one to stop her from enacting the purge of blood. She would live forever…rule forever.
A smile warm on her lips, she strode toward the transports. This day would bring her peace.
Twenty-Five
Sebastian burst through the camouflage warding that secreted the resistance camp, feeling its tingles across his numb flesh. A cry rose up when he appeared, a number of men racing toward him while he tried to catch his breath. He raised his hands as they pointed their blades at him.
“I need to speak to Elizabeth, immediately. The Red Guard knows your location and is on their way here,” he said through panted gasps, not bothering to even look at the men.
“You probably led them to us,” the first man replied, drawing in close with his sword. The other resistance men murmured their agreement, though held their ground further back.
Sebastian shook his head as he straightened to be away from the weapon. “They captured Jonas.”
The men went silent, save for the first. “Damn it.” He sheathed his sword and motioned for Sebastian to follow. “Come on, boy.”
His whole body trembling, pushed far beyond what he’d ever experienced, Sebastian could barely walk. He stumbled forward, the men helping him along. As they moved through the camp, people began to gather. A quiet rumble of voices seemed to fill the air, the resistance camp sensitive to the change in the atmosphere. Their sensitivity was what had helped keep them alive for so long. A stranger in camp was the first sign of trouble.
As they neared Elizabeth’s tent, Darius charged over, relieving the men of Sebastian. “Get the healer,” he called out. Sebastian was surprised to see them obey. “You’re pale, son.”
“Pushed too hard. The stitches at my side; torn.” He let his father carry his full weight, sinking into his protective arms.
Sebastian stayed quiet as he was led into Elizabeth’s tent. The witch waved to her own bed. “Lay him down here. Has Karil been sent for?”
His father nodded, easing Sebastian onto the feathered mattress. As he let himself relax, it was the greatest feeling Sebastian had ever known. He looked up at his father and smiled, thanking him. With an apologetic hand on the man’s arm, he pushed him gently to the side.
“Elizabeth,” he called out, “the White Witch’s assassin has captured Jonas. He will give you up, for certain.”
The witch nodded, seeming to understand without any explanation needed. “He knows more than he should, which means the same for the Council now that they’ve caught him.” She sighed, wringing her hands together.
Karil slipped into the tent, rushing past everyone to drop her bag alongside the bed. She rested her hands on Sebastian’s chest. She stayed quiet a moment, looking him over, and then giving him a quick nod. “It’s more exhaustion than injury, though the wound at his side has been torn open and his hands are clearly damaged.”
“Get him up and healed to your fullest,” Elizabeth told her. “The Red Guard will be upon us soon, with witches in tow.”
Karil didn’t even acknowledge the order, working frantically to remove Sebastian’s tunic. The scent of brimstone filled the tent as the healer reached into her bag. From a clay jar, she dug out a handful of the poultice she’d used to heal him before, and liberally layered it across his injured ribcage and blackened fingers.
Elizabeth went to the tent flaps, flipping them aside, and called out the order to move, her command greeted by a roar of voices and sounds as the camp set to work. She returned to the bedside, but couldn’t stand still, pacing the floor in frantic circles.
She looked at Darius as though she’d decided her course of action. “I must help my people prepar
e. Once Karil has seen to your boy, I would ask that you help us.”
Darius nodded, and the witch left the tent. Karil lathered more of the poultice across Sebastian, taking a moment to rub some into the other injuries she’d tended earlier. Lastly, she set her hands upon his wound, closing her eyes. A soothing warmth grew beneath her palms, his skin tingling in response to her power. He felt a sudden twinge as the flesh shifted, the lips of the cut pulling together. A sharp spear of agony shot through his side and was almost instantly washed away, its remnants fading fast as Karil pressed harder. Sebastian drew in a sharp breath as the healer pulled her hands away. He marveled at the pink pucker of a scar that rippled along his ribcage. The surrounding skin was bruised a deep shade of blue, with tinges of black, but he no longer felt any pain. She repeated the action with his hands, holding each in turn.
When she was done, Karil stood, nearly toppling over. Darius righted her, worry in his eyes.
“Are you all right?” Sebastian asked.
She nodded. “It’s tiring to heal someone at such a rapid pace, that’s all.” She reached down and pulled a long, cloth bandage from her bag. “Have your father wrap this tight about your ribs to reinforce the healing.” She handed it to Sebastian. “I have done all I can for you, now I must help my people.” Karil hurried from the tent, still a bit unsteady on her feet.
Sebastian watched her leave, and then sat up. His father began to wrap the bandage about him. He caught Darius’ gaze. “I need to tell you something,” he spoke into his ear.
Darius nodded, continuing his ministrations.
“The resistance has amassed Red Guard equipment and transports, as well as the griffins to fly them.” His father glanced up at him. “They have a hidden system of caverns where they keep their supplies; they’re equipped for war, though I don’t know what they intend.” He swallowed, not wanting to tell his father the rest, but he let it slip from his mouth. “I stumbled across one of their warlocks along the way.”
