Everwylde

by Donna Grant

  “Witches?” Ravyn asked.

  “Witches. Women,” Sybbyl replied with a shrug. “Same difference.”

  Ravyn shot her a puzzled look. “I believe you are wrong on that point.”

  “Look at you,” Sybbyl said as she motioned to Ravyn. “You dress like a man. You have trained as men do. You fight in the ways of men. And yet the knights in this chamber look down on you. They believe you inferior.”

  “I care not what they think.”

  Sybbyl’s smile was slow. “It really is too bad that you do not have magic. You would make an excellent witch.”

  “Even if I did, I would never join the Coven,” Ravyn stated.

  Sybbyl waved away her words. “Oh, I think you would change your mind if your other option was death.”

  “Some might. I would not.”

  The witch eyed her for a moment. “I believe you would rather choose death. Your inner strength and courage are what sets you apart from others. Whether you admit it or not, we are very much alike.”

  “I disagree,” Ravyn stated and turned slightly to look out of the corner of her eye at the knights behind her. “You like to murder innocents. I only kill those of the Coven.”

  “Ah, but you enjoy it,” Sybbyl declared with a smile.

  Ravyn shrugged and took a few steps before stopping and shifting the other way, once more taking note of the knights. Both groups stood as far from Sybbyl as possible on either side of the chamber, but Ravyn couldn’t be sure if they would side with the witch or not. “I will not deny that I like ridding the world of evil.”

  “Evil.” Sybbyl sighed loudly and glanced at the ceiling. “Why would you put us in such a category?”

  Ravyn wasn’t certain if Sybbyl was patronizing her or not. Then she saw the anger simmering in the witch’s blue eyes as she turned on Randall.

  “Men,” Sybbyl all but spit the word. “They are the evil ones. They have taken it upon themselves to tell us how we should act and dress. They deem it their responsibility to sell us to other men as wives, to be nothing more than slaves. They rape and beat us without fear of reprisal. They claim we are not intelligent enough to learn to read or write. We are good for nothing but cooking and cleaning, bearing children along the way. Both men and the church tell us that we are naturally weak and have sinful natures.” Sybbyl’s head turned to Ravyn. “Sinful. How many men beat and rape women and children? How many men of the church disregard their vows and take others to their beds?”

  Everything Sybbyl said was true. There was nothing Ravyn could—or wanted to—say to rebuke such claims.

  The witch’s lips twisted as her fury rose. “But we are deemed the weaker, wicked ones. All because men are guided by their pricks.” She grabbed Randall by his hair and jerked his head back as she leaned down and put her face close to his. “Right?”

  “Some, aye,” he said, wincing at the pain.

  Sybbyl shoved him away and spat on him. “When, in fact, males are the inferior sex. Women are the strong ones. We can fight just as well as men, and we bring life into this world. We were given that gift because God knew that men would not be able to handle the pain or endure the hours of labor. And it is women who raise the children because men cannot be bothered.”

  Sybbyl then looked around the chamber at the knights. “We do not rape men. There is no need for such treatment. I have shriveled many a man’s cock after they forced themselves on a woman. Why can men not understand the word nay?”

  Ravyn was all for chopping off a man’s privates if he forced a woman, but it bothered her greatly that she found herself agreeing with the witch...her enemy.

  Sybbyl’s blue eyes landed on her. “The time of men is coming to an end.”

  “You would willingly kill any woman without magic?” Ravyn asked.

  The witch drew in a shaky breath as she struggled to gain control of herself. “Aye.”

  “So much for the time of women.” Ravyn snorted in contempt. “What you really mean is it’s the time of witches.”

  Sybbyl threw back her head and laughed. Ravyn’s blood went cold, her body jerking as if hit. The laugh she had heard in her nightmares since she was a small child. To hear it again sent chills racing over her body.

  As fury welled up.

  After all this time, Ravyn had found the witch responsible for her family’s murder. For a moment, all she could do was stare as fear of that terrible night mixed with resentment and the need for revenge. There had been times when Ravyn thought she would never be able to get justice for her family.

  Now, she knew she could. And she intended to do just that.

  Sybbyl’s laughter died as she took notice of Ravyn. “So much rage inside you. Have you finally decided to join me?”

  “Do you know how long I have looked for you?”

  The witch raised a brow. “Me? Whatever for?”

  “That horrible laugh of yours has haunted me for years.”

  Sybbyl’s eyes widened as she grinned. “Did I hurt someone you loved?”

  “You killed my family,” Ravyn bit out.

  There was a small frown on Sybbyl’s brow before she laughed again. “What are you going to do about it?”

  Ravyn was tired of words. She needed action. She needed death.

  The witch’s death.

  Ravyn lifted the crossbow and took aim. Before she could fire off an arrow, Sybbyl raised both hands, palms out. Ravyn wasn’t going to stand around and wait for whatever magic the witch released.

  Instead, she darted back to the entrance where she dropped down to her knees and slid, turning her body so she could fire the arrows.

  As soon as they were loosed, she got to her feet and shot another. She started running around the perimeter of the chamber. The knights near her scattered, wanting no part of the battle.

  The wall near her suddenly exploded, sending Ravyn flying onto her back. Pain lanced through her as she landed on a pile of rocks, but there wasn’t a spare moment to think about that. She rolled onto her side toward the center of the chamber and fired several more arrows.

  This time, she watched as one of the projectiles skimmed Sybbyl’s shoulder, only missing the witch because she turned away at the last second.

  Ravyn continued to roll, firing each time. Never was Ravyn happier that she had a weapon that could fire multiple arrows without having to be notched each time. But she had to be careful. She was running out of bolts.

  Sybbyl screamed her annoyance as she dodged a volley of projectiles aimed at her. Unfortunately, not a single one found its mark.

  Not that Ravyn expected Sybbyl to be an easy target. She jumped to her feet and then quickly turned and squatted as a ball of fire came at her. The fireball passed so closely that Ravyn felt the heat of it against her cheek.

  Just as she straightened and prepared to turn and shoot the crossbow again, something struck her from behind in the back of her knee. She pitched forward, falling hard upon the scattered debris and slamming the side of her head against a rock. Her wrist landed on something hard, and it made her lose her grip on her weapon. She watched in dismay as it fell from her fingers.

  Ravyn bit back a scream as another blow landed on her back. She was in agony, the pain sizzling through her body from her knee and head and shoulder blades. She had to get moving. Otherwise, she would be an easy target for Sybbyl.

  No matter how she tried to make herself stir, her body wouldn’t respond as it usually did. And that wasn’t a good sign. In fact, if she weren’t careful, it would mean certain death.

  There was no way she had finally come face-to-face with her nemesis only to die at her hands. Nay. Ravyn would win this day. Once and for all.

  Her family would get the justice they long deserved, the promise she had given as she gazed upon their ravaged bodies as a small child.

  Ravyn finally scrambled over the rocks and got to her feet. She tried to retrieve her crossbow, but another fireball landed on it. Ravyn refused to lose her weapon to magic. She kicked the cr
ossbow out of the fire and kept moving.

  She reached down and took out the knife in her boot as she approached one of the knights. This one decided he would attempt to catch her. Apparently, he hoped by joining Sybbyl that she wouldn’t kill him. Too bad he was mistaken.

  Ravyn put her foot on the wall to launch herself upward. She spun and came down before the knight, her blade piercing his neck before he could lay a hand on her.

  She looked into his eyes filled with surprise. “Fool,” she murmured.

  Yanking out the blade, she shoved the dying man aside and quickly scanned the chamber for the best way to get to Sybbyl. Some knights tried again to leave while a couple of others decided to help Sybbyl.

  The witch’s laughter filled the chamber along with the crackling of the small fires. Ravyn stared at her adversary as blood trickled down the side of her face, imagining all kinds of ways she could kill Sybbyl. But all she needed was one—the one that would succeed.

  “Get her!” Sybbyl demanded of the knights.

  Ravyn ducked a meaty fist aimed at her head and kicked the knight’s feet out from under him. She spun to the left and took out another dagger anchored at her waist. Then she slid on her knees between two of the men, making quick stabs as she skidded past them. They screamed in pain, each holding their legs as blood poured from their wounds.

  But she wasn’t done. Another, the biggest of them, was coming for her. And he wore armor.

  She went straight for him, hoping to reach him quickly, but she wasn’t fast enough. He pulled his sword and swung it at her head. Ravyn came to a halt and bent backwards. She watched the blade in slow motion as it passed over her face.

  Before she could straighten, she found herself on the ground again, pain throbbing in her side. She didn’t need to look at Sybbyl to know that the witch was responsible. No witch fought fair. Ravyn should have remembered that.

  There was a shout from the door to the chamber, one that Ravyn recognized well. She tilted her head back and saw Margery rush into the space with her sword drawn, Simon on her heels.

  Ravyn had wondered where the couple was, but her attention was diverted to the knight and the sword bearing down on her. Ravyn rolled out of the way, right to her crossbow. Without hesitation, she grabbed the smoking weapon and fired two shots, each landing in the knight’s eyes.

  With Simon and Margery keeping Sybbyl occupied, it gave Ravyn the chance she needed to dart through the arch. She didn’t think twice about going to find Carac or the staff.

  Because as much as she wanted Sybbyl dead, defeating the Coven was a bigger priority. And if Ravyn could find the staff, then it would be a simple matter to end Sybbyl and any other witch who arrived at Bryce Castle.

  Chapter 26

  Carac’s head whipped around at the sound of laughter drifting from behind him. He couldn’t help but wonder if it was the laugh Ravyn had been trying to find. If it was, that meant she was fighting Sybbyl on her own. He should be there with her.

  He looked back at Rossamond. She gazed at him without any emotion. She was there for one purpose only, and no matter his wishes or desires or needs, she wasn’t going to let him pass.

  More sounds of bellows from knights, rocks tumbling, and even blasts could be heard. With each one, he became more and more antsy to return to Ravyn and the current skirmish.

  “There is a battle behind you,” she said.

  He nodded.

  She cocked her head to the side. “You wish to join in.”

  “I have a friend in there. She is fighting the others alone. I should be with her.”

  “Her?” the ghost asked. “A woman fights?”

  “She is one of the Hunters I told you about.”

  Rossamond’s eyes lifted to gaze over his shoulder. At almost the same moment, the axes returned to their hiding places within the walls. Carac turned and watched them, knowing that it most likely meant that someone was in the tunnel.

  And since Sybbyl couldn’t pass through the arch, then it could be Ravyn. His heart stopped at the thought of her rushing through the dark.

  “Wait,” he hurried to say as he faced the ghost again. “Please, just wait.”

  “Because you think it is the Hunter?”

  “Aye. It could be.”

  “And if it is not?”

  Carac ground his teeth together. “Then I will kill whoever it is if they are not a friend of mine.”

  Now, he could hear footsteps approaching. His heart was in his throat as he waited for the ghost to make up her mind.

  “Please,” he begged. “Take my life, but spare Ravyn’s. She is on your side.”

  “Are you not?”

  He wanted to shout his frustration. “I am. I have already told you that, but if someone must die, then let it be me. Spare her.”

  Now that he was accustomed to the tunnel’s sounds, he could hear the blades getting ready to swing from their spots. He spun around and opened his mouth to shout a warning at Ravyn when his torch suddenly went out.

  And then his voice was stolen.

  Rossamond came up behind him and pressed her lips to his ear, making him shiver as if he stood in an icy river in the middle of winter. “You cannot lend any aid.”

  Standing idly by went against everything Carac was. He didn’t think he would survive if Ravyn were beheaded. Then again, the ghost had already condemned him to death. So at least he wouldn’t suffer long.

  He was powerless to do anything but watch the darkness as his eyes grew accustomed, hoping the approaching person was not Ravyn. But he knew in his heart that it was. He then prayed that she would stop and listen and pay attention to the sounds of the tunnel.

  He willed it with everything he was.

  “Carac?”

  His eyes closed when he heard Ravyn’s voice, his heart catching when he realized how close she was. Any moment now, one of the blades would slide from the wall.

  “I stopped the blades from taking you,” the ghost whispered to him. “Shall I do the same for her?”

  Carac nodded, hope filling him. But it was extinguished a second later when the first blade scraped against the rock. Even from a distance, he heard it like a whisper of death descending upon Ravyn.

  He opened his mouth and shouted. It welled up within him with all the anguish, fury, and regret of twenty lifetimes.

  But there was no sound. Nothing to commence such a fine warrior’s death. Nothing to showcase the grief that was swallowing him whole for the beautiful woman who had stolen his heart.

  His breath hitched when he heard the second axe. There was a whoosh of air and the soft sounds of feet hitting the ground. And then, Ravyn was there.

  He dropped the extinguished torch and reached for her, yanking her out of the way of the third blade. It wasn’t until she was in his arms and he was holding her tightly against him that he realized Rossamond had released the hold she had on him and his voice.

  “Carac,” Ravyn murmured and lifted her face to his.

  He couldn’t believe she was alive. Without the torch, he could only make out the outline of her body in the dark, but it was enough. He cupped her face with his hands before lowering his head to press his lips against hers. “You should not have come.”

  “Simon and Margery are fighting Sybbyl. We have no time to stand here. We must find the staff,” Ravyn said.

  No sooner had her words ended than he heard Ravyn gasp. There was also a faint glow coming behind him, bathing Ravyn’s face in pale light. Carac didn’t need to turn to know that the ghost was behind him.

  “Carac,” Ravyn whispered, alarm tingeing her voice.

  A wry grin briefly passed his lips. His woman would stand against a witch and magic without hesitation, but a specter gave her pause.

  He dropped his arm and linked his fingers with Ravyn’s before he faced Rossamond. The ghost’s eyes shifted from Ravyn to him. She said nothing. Merely gazed at them.

  After several tense seconds, Ravyn kept her gaze on the ghost but turned her head
toward him. “We need to get moving.”

  “That is not going to happen,” the ghost stated.

  Ravyn’s fingers tightened around his. Carac gave her a squeeze of reassurance that he prayed wasn’t a lie. “She got through your trap on her own.”

  The woman floated closer to Ravyn. “So she did.”

  Carac turned his head to Ravyn and said, “Rossamond was cursed by a witch from the Coven seeking the staff. She came down here to die in an effort to protect the artifact.”

  “Thank you,” Ravyn told the woman. “Your sacrifice is appreciated.”

  To Carac’s surprise, the ghost’s attitude changed. She blinked as if unsure how to respond to Ravyn’s gratitude. “I had no choice. I was dying, and it would have killed everyone else, as well.”

  “You had a choice,” Carac said. “There is always another option. You decided to put yourself down here, away from family or anyone who might ease your comfort, to die slowly and in great agony.”

  Ravyn nodded in agreement. “What you did is remarkable. I do not believe anyone but the bravest and most valiant could have made such a decision.”

  Rossamond turned her head away and looked at something only she could see. “The Coven thought they could break me. They believed I was weak because I loved my family and people so deeply. The witch made sure that the affliction that she put on me would continue whether I had food or water. She knew that my brothers would see to me, and that I would spread the disease to them and more.”

  “The witch was wrong,” Carac stated.

  The ghost swiveled her head back to them. “I was terrified of dying alone. The disease lasted for weeks—or months, I know not—as I lost track of time. There were instances where the pain got so bad that I screamed for my brothers, begged them to let me out so I could feel a kind touch. I am grateful they never heard my pleas. With my dying breath, I went to the staff and begged it to allow me to remain here to protect it from intruders.”

  “And only allow descendants of family Bryce inside,” Carac said, filling Ravyn in.

  Ravyn’s eyes widened a fraction. “Sybbyl will never allow Randall here.”