by Tim Marquitz
His father screamed, his voice shrill for just an instant, and then gone, drowning in a bubbled gush of blood that spilled from his mouth. His head fell limply to the ground, bouncing slightly on the humus before settling.
Sebastian stumbled to his knees, his legs suddenly weak. He stared up at the Lord, who casually withdrew the axe from Darius’ back, flinging the blood from its blade with a flick of his wrist.
“Now, Darius and I are even. Perhaps he was right about me, after all.”
Twenty-Nine
Fury washed over Sebastian, and he felt his strength return in its wake. He jumped to his feet.
“I will kill you,” he shouted at the Lord.
Victor shrugged, holding his axe out. “I’ve no quarrel with you, boy. Walk away.”
Sebastian came forward, unable to rationalize such a request. “You struck my father from behind after all he did to protect the mother of your child, and you expect me to stand down?”
“So, you know, do you?” The Lord chuckled. “No matter. That child will be your future king, the hero who saves the untied realm of Mynistiria from the scourge of the witches.”
“You won’t be alive to see that day.” Sebastian drew forward, slashing at the Lord’s head.
Victor parried the blow with ease and stepped away from Darius’ body, a broad smile on his face. “We both want the same thing, boy: a world free of the witches’ rule. I did only what I was compelled to do, nothing more. We do not need to be enemies, you and I.”
“Liar!” Sebastian lashed out, whipping his sword at Victor in furious arcs. “We can be nothing else.”
The Lord of the Hunt blocked each blow in turn, circling off to force Sebastian to reset, but doing nothing more. His reluctance to engage only deepened Sebastian’s anger.
“My father told me you were not to be trusted. I only wish I had known that when we first met. I would have slain you then and rid the world of your treachery.”
“Just like now, you would have failed, boy.” The Lord parried again as Sebastian darted toward him. He shoved Sebastian away and settled back into his defensive posture. “Your father knew his time would come, which is why he trained you as he did. He didn’t just raise you to avenge your mother, but to take revenge for his own death.” He pointed to the Green Witch, who had gotten to her knees to crawl toward the cover of the trees. “She ordered your father killed. I am but the vessel she used, against my own will, if not my interest, boy; the sigils in my flesh a compulsion I cannot deny. If you would punish someone for his death, let it be the one who commanded it. Kill the witch and have your revenge.”
Sebastian growled low in his throat. His father had told him of the tattoos, which bound the Lord’s will to the witches, but he had no doubt Victor was less a pawn than he pretended. The man had fathered a child with Emerald, under the very roof of the White Witch, and had sent the girl off to the resistance for his own purposes. The Lord’s existence was a contradiction, but Sebastian understood only one thing. Victor had killed his father. It had been his hand, his axe, which had done the vile deed.
He looked to the Green Witch and saw how slowly she moved, every inch a labor that looked ready to kill her. The quicksilver boiled in her blood and would end her soon enough. The shouts of the Red Guard off in the distance forest, he slowed his pulse, willing his mind to focus as he had been taught. His grip easy on his hilt, he looked back to the Lord.
“There can be no peace between us.”
He leapt to the attack.
Thirty
“You’re in no position to threaten, Elizabeth,” the White Witch told her. “Let my daughter go and I will grant you a painless death.”
“Like you did, Alise?” Elizabeth countered, backing up slowly, pulling Emerald along.
The burning hand of magic searing the flesh at her belly, Emerald squirmed to be away, swallowing hard at the words she heard.
“You know better than to lay that at my door, witch.”
“Deny all you will, Deborah, but the truth will be known.” Elizabeth leaned in close to Emerald’s ear, keeping her between the two witches. “Did you know your mother killed the last woman to sit upon the throne, Emerald? Beloved Alise, the former White Witch, struck down by her would-be successor. All for the audacity of holding love above the selfish desires of Deborah and her crones. Alise dared to put decency before the blood of innocent children.” Elizabeth snarled. “Her last decree from the throne, before she was brutally murdered, was to outlaw the bleeding of warlocks for use in spells of longevity. That order, the missive it was sealed in put to the flames, never saw the light of day, though another miraculously did. You wouldn’t know anything of that, would you, Deborah, the order forever condemning warlocks in Alise’s name?”
“Do not listen to her, child. She lies.”
“Do I? I believe General Darius and Alise’s warlock son might attest to my honesty and Alise’s intent.”
Emerald rolled her eyes to look at her mother, unable to pierce the expressionless mask held rigid upon her face. The Red Guard soldiers inched forward.
“I swear, Deborah, keep your dogs at bay or I will murder your daughter as coldly as you did Alise.”
The White Witch held up her hand, the Red Guard halting once more at her order. “You can twist reality all you like, Elizabeth, but in the end, it matters not. Your lies will die with you, and the world will be a better place without your pitiful excuse for a rebellion.”
“The resistance will live on, no matter what occurs here. The people will not allow you to bleed their children forever. They will rise up and bring the fight to you.” She continued moving away in small steps.
Emerald glanced to her side to see the resistance man who carried her bag. She caught his gaze.
Elizabeth stopped as she spied more of the soldiers in the trees off to the side of them. “You doubt my word, Deborah?” She set her hand against Emerald’s stomach, just long enough for the material of the tunic to catch fire.
Emerald shrieked as her skin burned, Elizabeth dousing the flames before they could do serious harm to Emerald or her child.
“I will kill her!”
Deborah growled at the witch, waving the men in the trees back. “You test my patience and my love for my child. Lest you forget, Elizabeth, she ran away, pregnant with an abomination. Do you truly think I won’t make an example of her if you force my hand?”
Elizabeth said nothing, but Emerald could feel the fury in her as she trembled against her back. Emerald looked once more to the resistance man who carried her bag. She motioned with her eyes for him to open the bag, mouthing the words so he might better understand her. He looked at her without comprehension for a moment before glancing down at the bag as though he’d forgotten he held it.
“I will not stand here all day waiting for your choice, Elizabeth. You and I will end this here, regardless of your decision. What will it be?”
The man looked back to Emerald and she pleaded with her eyes for him to open the bag. He did so with reluctance, his gaze wandering back and forth between the witches as they argued. At last, with no one seeming to pay attention to him, he reached inside. Emerald nearly burst out crying. His eyes went wide and darted to hers. She knew he had found the blade, but likely believed she meant for him to use it.
“Come, Elizabeth. You would lie and say I killed Alise when the whole of the realm knows it was you who betrayed your friend and slaughtered her as she sat powerless under the nullification spell you’d cast upon her. You pretended to be her friend, tricking her into giving up her magic so you might slay her and claim the throne for yourself. Your plan failed, witch.”
“No. That was you!” Elizabeth shrieked. Her voice crackled with her rage.
Emerald shook her head at the man, gesturing for him to look down at her hands. He followed her eyes as she mimed unsheathing the dagger, and then signaled that was all she wanted. He stared at her blankly a moment, not seeming to comprehend. She mouthed the word, “Please,
” willing the man to do as she asked.
“You lie to your people. They can hear it in your voice; the desperation is clear,” Deborah goaded. “Make your last act one of valor, Elizabeth. You betray their trust with your foolishness.”
Emerald could sense the impasse coming to an end. Elizabeth’s hand crept toward her belly, the heat of it nearly unbearable. She looked one last time to the man and he met her gaze for but an instant before his face dropped away. Tears bubbled to life and streamed warm down her cheeks. She slumped against the witch’s hold.
In the near silence, she heard the slightest of scrapes.
Thirty-One
His teeth bared, Sebastian threw himself at the Lord again. His sword clanged against the axe as Victor only smiled. Sebastian feinted high, swiping at the man’s legs instead. That too was blocked, as was the riposte that followed, the Lord shoving him aside with the flat of his axe.
Sebastian thought about doing what he’d done to Shade, but Victor moved with an ease that belied his massive size. Even if he were to surprise the man and get inside the range of the axe, Sebastian held out no hope of outmuscling him. Built like a mountain, the Lord would likely snap him like a twig. For all it apparent uselessness, Sebastian’s greatest chance lay in his sword. Just one scratch might turn the tide, the mercurial infection an equalizer unmatched.
Sebastian snarled and launched himself at Victor again and again, mixing styles and throwing feints, growing angrier by the moment as each attack was turned aside without effort.
He was further infuriated that the Lord had done nothing more than defend. Sebastian went at him time and time again, but all Victor did was parry the blows, not even trying to counter. The Lord left him no opening to exploit. What little confidence Sebastian had grew brittle in the wake of his repeated failure. The Lord was toying with him.
Just as he readied one last assault, he saw the smile drop from Victor’s face. The man’s eyes looked glassy, his gaze shifting desperate toward the trees. He stood rigid, ignoring Sebastian as though he no longer existed.
“Emerald,” Victor muttered in his roughened voice. Like steel upon a whetstone the word rang out harsh.
Seeing the opportunity, Sebastian darted in once more. Victor growled and turned back in time to meet his attack, turning it aside with ease once again. For the first time, he didn’t stop there.
Victor’s massive fist crashed into Sebastian’s solar plexus, knocking the air from his lungs. He felt his legs give out and he fell, sucking in vain for a breath. The Lord kicked him in the shoulder, sending him sprawling backward. His head struck the ground and stars whirled before his eyes. He struggled to get back to his feet, to defend against the death blow that was coming, but he could barely move. His sword was still clenched in his hand, though he couldn’t seem to wield it, the blade flopping against the ground as though it were a landed fish.
At last, he rolled to his side with a gasp, glorious air filling his lungs. He looked for Victor only to find he was no longer there. Sebastian slowly got to his knees, and then made his way to his feet, using a nearby tree for support. The sounds of the Red Guard drawing closer, he looked to where the Green Witch had been, but she, too, was missing. Unsure of where the woman had gone, and whether she even still lived, he hissed and let it lie, going to his father’s side.
The ground around Darius had been stained with his blood, nothing more than a gentle trickle still spilling from the wound, the whole of him bled out. Sebastian set his hand against his father’s neck and felt the cooling emptiness of dead flesh. Though he’d known it before he touched him, the confirmation brought tears to his eyes. His father was gone, and Sebastian was alone.
He looked upon his father’s body as the Red Guard stormed toward him. Never one for material objects or overt sentimentality, Sebastian knew his father would urge him to go on and leave his body behind. It represented nothing in the grand scheme of life, Darius having lived solely for revenge and his son since the death of Alise. Sebastian still alive, and revenge yet to be satisfied, he knew what he must do. He leaned down and kissed his father on his cold cheek and said his farewells.
Tears blurring his eyes, he ran for the trees. No time to search for the witch, he plowed into the dense foliage. The Lord of the Hunt had gone to the resistance, and Sebastian believed he needed to go there as well. If Emerald were in trouble that meant the camp was under attack.
The White Witch would be there, if she were anywhere.
The Green Witch an uncertainty he could deal with later, he forced the shadows to envelop him, grunting with the effort, and slipped away to avoid the soldiers that scrambled at his heels. He ran until his breath caught fire in his lungs.
Once he was sure the Red Guard had been lost in the woods behind in, he sheathed his sword and circled around to where he had fought Shade. The Green Witch having disappeared, he wanted to be sure the assassin hadn’t vanished, too. Barely able to survive against them individually, he wanted no part of them together. Before he went after the White Witch, he needed to be as certain as he could be that she was all he would face.
When he arrived at the place where he and Shade had fought, his heart slowed in his chest. Her body was gone.
He ran to where she’d fallen and let loose a whistling sigh. Covered by the tall grass, not visible from where he stood just moments before, was a trail leading further into the woods. He examined it, believing at first she had been dragged off, but he noticed the earth had been torn up in small spots, only on one side of the path, which extended along its length at fairly equal distances. He looked closer and realized it was where someone had sunk their hand into the ground to pull themselves along, only to dig in further on to do the same.
She lived.
Amazed by her resilience, he followed the path, finding her just a short ways down it. Oblivious to his presence, she reached out with her right arm, slow and unsteady, and dug her fingers into the moist earth. Tiny, wet whimpers slipped from her as she struggled to pull herself forward, her body dragging lifeless behind her as though it were a snake.
Sebastian watched her for a few moments. Though she was his enemy, he couldn’t help but admire her. Crippled and dying as she was, she continued on without respite, striving to reach help so she might live. She’d never make it, even if he let her go. A strange pang of pity struck him as he watched her struggle, his stomach souring at her plight. He could not find it in him to wish it upon anyone.
He walked up behind her and rolled the assassin over so he could look upon her masked face. The quicksilver had done its work. Her eyes peered out from within her covering, dots of gray speckled amidst the blue. She stared up at him as he pulled her mask away. Her veins stood out, pulsing against her scarred cheeks and across her temples. They were black tendrils, which crisscrossed her face, making it look as though a thick spider’s web had been set upon it. The ruin of her nose, clearly lost before their battle, stood out in shades of blue and yellow. Her throat was swollen to the size of her head and Sebastian marveled at how she could still breathe, let alone continue to move.
Sebastian knelt down beside her, her gaze following him. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw a knowing clarity in her eyes, an understanding of who he was. He hadn’t expected that given her loss of function. Within all the ruin, she still lived; the warrior, the assassin. He knew then what he must do.
“You were a valiant foe, Shade. I would give you an honorable death,” he told her, propping her head up as he drew his sword.
Shade stared at him, but didn’t respond, save for a wisp of drool that spilled from her open mouth to trail wet down her chin. Sebastian didn’t wait any longer, knowing every second prolonged her agony; a suffering he had inflicted upon her. He stared into her eyes and slid the point of his sword up beneath her chin, burying it in her skull. She twitched once and died, her head lolling in his hand. Sebastian slid his sword free and set her down gently. Blackened ooze dribbled from the wound, rolling down her neck to
form a small pool beneath her shaved head.
Sebastian stood, looking at her, and an unexpected thought popped into his head. He wondered if the woman believed in the One, if she had said a prayer for deliverance before he ended her life. Once more he found himself thinking of the life beyond this one, if there was a place for men like him. He could find no satisfaction in her death. There was only the loss of his father screaming out within, Shade’s end doing nothing to bring him back. Sebastian hoped slaying the White Witch would bring him some sense of completion, an easing of the hunger for vengeance that growled inside. No matter, the Lord would come after the witch.
Knowing he needed to leave if he stood a chance of catching the White Witch still out in the field, he couldn’t help but hesitate as he stared at Shade’s corpse. His thoughts a muddled haze, he told himself over and over he needed to go. If he did nothing else, he needed to finish the deed his father had bred him for. If revenge was all that was left, his sorrowed inheritance, he would accept it with grace and pride, as his father would expect of him.
One last glance at Shade brought a morbid smile to his lips. The opportunity to end his father’s mission had suddenly become clear.
Thirty-Two
“This is your final opportunity, Elizabeth. Release my child and let us settle this. Free her and I will grant your people a reprieve and let them walk away unharmed. Continue to challenge me, however, and I will have all of their heads mounted upon the walls of Corilea, where they will remain for decades to come, right alongside yours,” Deborah warned. “I will not ask you again.”
Emerald trembled. She knew well enough the limits of her mother’s patience, and Elizabeth had pushed her far beyond that line. Caught between the two witches, she doubted she would survive. She could call upon her magic but Elizabeth had hers in hand, ready to shove into Emerald’s belly. Her son squirmed inside her, as if terrified of the heat that washed over him. She would need to act soon if there was to be any chance at escape.
